Two years had reshaped the forest.
Where once a timid girl trained in secret beneath its boughs, now a confident young mage-swordswoman stood—feet firm on the mossy ground, breath calm, expression steady. Aveline's hair, longer now, fluttered as a light wind passed through the clearing where she and Alden had trained nearly every day for the last twenty-four months.
And today, for the first time, Alden stood across from her with a real blade in hand.
"Last chance to back out," Alden called out lightly, though there was nothing light in the way he shifted his weight, testing his footing on the damp earth. "I'd hate to bruise that increasingly terrifying pride of yours."
Aveline tightened her grip on the wooden practice sword—her last day using it, she hoped.
"If I back out now," she replied, lifting the weapon into a ready stance, "you'd never let me hear the end of it."
Alden grinned. "Correct. Begin when you're ready."
But the truth was—today, neither of them rushed.
They circled one another first, slow and deliberate. Years of training had carved instincts into Aveline's body: how to measure distance, how to read subtle shifts in the hips, how to recognize intention from the twitch of a finger on a hilt.
Her stance was different now—stronger, lower, balanced. Left foot angled outward for stability, shoulders relaxed so she could move fluidly, wrists flexible for quick transitions. Alden had drilled these habits into her until they were second nature.
A leaf drifted between them.
It hit the ground.
Aveline moved.
She dashed forward, swinging in a clean diagonal cut, the kind Alden taught her early on for creating openings. He parried easily—too easily—turning her blade aside with a smooth twist of his wrist.
But she had expected that.
Using the momentum of the deflection, she pivoted on her back foot and swept the blade low toward his knee.
Alden hopped back, impressed. "Good. You're mixing ranges now."
She didn't respond—she was already chaining into the next strike. This time she stepped in with a Passing Step, crossing her back foot forward to break distance. Her sword came down in a powerful vertical cut.
Alden blocked with one hand.
One.
Aveline felt irritation spark—but also thrill. He wasn't holding back his skill, only his strength.
He pushed her away, creating space, and the real exchange began.
Aveline attacked first, using a series of quick slashes: horizontal, upward, then a feint toward his ribs before redirecting toward his shoulder. Alden shifted his guard seamlessly, turning each blow aside. His footwork was clean and elegant, barely disturbing the earth beneath him.
He countered with a sharp thrust.
Aveline barely parried in time—the vibration shot up her arms. She stumbled back, recovering her stance, and rushed in again.
Now their blades clashed in rapid succession—clack, clack, clack—each collision ringing like a sharp bell through the clearing. Aveline's movements were faster than ever, her strikes transitioning smoothly from one form to another.
But Alden began increasing the pressure.
He pushed forward, weaving in Half-Cuts and Short Guards, his blade moving in tight, controlled arcs designed not to kill but to break her rhythm. Aveline readjusted, shifting to a defensive stance, absorbing his strikes one by one.
Then Alden spun lightly—Meyer's Turning Cut, something he had only shown her twice.
Aveline ducked, barely avoiding the arc of his blade.
"Nice reflexes," he said, exhaling with genuine delight.
Aveline didn't answer.
She lunged.
Her momentum carried her forward like an arrow loose from a bow. She switched her grip at the last moment, delivering an upward rising cut aimed at disarming him.
For the first time, Alden's expression changed—just slightly.
He caught her blade—but only by stepping sharply to the side and locking her wooden sword against his steel one.
The force of her strike surprised him.
He held that position for a moment.
Then he disengaged, twisted his wrist, and knocked her weapon from her hand.
Aveline froze as her wooden blade skidded across the forest floor.
Alden sheathed his sword.
Silence settled over them—soft and heavy, filled with everything that had happened over the years.
A small smile touched Alden's lips.
"You've grown," he said quietly.
Aveline knelt on the forest floor, picking up her wooden sword, brushing dirt from its edges. Alden stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You've earned more than this," he said softly. "Come with me."
He reached for the bundle resting against the tree and pulled out a real sword. Its steel gleamed in the dappled sunlight, balanced perfectly, light yet strong. The hilt was wrapped in deep leather, and the subtle runes carved along its guard hinted at careful craftsmanship.
"This," Alden said, handing it to her, "is yours."
Aveline's fingers closed around the hilt. She felt the weight, the balance, the potential. For a moment, all the years of training—the hidden hours, the bruises, the victories and failures—felt concentrated into this single moment.
"It's… perfect," she murmured.
"You've earned it," Alden replied, voice low, serious. "But it's more than a blade. It's a responsibility."
"You've trained well in sword fighting. If you couple your magic with your sword fighting, the outcome of our spar might have been different"
Aveline had told him about how she practiced magic, and the extent of her abilities, a few months into their training. She felt it was alright. Alden had gained this much of her trust, now becoming the second person she had revealed it to, after her brother Everett.
"Yeah but if you had used enhancements then the outcome would have been the same."
