The morning sun draped Eryndor Vale in ribbons of gold, its light filtering through endless boughs of white-leaved trees. The clan was alive with the quiet bustle of early hours—vendors setting out woven baskets of herbs, children chasing one another across the bridges, and healers carrying jars of gleaming liquid as though they held sunlight itself.
Down the main path, a boy walked with a small bounce in his step, the kind only ten-year-olds carried with them. His name was Caelum Ardyn.
"Morning, Caelum!" A woman called from the herb stand, waving a hand stained green.
Caelum slowed his step, offered a gentle nod, and replied with a voice soft but clear, "Good morning, Auntie Lira."
A few steps further, an elder paused, leaning on his staff. "Such a kind lad. Always greets so politely."
Another woman whispered as she adjusted the hem of her daughter's tunic. "He's just ten, and already so well-mannered. A bright future, that one."
"I bet he'll grow up to be a fine young man," said another, pride warming her tone.
The father beside her chuckled. "Fine young man? He's the same age as my daughter maybe I'll have him for a son-in-law someday."
The woman gasped, smacked his shoulder playfully. "Who would marry your dirty daughter—"
"What did you just—"
"Sorry, sorry, haha!" Laughter rippled across the group, echoing down the wooden path.
Caelum only smiled faintly, lowering his gaze as he passed. His small frame moved lightly, as if his very footsteps were careful not to disturb the peace. His dark hair caught threads of morning light, soft against the gentle angles of his face. His eyes, an unusually pale silver-blue, seemed too calm for a child, reflecting more than they revealed. Yet to the clan, he was nothing but their sweet boy, the one who helped gather herbs, carried water for the ward, and always smiled in return.
Just as he reached the market's edge, two arms looped over his shoulders at once.
"Caught you," came a mischievous voice to his right.
"You walk too slowly," said another on his left.
Caelum didn't flinch. He even let a small smile tug at his lips. "Elias. Seren."
The boy on his right, Elias, grinned wide, fiery spikes of hair catching the sun like live embers. His red robe draped loosely over his frame, but even at ten, his body was leaner, stronger than most his age. He wore large brown beads strung around his neck and knuckles, clacking faintly when he moved. Bare feet slapped against the wood with each swaggering step. Everything about him radiated challenge, chin tilted, eyes sharp—as if he were daring the world to try him. Yet the grin softened the fire, making him more cheeky than cruel.
"You should learn to walk faster," Elias teased, "or people will think you're an old man already."
On Caelum's left, Seren shook his head, the calmer counterpart. His pale hair framed a rounder face, his green eyes bright with mischief that never quite broke into a smile. He wore a light yellow tunic tied neatly at the waist, sleeves loose around his thin arms. Unlike Elias, Seren looked every bit the elven boy, quiet, deliberate...but there was always a glint behind his calmness, as though he kept a hundred private games running in his head.
"Don't listen to him," Seren said smoothly, giving Caelum a sidelong glance. "He's only fast when he's running away from work."
"Lies!" Elias barked, puffing his chest. "I'm fast because I'm me. One day, you'll see—I'll be faster than the wind."
Caelum chuckled softly. He didn't need to say much; just the faint smile on his lips was enough to ease the playful tension. That was his way—he rarely added fuel to their fire, yet somehow never put it out either.
Elias squinted at him, tilting his head. "Why do you always smile like that? Doesn't your face get tired?"
Seren smirked, eyes narrowing. "Maybe he's hiding something."
"I'm not hiding anything," Caelum replied simply, the smile never faltering.
---
The trio made their way toward the higher bridges, where the Master's chamber overlooked the vale. The air carried faint hymns of healers at practice, their voices twining like silver threads. Birds darted between the pale boughs, feathers glinting sapphire and emerald.
On the bridge, they slowed their pace, watching two older apprentices walk by in their pale robes. The apprentices bowed to them with polite courtesy, but their conversations carried back clearly.
"…the High Council meets again. I heard the war in the west worsens."
"War?" Elias perked up, ears twitching. "They always say that."
Seren raised a brow. "That's because it's true. The dwarves and beastkin won't stop fighting each other, and we're stuck sending healers to patch them up afterward."
Elias scoffed. "If I were a Master, I'd send warriors instead of healers. Let the fools bleed until they learn."
"That's why you'll never be Master," Seren said smoothly. "Too much fire, not enough sense."
Caelum glanced between them, quiet for a moment before adding softly, "Our clan doesn't send warriors. We heal. That's what we're meant for."
"Exactly." Seren's lips twitched upward. "Listen to Cael. He gets it."
Elias clicked his tongue, but said no more. His fiery eyes darted toward the horizon, as if he longed to leap past the vale entirely.
---
The bridge widened near the training platforms, where healers practiced shaping light between their palms. Small motes danced like fireflies, weaving into ribbons that stitched torn cloth or coaxed flowers to bloom.
"Look at them," Elias muttered. "Even training looks boring. Healing this, healing that. When will they teach us something useful? Like how to fight?"
"You mean how to swing your fists better?" Seren teased.
Elias smirked. "Better fists mean fewer injuries. Fewer injuries mean fewer healers needed. I'd be doing them a favor."
Seren rolled his eyes, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I heard the Master say only those who prove themselves can enter the Central Academy next year. Not just skill, but character."
Elias made a face. "Character? What does that even mean?"
"It means," Seren said, voice lilting with amusement, "you can't punch your way into the Academy."
Caelum smiled faintly at their bickering, but inside, his thoughts flickered. The Central Academy… a place where elves, dwarves, beastkin, humans, even dragonkin trained together. A place where knowledge wasn't bound by clan walls. And if he made it there, perhaps… perhaps he could find a way to heal what no healer had yet managed. His mother's illness.
He said nothing, only walked faster, letting the thought burn quietly in his chest.
---
"Let's go greet the Master first," Elias said, almost bouncing with energy.
"Agreed," Seren replied, though his tone carried the ease of someone with no rush at all.
But before they could take more than a few steps, Caelum slipped out from under their arms. "Sorry, I'll visit my mother first. Go ahead without me."
The words were light, but his feet were already carrying him toward the western edge of the vale.
"Again?" Elias groaned. "Every time! You always leave us hanging."
Seren's voice came quieter, more thoughtful. "He means it. Let him go."
Caelum lifted a hand in farewell, not looking back, and broke into a run. His robe caught the wind, hair whipping against his face, until the laughter and protests of his friends grew faint behind him.
Elias stared after him, frowning but yielding, knowing well the reason.
Then he turned, mischief sparking. "Race you to the Master's chamber. Whoever's last is a fool!"
He didn't even wait for Seren's answer before bolting.
"Awww, not again!" Seren shouted, breaking into a run after him. His green eyes twinkled despite the complaint, his thin frame darting over the wooden planks with sharp precision.
To a passerby, it looked like two children playing. But to anyone from outside Eryndor Vale, it would have been something else entirely. Their strides were swift and honed, bodies moving with the natural grace of elves, more like trained athletes than boys of ten. Even their laughter rang sharper, like the first strike of steel before the real fight began.
And in that morning sun, the clan glowed with peace, laughter, and light. None of them could have imagined how fragile it all truly was.