The morning wind whispered softly through the tall leaves, carrying a freshness that brushed against their skin. The horse's hooves struck the damp earth in a steady rhythm, almost hypnotic, marking the pace of the travelers' departure. Malton and Eduard, riding behind Fin, remained silent, each lost in his own thoughts. Their eyes followed the passing trees, torn between the thrill of leaving and the unease of an uncertain future.
After several hours, Fin pulled gently on the reins, slowing the horse's pace. They entered a clearing where the setting sun filtered through the branches, casting golden streaks across the grassy floor. A stream wound nearby, its gentle murmur breaking the quiet and adding a soft cadence to the moment.
"We will stop here," Fin announced. "It is time I explain something important."
The brothers exchanged sharp glances, hearts quickening.
Fin dismounted with fluid grace, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword as he gazed at the sky, painted in blazing colors. His voice rang out, deep and resonant, carrying the weight of countless years.
— "The Sacred Arts… perhaps you have heard of them."
Eduard furrowed his brows, whispering:
— "A little… but I've never truly understood what they are."
Fin nodded slowly.
— "The Sacred Arts are a form of energy. Invisible, yet everywhere. In the air you breathe, in the ground beneath your feet, in every living being. The human body can absorb it, and sometimes, even wield it. But how it manifests varies from person to person. Some are born with a natural talent; others discover it only after an event shakes their lives to the core."
His words fell with solemn weight. Malton stiffened, eyes locked on Fin.
— "So… anyone can have it?"
— "No, not everyone," the swordsman replied. "Many live their whole lives without ever awakening a Sacred Art. Those who do are marked—they are changed."
He picked up a fallen branch from the ground, twirling it deftly in his hand. With a simple motion, a bluish flame erupted along its length, flickering before vanishing.
— "Sacred Arts can be elemental—fire, water, wind, earth—but there are also non-elemental forms. Some influence the mind, others the body, or even the perception of the world itself."
Eduard held his breath, fascinated. His hands tingled slightly, as if Fin's words had stirred something alive within him.
— "And… how does one learn to use them?"
Fin's gaze locked on him, sharp and uncompromising.
— "Through discipline, patience… and pain. Training shapes both body and mind. Yet there are also sacred objects."
From his belt, he drew a pendant, its surface worn smooth by time. Sunlight caught it strangely, as if it absorbed the light before releasing it back.
— "Some objects act as catalysts. They gather surrounding energy and amplify it. Others are tied to a lineage, or to a destiny. But remember this: the greater the power, the heavier the burden."
Malton clenched his fists, torn between fear and anticipation.
— "So… if we train, we could become strong?"
A faint smile touched Fin's lips.
— "If you survive."
Silence fell again. The stream murmured, leaves rustled in the breeze, and the sky burned red and gold, as if heralding an omen.
— "Three years of journey lie ahead," Fin continued. "Three years in which you will learn not only to control your Sacred Arts but also to understand what it means to bear such strength. The world will give you no favors."
Eduard drew a deep breath, eyes gleaming.
— "I want to learn. I never want to feel powerless again."
Fin studied him for a long moment before nodding.
— "Then open your mind. Listen to nature. Energy flows everywhere, and it responds to those who know how to hear it."
Night slowly descended, wrapping the clearing in shifting shadows. The brothers sat side by side, their hearts beating in unison, carried by a new promise.
Their gazes turned toward the horizon. The journey had only just begun, yet already the weight of destiny pressed upon their shoulders.
And beneath the star-studded sky, the Path of the Sacred Arts unfolded before them.