"Elders, Teacher Faidenthor," he began with quiet resolve, "may I cut this conversation short? The trainees need time to prepare. They should rest early — training begins at dawn."
Faidenthor gave a single nod. "Yes, so be it. We have our own matters to attend too — the council gathers tonight to discuss the Moonatorians."
With that, the elders turned and made their way down the corridor, their voices fading into the echo of footsteps. The two young trainees stood still, watching as the figures disappeared beyond the archway.
Devein waited behind them, arms crossed, his presence steady as ever. "Come," he said at last, his voice low but certain. "The night grows deep. You'll need your strength. Tomorrow, your path truly begins."
"Teacher Devein, do you think the council will try to reclaim Thallerion — take it back from the Moonatorians?"
Devein slowed his pace for a moment, then looked over his shoulder. "There's no need for a child to trouble himself with the affairs of adults," he said evenly. "For now, both of you should keep your minds on your training. Let's go."
The prince and his companion exchanged a look, then bowed in unison before following Devein down the torchlit path. The pendant at the prince's chest caught a flicker of light — a faint, steady glow that lingered like a quiet promise.
Inside the Cottage
The wooden door opened with a gentle creak, releasing the faint scent of pine and smoke. A modest hearth rested in the corner, and beside it, a small table marked by years of use.
"So, this will be your home for now," Devein said, stepping aside to let them in. "It may not look like much, but it's safe, and it's yours. Every journey begins somewhere humble. And—" he paused, glancing at the prince, "—your grandfather once stayed here too."
"He did?" the prince asked, surprise breaking through his fatigue. "What was he doing in Wendlock?"
Devein smiled faintly, though there was a touch of sadness in his eyes.
"He came seeking to awaken the gift in his blood. strong and proud. But… he never found the key to it. I was twenty-four then, still finding my own footing. I remember him clearly. He was a man of conviction. Quiet, but with purpose."
He drew a slow breath, as if remembering more than he said aloud.
"That meeting changed me. It's the reason I stayed here, why I began teaching. I didn't expect, all these years later, that his grandson would stand where he once stood."
"Hey, Teacher Devein," Matheros began, shifting on the bed as he ran a hand along the wooden frame draped with fur. "What about his father — our late King Cerceux? Did he ever meet you here?"
Devein smiled faintly, the memory stirring a distant look in his eyes. "The current king of Thallerion never once came to Wendlock, but I'm certain he knows of this place. Some paths kings choose not to walk, even if they know the way."
He drew in a quiet breath, then added, "Tomorrow, you'll meet the eldest son of Faidenthor. He's strict, but don't let that trouble you — he's a good man, and one of the finest teachers here. He's gifted with many talents. Try to get along with him. You might learn more than you expect."
"Ehh, Xerxez's talent is being a nest hunter!" Matheros blurted out proudly, puffing his chest as though to celebrate his friend.
"Matheros!" Xerxez groaned, shooting him a glare. "You're embarrassing me in front of Teacher Devein."
But Devein only chuckled softly. "There's no shame in that," he said. "In the old days, hunting was one of the noblest callings — a skill of patience, courage, and precision. It's a talent honored by many, and respected by all. You should be proud, young prince."
Uhm… Teacher Devein, do you have a child too?"
"Yes." He answered softly, his voice carrying a weight. "Before."
Something in his tone hinted at a sorrow long buried — a shadow from the past.
"So… you were an orphan too? Like the young prince?"
Devein shook his head gently. "No. Wendlock is my family. I am not alone. And for the young prince…" — he glanced at Xerxez with a faint, knowing smile — "Think of Wendlock as your home. Your family."
Xerxez smiled back, quietly touched by the words. But curiosity lingered in his eyes.
"Teacher Devein," he asked carefully, tilting his head, "when you said before… did something happen to your child?"
For a moment, the teacher's eyes grew distant — a flicker of fear and grief crossing them like a passing shadow.
Well…" he said at last, forcing a faint smile. "It's getting late. You should rest now. Tomorrow, we'll meet at the training camp."
He turned away, his steps slow, leaving the two boys behind — silent, thoughtful, and full of questions unspoken.
Matheros leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Do you think… something happened to his child?" he whispered.
