Two Months into the Apprenticeship
Cling... clank... clink...
The training grounds of the Assaroth manor were a symphony of striking steel.
Rune, now nearly six years old, moved with a newfound fluidity. Every swing of his practice sword was no longer just a physical motion; it was a conduit for the energy he was learning to pull from the world around him.
"Good, Young Master! Feel the ether. Gather it into the steel with every strike!"
Erik's voice barked over the noise of the other guards.
"Sir! Yes, Sir!"
Rune shouted, his face beaded with sweat.
"Let the blade find its own momentum,"
Erik instructed, circling his student like a hawk.
"Don't just muscle it. Use the ether to anchor the force. Push the limit of your impact!"
Erik watched with a proud, hidden grin. In just two months, Rune's progress had been nothing short of superb. The boy's senses were sharpening daily; the threshold of the Squire Class was no longer a distant dream, but a mountain he was actively climbing.
The Mid-Morning Storm
The steady rhythm of Rune's life was shattered on a fateful morning by a scream that didn't come from the training grounds. It was Hilda. Her voice, usually calm and composed, was frantic, echoing through the stone corridors of the manor.
Rune froze mid-swing. The servants and guards erupted into a blur of motion. The air grew thick with a different kind of tension—not the cold pressure of a domain, but the raw, human electricity of a looming crisis.
"My mother!"
Rune gasped, dropping his practice sword.
"The baby is coming!"
He rushed toward his mother's chambers, but the hallway was a bottleneck of scurrying maids and hushed whispers. Just as Rune reached the door, the crowd parted. A woman in a stark white clinician's coat strode through the chaos. She was elegant, stern, and carried an aura of such absolute authority that the frantic atmosphere settled instantly in her wake.
It was Doctor Ester Hel.
"Doctor! The room is ready,"
Hilda said, breathless.
"My lady is waiting for you."
"Good,"
Ester replied, her voice a cool blade that cut through the panic.
"Let us begin. Hilda, with me. The rest of you—back to your posts!"
The heavy oak doors slammed shut, leaving Rune standing in the hallway. He felt small. For hours, he paced, cornering every passerby to ask how he could help, only to be met with gentle smiles and a dismissive wave.
"Everything will be alright, Little Master,"
They told him. But the hours dragged on. Unlike Rune's own birth, this vigil lasted eight grueling hours. Rumors of small complications whispered through the vents, making Rune's heart hammer against his ribs.
He ignored the heat of the midday sun pouring through the windows, his entire world narrowed down to the silence behind that door. Then, finally, a cry broke the silence. It wasn't the roar of a warrior, but the sharp, piercing trill of new life.
The door creaked open. Ester stepped out, wiping her brow, a tired but triumphant smile on her face.
"Congratulations, Rune. It's a girl."
The New Protector
"Young Master? Your mother is asking for you,"
Hilda whispered, beckoning him inside.
Rune stepped into the dim, warm room. The scent of medicinal herbs and iron hung in the air. Ravina lay against the pillows, her face haggard and pale from the ordeal, but her eyes held a radiant, exhausted joy. In her arms lay a small, swaddled bundle.
Rune approached the bedside on tiptoe. The baby was so tiny, so incredibly delicate, that he was terrified to breathe too loudly. He looked at the miniature hands, wary of even reaching out, as if a single touch might break her.
"She's... lovely, isn't she?" Ravina whispered, her voice a soft caress.
Rune leaned in closer, squinting. "She's very small, Mom. And... kind of wrinkly?"
Ravina let out a weak, melodic chuckle.
"All babies look like that at first, my love. She's spent a long time in the dark. We have to wait for her to get used to the world outside."
"Oh,"
Rune said, his face filling with wonder.
"So she'll get cuter later?"
"Yes, dear. Much cuter."
Rune looked at the sleeping infant, a sudden, fierce protectiveness rising in his chest.
"What's her name, Mom?"
Ravina looked out the window at the brilliant mid-morning sun.
"She was born when the light was at its strongest. Let the flames of passion be her guide through the shadows of Yggdrasil. She shall be called Rorry—the echo of the flame that will one day roar."
Rune reached out, finally letting the tip of his finger brush the baby's velvet-soft cheek.
"Rorry,"
he repeated.
"Don't worry, little sister. Big brother is here."