Kael Draven stood at attention, wooden sword in hand, eyes fixed on his father. Duke Lucien Draven—a man whose reputation for valor stretched across Valdoria—stood opposite him, steel armor gleaming, expression stern but patient.
"Kael," Lucien said, voice calm yet commanding, "today is no play. Today, you begin your true training. Your body, mind, and spirit must move as one. Only then can you wield your gift without being consumed by it."
Maverick, perched atop the stone fountain, flicked his tail lazily. "And only then will the boy stop breaking everything he touches."
Kael's jaw tightened. "I won't fail, Father."
Lucien nodded and raised his own blade, a legendary sword etched with runes of past victories. "First, you must learn to sense the flow of life—the essence within all things. Knights call it 'spirit energy,' but it is more than that. It is the rhythm of the world. The pulse beneath your feet. The blood in your veins. The whisper of the wind."
Kael's eyes widened. "I… can feel it?"
Lucien gestured. "Close your eyes. Stand firm. Breathe with it, not against it."
Kael obeyed. The courtyard seemed to grow still. The stones beneath him thrummed faintly, and the air hummed like a living thing. He felt warmth in his chest, spreading to his arms, his hands, his legs. When he clenched his wooden sword, the faint glow of his first spark—his "bloodlight"—flickered around him, unnoticed by all but Merrick.
"Good," Lucien said, lowering his sword. "You have awakened your core life force. This is the foundation. Without it, no knight, no duke, no emperor can achieve true strength."
Maverick leapt onto Kael's shoulder. "Core life force, huh? Fancy words for 'don't explode yourself.'"
Lucien ignored the cat. "All who wield power in this world follow the path of cultivation. It is a hierarchy: the Novice ranks, the Adept, the Knight's Vanguard, and for the rare few… the Crimson Tier. Each stage strengthens the body, sharpens the mind, and expands one's essence. Your first task is to control the spark, to bind it to your will."
Kael's eyes glimmered red for a moment. "And if I fail?"
"Then it consumes you," Lucien replied softly. "The same fire that gives life can destroy it."
Hours passed. Kael practiced striking, dodging, and controlling his energy. The glow in his hands grew steadier with each attempt. Sweat dripped from his brow, but exhilaration lit his gaze. Every movement was sharper, every breath measured.
By afternoon, a horn echoed across the keep. From the main gates, a contingent of rival knights approached, banners flapping in the wind. Their leader, Sir Alaric Veyne, a man with silver hair and a calculating gaze, dismounted, bowing just enough to show civility, yet radiating quiet menace.
"Duke Lucien," Alaric said smoothly, "we come bearing greetings… and a reminder. The Empire watches the Draven line closely. Young Kael is no ordinary boy. Many will seek to test him—some for honor, others… for ambition."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "We are aware, Sir Alaric. Kael's training begins today. Let none doubt the Draven legacy."
Kael's small fists clenched around his sword. "I… will not fail," he whispered to Merrick.
The cat purred. "Oh, this is only the beginning, little knight. Soon, you'll learn that the world is filled with men who smile while they sharpen knives behind your back."
As the sun dipped behind Draven Keep, Kael's crimson glow faded, leaving him trembling but alive. Shadows stretched long across the courtyard, whispering of rival clans, imperial intrigue, and ancient legacies.
The Blood Knight had taken his first true step into a world of steel, politics, and destiny—and the game had only just begun.