Alden smiled a bit, picking up on her annoyance at the fact that she can't use enhancements. Her mana had already become accustomed to being used by a mage, rather than a knight. It would be impossible to change it now.
"You are a talented mage who can create unique spells, and now you know how to use the sword. A jack of all trades is better than a master of one, I'll say. Besides, I don't think I would even have the time to teach you enhancements even if you could learn how to."
Aveline looked up at him, sensing something heavier in his tone.
He stepped back, taking a deep breath. "I'm leaving."
The words hit her harder than any strike she'd ever faced.
"You… what?" she asked, though she had known this day would come eventually.
"The North," he said simply. "I have unfinished business there. There are things I need to uncover, mysteries I've been chasing while I stayed here in the South."
"What mysteries?"
"Oh no no, wolf cub. Mysteries you can't be privy to. If nothing else, but for your own safety."
Aveline knew he wouldn't budge on that.
Alden had told her before about his purpose. He had always loved the North. But the North was drenched in conspiracy. While the territory was powerful, it never truly got the chance to thrive. Its people always pressed under battle. Alden believed the reason lied outside of the North.
After his parents death, he became more sure that there was something or someone controlling the strings behind the curtain. And he had to find out who to make sure his brother can safely lead the people. Being the older, he should be the one to lead, but it was never his forte.
Aveline frowned. "Why here in the South, then? You could have left sooner."
Alden's gaze softened, almost wistful. "Because I wanted to see you grow first. And because the North… the North is not as stable as people think." He shook his head. "There's a conspiracy—small, hidden—but it could grow. I needed to understand the South first, gather knowledge and… people I can trust. Now I must return."
Aveline's fingers tightened on the hilt of her sword. "And your brother? You said before… he's the one you believe should lead."
Alden nodded, a shadow passing over his features. "Caelum is… extraordinary. Calm, wise, and perceptive in ways I am not. He reads people better than anyone I know, sees the consequences before they happen. The North needs someone like him—someone who can rebuild it not through force alone, but through trust and vision. I would have been too reckless to do it myself. I can support, I can guide—but he… he can lead."
Aveline glanced at him. "And you? What is your role, then?"
"Protector," he said simply. "Advisor. Watcher. Teacher, if necessary. But I won't be the duke. I'll make sure Caelum has everything he needs to succeed, and I'll root out the things that could harm him—or the people—before he even notices."
He gestured broadly toward the north, where the forest thickened into mountains and valleys. "The North is harsh, but honest. Its winters bite and its winds cut like blades. Its people are stubborn and proud, yet… they are loyal, if you treat them rightly. I love it—the land, the people, everything about it. And it is under threat. That's why I stayed in the South for these years—to see, to learn, to prepare. But now… I must return. There are threads I still don't understand, dangers I still need to unravel. If I delay further, the North could suffer."
Aveline's chest tightened. She understood the weight he carried—he wasn't leaving for adventure, not for glory. He was leaving to safeguard everything he cared about.
"Do you think it's safe?" she asked quietly.
Alden's lips curved into a faint, almost sad smile. "Safe? No. The North has never been safe. But with Caelum leading, it can be strong. It can endure. And with me working behind the curtain, I'll make sure it thrives, not just survives."
He paused, his gaze softening as it fell on her. "And you? Where do you go from here?"
Aveline tightened her grip on her new sword. "I leave the Faylinn estate. I'll see the world, learn it, and carve my own path. And when the time comes… I'll use what I know to help others. To protect those who cannot protect themselves. Maybe I'll even help you behind the curtain"
Alden chuckled and nodded approvingly, pride flickering in his eyes. "I thought you might say that. You have fire in your veins, and the discipline to control it. That makes you dangerous—to enemies, but also… capable of shaping the world."
He took a step back. "I'll miss seeing you every day, but… I know this is not the end. You'll grow. You'll become more than even I can imagine."
Aveline felt a lump in her throat but held her composure.
"And one day," Alden added, his tone suddenly lighter, teasing just a little, "don't make me regret giving you this blade." He gestured at her sword. "Use it wisely, Aveline. And remember, skill without purpose..."
Aveline gave a small nod. " Is wasted. I know. I won't forget."
Alden sheathed his own sword and glanced once more at the forest clearing. "Be safe, Aveline. And when the North calls, remember… there's more at stake than you can see here."
With that, he turned and began walking toward the tree line, disappearing into the forest.
Aveline remained in the clearing, the new sword in her hand, her mind spinning with thoughts of the North, her own journey, and the unseen conspiracies that Alden had hinted at. The forest felt different now—not just a place of training, but a threshold to a larger, uncertain world.
Her fingers tightened around the hilt.
And she knew… she was ready to face it.
******************************************
It wasn't even a year later, a few weeks before Aveline's 16th birthday, when the news spread. Alden Eryndale was missing and assumed dead. His younger brother, Caelum Eryndale (20), was set to inherit the dukedom.
Everything went numb for Aveline after that.