The morning sun rose over the fortress of the border, casting golden rays upon the walls that had endured more than a decade of unending conflict. Achilles Verentis stood atop the highest bastion, his crimson cape dancing with the breeze. His eyes were quiet, locked on the distant horizon—where the lands of the Ascendrian Empire lay like a sleeping beast.
He exhaled slowly. The air was thinner today. Or maybe he was just used to it after all these years.
A quiet knock echoed against stone.
"Enter," Achilles said without turning.
Kael stepped in, now weathered, his beard peppered with gray. A trusted friend, strategist, and one of the few who had stayed by Achilles's side since the first day of his banishment. "They're preparing the men for your departure, Commander. Word has already spread. This is your final week."
Achilles nodded. "Has the barrier sustained the full test?"
Kael smiled slightly. "Not a single Ascendrian has breached it in the past six months. The mana stone barrier holds."
Achilles finally turned, his obsidian armor gleaming under the sun. His expression was calm, but within those eyes flickered something deeper—pride, relief, and... doubt.
He walked with Kael to the edge of the ramparts.
Below them, soldiers trained with vigor, their movements sharp. New recruits, veterans, all unified under the banner of Valeriand.
"I remember when this was a wasteland," Achilles murmured. "Mud and broken spears. Cowards and greenbloods."
"Now it's a fortress. A monument," Kael said.
Achilles offered a small chuckle. "To think... all this because they wanted to get rid of me."
---
His thoughts wandered. Back to that night.
The alarms had blared like the howls of a dying god. Fires lit the sky as the Ascendrians launched a full-scale invasion in the dead of night. The enemy's forces had tripled, a legion of high-ranking mages and swordmasters leading the charge.
Chaos had erupted. Soldiers screamed. Morale crumbled.
Achilles had stood atop the tower then, eyes wide not in fear, but in disappointment. "They dare... one final time."
But instead of panic, he descended into the heart of the barracks and rallied his soldiers like a true commander.
"Listen well! This may be the end for some of us—but it will never be the end for Valeriand!"
He raised his sword to the sky, and the flames around them seemed to flicker in defiance.
"You have endured worse! You have fought longer! What are they but cowards behind enchanted robes and golden swords? Are you not the shield of this kingdom?!"
And in that moment, as if the very earth heard his cry, the men stood straight. Fear drained from their faces. The banner of Valeriand rose high. And they fought back.
---
Later that month, when the battlefield was quiet once more, Achilles had begun refining the greatest invention of his years at the border: the mana stone barrier.
An idea born from necessity. A defense forged by desperation.
Mana stones—crystals harvested from fallen Ascendrian mages and deep-seated caverns—contained natural reservoirs of mana. Like batteries, they could be charged and expended. Most believed once depleted, they were useless.
But Achilles, drawing from both his magical instincts and the analytical mind of a former prodigy, discovered otherwise.
He realized that the stones could be replenished—not by artificial means, but by borrowing mana directly from nature.
The wind, the soil, the rivers. All living things carried latent mana. With careful rune construction and proper magical tuning, he built a system that allowed these stones to absorb ambient energy slowly over time.
The idea was revolutionary. But it came with a cost.
If even one rune sequence was misaligned, it could draw too much mana from its surroundings—draining life, or worse, destabilizing nature itself.
Only Achilles knew the proper tuning method. He kept this secret, not out of pride, but caution. The world was not ready. The kingdom... was not ready.
And so he never documented it fully. The system worked because he maintained it. Because he understood the balance.
---
Now, standing before the gently humming mana barrier—a veil of faint blue light shimmering across the border—Achilles felt something strange.
Not joy. Not triumph.
Something emptier. The silence of purpose fulfilled.
"The border will hold, even when I'm gone," he said softly.
Kael looked to him. "And what of you, Commander? What will hold you together, once you're no longer Achilles of the border?"
Achilles didn't answer right away.
He turned his gaze toward the east, toward the heart of Valeriand.
"I haven't heard from my parents in over a year," he finally said. "Not a single letter."
Kael blinked. "You never mentioned..."
"Didn't want to raise questions. Maybe they were just... too busy. Maybe the court interfered. Or maybe... something happened."
His fists tightened behind his back.
"But I'll know soon enough. I'll see them myself."
And yet, a strange tightness grew in his chest.
Kael rested a hand on his shoulder. "We'll be with you. No matter what."
Achilles nodded, though the wind seemed colder now.
---
That night, the soldiers celebrated.
Drums beat. Wine poured. Laughter filled the once-solemn fortress. It was the eve of Achilles's final days here—one last week before he would return to the capital.
But he stood alone, once more at the highest watchtower.
Below, the mana barrier gleamed like a dome of stars.
Above, the heavens watched silently.
And within him... memories stirred like ghosts.
"Commander, they've breached the south wall!"
"We're outnumbered! Fall back to formation three!"
"Achilles, we need you now more than ever!"
The screams, the fire, the blood... all burned behind his eyes.
He closed them.
"It's over," he whispered.
But some part of him knew—it never truly would be.
The flame of command never dies. It only moves.
And Achilles Verentis was not done just yet.