Morning arrived quietly in Hollowdene, though the forest itself seemed anything but peaceful. Mist lingered in the hollows between trees, and shafts of weak sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, striking the small clearing where Aldrich slept beside the fire. His chest rose and fell unevenly, a mixture of exhaustion, hunger, and anticipation making him restless even in sleep.
Eldran sat nearby, his single arm resting across his knees, surveying the boy with the careful watchfulness of someone who had seen the world strip away innocence in a single night. He was silent, allowing Aldrich a few more moments of unconscious reprieve, the wind whispering through the branches as if testing the boy's resolve.
Finally, Eldran's voice cut softly through the morning air. "Aldrich. Wake."
The boy stirred, groaning as he rolled onto his side. His hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, and his small hands fumbled toward the sword he had left beside him. Even half-asleep, he grasped it instinctively, the familiar weight grounding him.
"Yes, Grand Elder," he rasped, his voice thick with sleep.
"Sit. Eat." Eldran gestured to a simple meal he had prepared: foraged berries, dried meat, and water from the pool. Aldrich's stomach growled, reminding him just how small he truly was in the wilderness of Hollowdene.
The boy's fingers shook slightly as he took the food. Eldran watched him quietly, noting the mix of hunger, fatigue, and unspoken anxiety. "You will need strength," he said simply. "The forest does not forgive weakness."
Aldrich nodded, shoving a piece of dried meat into his mouth. He chewed carefully, savoring the flavor—simple, dry, but sustenance enough. As he ate, his mind drifted to the memory of his parents, the carnage that had destroyed his home, the fire still smoldering in his heart. Each bite reminded him why he was here: vengeance, survival, and the forging of himself into a weapon.
When the last morsel was consumed, Aldrich set the food aside. He looked to Eldran, whose one hand tightened around a spear leaning against the tree. "Today," Eldran said, voice low and deliberate, "you will face your first trial. A hunt. Not just for food, but for discipline. You will track. You will anticipate. You will strike. And you will survive."
The boy's black eyes narrowed. "A wild boar?"
Eldran's lips tightened. "Yes. A large one. It will be fast. It will be strong. And it will not think of you as a child. It will think only of survival. You will move like the wind, strike like the storm. The sword is yours. But your mind will guide it."
Aldrich rose, gripping the blade. His small hands felt its weight fully now, heavier than ever in the crisp morning air. The sun had risen a little higher, illuminating the forest in pale light, and already he could hear the subtle noises—the snap of a branch under some unseen foot, the distant call of a bird, the rustle of leaves as something shifted unseen. Hollowdene was alive.
They moved silently through the undergrowth. Eldran led, step measured, eyes sweeping every shadow. Aldrich followed, his own movements tentative at first, then gradually more assured. Every branch, every stone underfoot, became part of the lesson: anticipate, adapt, survive.
"This forest," Eldran said quietly, "has teeth. You must learn to move without announcing yourself. Your body must obey before your mind even thinks."
Aldrich nodded, his pulse quickening. Fear gnawed at him—not of Eldran, not of the trial itself, but of failure. The thought of returning defeated, of not being worthy of his parents' memory, filled him with a raw, almost painful determination.
Hours passed. Eldran showed him how to read the tracks of animals: the subtle imprint of hooves in soft earth, the scraping of bark where a boar had rubbed its tusks, the broken twigs betraying its path. Aldrich bent low, tracing the signs with his fingers, memorizing each detail as if memorizing the shape of a blade.
Finally, Eldran stopped. "There. Do you see?"
Aldrich's eyes scanned the forest floor. A set of tracks, deep and wide, led toward a dense thicket. "Yes," he whispered. "It's big."
"Bigger than you." Eldran's voice was flat. "Faster than you. Stronger than you. And smarter than you think. You will not run from it. You will not strike without understanding. This is not the time to be reckless."
The boy swallowed, his small throat dry. He felt his fingers tighten around the sword, knuckles white. This was real. The forest was not a training hall, and the boar would not forgive mistakes.
Eldran crouched beside him, lowering his remaining arm to rest on the boy's shoulder. "Listen," he said. "Your stance. Feet shoulder-width, knees bent, sword angled for defense and strike. Keep your eyes on its shoulders, not its head. Anticipate its charge, do not react. Move before it moves."
Aldrich nodded, focusing. His heart pounded, a mixture of fear, rage, and determination. He remembered the fire, the screams, the blood of his family. He remembered his vow. The sword felt heavier, yes—but it also felt like a part of him, an extension of the promise he had made.
The first glimpse of the boar came moments later. It stepped from the undergrowth, massive and bristled, tusks curved and glinting in the light. Its eyes were small, black, and fierce. It snorted, stamping its hooves, ears flicking at the slightest sound.
Aldrich froze, muscles tense. Eldran whispered, "Breathe. Let it come. Let it decide when it attacks. You decide when you strike."
The boy's stomach churned with adrenaline. Fear was there, yes—but it was sharpened by a darker fire: the fire of purpose, the fire of rage, the fire of a vow forged in blood. He crouched lower, holding the sword in front of him, ready.
The boar charged.
Aldrich's instincts, honed through hours of shadowed practice, kicked in. He sidestepped, pivoting on his heels, letting the weight of his body flow into the sword. He struck—not blindly, but with precision, targeting the boar's flank. The blade met resistance, the forest ringing with a metallic thud as it connected. The animal screamed, thrashing, but Aldrich did not falter. He struck again, following Eldran's instructions: control, patience, precision.
The boar lunged, tusks aimed for his chest. Aldrich ducked, rolling to the side, feeling the earth scrape his palms and knees. His breath came in short bursts. His arms shook, but he gritted his teeth. Every movement, every swing, was a memory of Hollowdene's training, of Eldran's guidance, of the fire burning inside him.
Eldran's voice called out from the shadows. "Good! Control it! Don't be the sword! Make it obey you!"
Aldrich responded, his small body moving like he was older, stronger, sharper. The boar's strength was immense, its fury raw—but the boy's focus was sharper. He danced, pivoted, struck. Each blow was measured, each dodge calculated. Finally, after what felt like hours compressed into moments, the sword found its mark deep in the boar's shoulder. The animal collapsed, thrashing once, then lay still.
Aldrich sank to his knees, chest heaving, sweat and blood mingling on his skin and clothes. His arms shook violently from exertion, but he did not release the sword. He pressed it into the ground beside him, bowing his head.
Eldran approached, the shadow of his one-armed frame moving with surprising grace. He studied the boy quietly for a moment, then nodded. "Well done. You faced fear and strength and came through. But remember this, Aldrich—the forest does not forgive arrogance. The boar was only the beginning."
Aldrich raised his head, eyes blazing. "I am ready," he said, voice raw, but filled with determination beyond his years. "I will not fail. I will not stop. I will become stronger… stronger than them all."
Eldran's lips twitched into a faint, approving smile. "Good. Rest now. Tomorrow, Hollowdene tests more than your arms. It tests your mind, your patience, your understanding of life and death. Only when you master those can you wield the sword fully."
Aldrich nodded once, too exhausted to speak more. The forest seemed quieter now, as if acknowledging the boy's first victory. But Eldran knew better: Hollowdene had many more lessons waiting, and each would be harsher than the last.
Still, for the first time since the night the world of the Yagurah fell, Aldrich felt a measure of triumph—not just for the kill, but for the proof that he could survive, endure, and grow. The first spark of the storm inside him had been lit.
And the forest, relentless and ancient, was only beginning to awaken that fury.