Xerxez shook his head gently. "I don't know… but the way he looked — it felt like he's carrying something heavy."
Matheros frowned, clutching his blanket. "This is what I'm afraid of… What if, in the middle of the night, monsters come to snatch children — to eat them for supper?" His eyes darted around the room. "Xerxez, if you hear something… promise me, wake me up first!"
Before Xerxez could answer, Matheros dove under the covers, burying his face in the pillows.
"Hey! How dare you leave me alone!" Xerxez hissed, half-frightened, half-laughing. Matheros's words echoed in his head just enough to make his heart race.
A soft wind drifted through the open window, brushing against his skin. He peeked outside — just to be sure — before hurrying across the room and leaping onto the bed beside his friend.
*****
Meanwhile, in the Council Chamber
The council chamber was heavy with silence. Around the long oak table sat the elders of Wendlock, their silvered hair a testament to age and hard-won wisdom. Three lamps burned at the center, their flames steady and bright — small beacons of hope for a kingdom struggling to endure.
Alexunther rose, his hands pressed firmly against the table's edge. "King Hedromus has seized the four districts of Thallerion," he began, his voice sharp with restrained fury. "The Ursa people have enslaved our citizens there. Our monarchs — our bloodline — have been slain by the Moonatorian king himself."
A murmur rippled through the room, low and mournful. Then, from among the elders, Faidenthor spoke — his tone grave, yet steady.
"I know the pain your people bear," he said. "To live in chains, to be broken beneath foreign rule… it is a wound that never truly heals."
Another councilor leaned forward, the lamplight flickering across his lined face.
"The Moonatorians are no common foe. No blade forged by human hands can cut through their ranks. They are not to be met by steel, but by strength — power against power, magic against magic, spell against spell. A weapon alone cannot triumph over ability."
Alexunther nodded grimly. "Even King Cerceux's bullet could not pierce their skulls," he said. "Their hides are like armor, their bones harder than iron."
Faidenthor's gaze drifted toward the flames. "When I was a child," he murmured, "I saw men wield the power of entities — transform into beasts, their skin unbreakable. The balance of power has always rested on such bloodlines."
Alexunther straightened, resolve burning in his eyes.
"Elder Faidenthor, during the last battle, many of our soldiers awakened an Orion ability. It wasn't taught, nor summoned — it came of its own will."
The chamber fell into a hush. Even the lamps seemed to flicker in surprise.
From the far end of the table, a younger voice spoke — firm, but tempered with respect. It was Caldeir Faidenthor, seated behind his father.
"I never thought the people of Thallerion would awaken an Orion gift again," he said quietly. "It seems the old blood still remembers."
A silence followed — not of doubt, but of reverence. The name Orion hung in the air like an echo from a forgotten age.
Faidenthor folded his hands upon the table, his voice calm but resolute.
"If that is the case, then my son Caldeir will take charge of awakening this ability among the younger generation. Beginning tomorrow, the trainees will follow his discipline. As for the young prince — Devein will serve as his personal mentor."
Caldeir raised his head, the torchlight glinting across his broad shoulders. The faint scars upon his arms caught the glow like lines of old battlefields."But we cannot send them into battle," he said, voice firm as stone.
Alexunther frowned, confusion stirring behind his weary eyes."We can't send them—? But why?"
Caldeir met his gaze, calm yet unyielding."Because those whose powers are still awakening must be guarded. The Orion bloodline must endure — not perish in a single desperate act."
Alexunther's hands pressed against the table, his voice low and trembling."But our people — they're still chained, still burning under Moonatorian rule. Every day we wait, more of Thallerion is lost."
The torchlight flickered, shadows shifting over Caldeir's face as he turned toward him."I understand your pain, Master Alexunther. But in Wendlock, you must follow our order."
His voice deepened, carrying the weight of a wounded people."Thallerion once chose to follow the Cyprioxian faith — their sacred oaths, their hypocritical peace — while casting aside their true blood, their hunter's path. They silenced the Orion spirit, bound it with prayer and fear. And now, after all that, you ask us to rush to war before the children can even stand?"
The air in the chamber thickened, heavy with unspoken memory.
Caldeir's eyes softened, though his tone did not waver."We will not train these young ones to seek revenge. We will train them to remember what they are — hunters, protectors, the last flame of Orion blood. This is who we are."
