The warm morning sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the war chamber, painting crimson and gold across the polished stone floor. Kaelus knelt at the center of the hall, sweat still clinging to his brow, qi faintly pulsing beneath his skin. His chest rose and fell with quiet control. He had done it.
He had broken through.
The second star now burned within him, bright and unshakable. At just fifteen, Kaelus stood among the youngest in history to achieve it. Most reached that level only after grueling campaigns and years of experience. He had done so before ever stepping foot on a battlefield.
Now, it was time.
He stood and made his way toward the great hall where his father, Lord Kaelen, was reviewing fresh reports from the front. Flanked by guards and advisors, Kaelen sat tall, armored even here in the capital—a general who never took off his command. His presence, calm and towering, demanded respect.
Kaelus approached and bowed low.
"Rise, Kaelus," Kaelen said without looking up from the scroll. "I felt the shift this morning. You've broken through."
"Yes, Father." His voice was steady, but anticipation buzzed beneath the surface. "And I'm ready to serve."
That got Kaelen's full attention. He placed the scroll down, his eyes narrowing.
"To serve," he repeated. "You mean to fight."
"I do. You promised that if I reached the second star, I could join the campaign."
Kaelen's gaze sharpened. "And you expect me to throw my son into the meat of a war just because you advanced early?"
Kaelus met his eyes. "Not the meat. Just the bone."
The room went silent. A few advisors raised eyebrows. One cleared his throat but said nothing.
Kaelen leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.
"There is a situation," he said slowly. "Rebels from one of the newly conquered provinces. Former soldiers turned bandits, it seems. They've slipped past the border patrols and fortified themselves in the foothills of the northern Horde Mountains. Over 150 of them—well-armed and already terrorizing villages."
"Then send me," Kaelus said immediately. "They're no threat to our main forces, and it's in our territory. Let me handle it."
Kaelen studied him. "I was going to let the local nobles deal with rebel remnants to test their loyalty. But these crossed the line. And perhaps… you need a test of your own."
Kaelus didn't speak. He didn't beg. He simply waited.
Kaelen gave a short exhale.
"You'll take one hundred men. No more. No support. You will command alone. You will succeed—or fail—on your own."
Kaelus bowed deeply. "Thank you, Father."
"Don't thank me yet," Kaelen said. "Some of these rebels were trained men. You will find they don't fight like bandits."
Kaelus nodded once, turned on his heel, and left the hall. What he didn't know—what Kaelen didn't say—was that a five-star guard would follow. Unseen. Watching.
He's still my son, Kaelen thought.
That night, the soldiers assembled. One hundred men, handpicked from the capital's reserve force. Most had never seen true battle. Some had. All were uneasy.
"He's fifteen," one muttered under his breath. "Barely a man."
"Still a two-star," another replied. "And the young master, no less. You want to tell him no?"
The grumbling quieted when Kaelus arrived on horseback, eyes scanning them sharply. He wore light armor, practical and fast, with his sword strapped to his back and his riding cloak fluttering in the evening wind.
He didn't speak long.
"We march at dawn," he said, voice loud and clear. "We will ride fast and light. We strike before they expect us."
Someone coughed. A few exchanged skeptical glances.
Kaelus saw it. Felt it. The doubt.
But he let it sit. Let it simmer. Soon, they'd understand.
The next morning, the gates of the capital opened as the company departed. Kaelus rode at the front, silent, focused. Behind him, one hundred riders followed—loyal, but unconvinced.
They rode through rolling hills and into the deepening wilderness. The warm winds gave way to colder air as the mountains loomed ahead. It would be a two-day ride to the rebel stronghold, and already, Kaelus could feel the tension.
Some looked at him as a child. Others as a symbol. None yet as a commander.
But he didn't care.
They will, he thought. After this, they will