He stood then, his shadow stretching across the stone floor."The Cyprioxians taught your ancestors to kneel, to hide their gifts beneath robes and ritual. They buried instinct beneath sermons. But here, in Wendlock, we restore what they tried to erase."
He placed his palm to his chest — a vow, quiet yet unbreakable."The Orion flame still burns. And I will see it awakened in this new generation, no matter how long it takes."
Alexunther's eyes dropped, the fury in his breath turning to shame. He had come seeking power — but found conviction. Slowly, he nodded, accepting the truth he had long avoided.
"We fled only because I was ordered to protect the prince and these generation, We came here to awaken the Orion gift," Alexunther continued, his tone straining with both grief and resolve. "Not for glory — but to give our people a chance to fight back. How long can they endure while we stand in silence?"
Caldeir's gaze hardened, though his words bore no malice.
"You mistake patience for silence," he said. "War is not waged by will alone. The Moonatorians are not beasts to be hunted like a wild bear, but conquerors forged in battle. To rise against them with untrained hands is to throw your people into slaughter."
He stood then, his broad frame casting long shadows across the chamber.
"If revolt is to come, it must be led by those who have mastered both power and purpose. That is what I will forge — not soldiers driven by grief, but warriors tempered by discipline."
Faidenthor nodded his head, his tone soft yet certain.
"The Orion path is one of endurance, not haste. Through training, we rebuild strength — and through strength, hope becomes action. Let us begin there."
Alexunther slowly sat, his breath unsteady but his eyes resolute.
"Then promise me this," he said. "That each dawn we spend in training will not be another day of silence — but a step toward the light our people in Thallerion waiting for us to reclaim the land."
Faidenthor's eyes met his.
"That is a promise I will keep," he said. "For even the stars must wait before they rise."
*****
The First Day in Wendlock
When dawn slit the veil of darkness, the forest awoke with a chorus of birds. Their chirps spilled through the mist, rising above the rooftops of Wendlock — a melody of survival for those who called this place home.
Among them, the newly arrived refugees from Thallerion stirred in their cottages. Then came the toll of the bell — deep, resounding — from the watchtower above. It rang with such force that even a sleeping butterfly would have startled mid-dream.
"Hey, Matheros!" Teacher Devein's voice cut through the clamor as he stepped inside the small cottage. "Can't you hear that bell? You're still half-asleep! Time to rise — time to be a hunter."
Matheros groaned, eyes blinking against the dim light, his hair a tousled storm. "Are we… going to school? In District Mintaka? It's still dark outside!"
"You're still dreaming, boy." Devein's tone carried a hint of humor, but also truth that struck like a slap of cold air. "This isn't Thallerion anymore. This is Wendlock."
"Yeah, Matheros, did you forget already?" Xerxez murmured as he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "We're refugees now."
Teacher Devein folded his arms, his gaze softening. "Follow me to the training grounds. All children here are treated equally — prince or peasant, makes no difference. Young prince, mingle with your age group, learn more than from any book. Out here, you'll learn to communicate, to survive, to respect one another." The boy nodded.
"Yesterday, you tested our bloodlines," Matheros mumbled, wiping the dried line of saliva from his cheek. "So what's today's lesson — more blood testing?"
Devein chuckled. "No. Master Caldeir will handle the training schedule. The test was for security — Wendlock has learned to be cautious. There are some who pretend to be kindred when they are not."
"Aha!" Matheros burst out, grin widening. "So you think we're aliens? Monsters in disguise?"
The teacher laughed under his breath. "Not quite. But I have to make sure your blood runs true."
"Teacher Devein," Xerxez spoke up, glancing toward the shaded window, "why do we have to wake so early? The sun's not even up yet."
"You're mistaken, young prince," Devein replied, stepping toward the doorway. Outside, pale light filtered through towering trees. "The sun is risen. It's the forest that hides it. These trees have stood since the age of our ancestors — older than our exile, older than our grief. Wendlock lives beneath their shadow, and we rise with them."
He turned, a faint smile crossing his weathered face."Now, come. Let's go to the venue."
---
In the Venue — Breakfast
Xerxez stepped outside, watching as other children emerged from their cottages, following the narrow path that wound toward a great wooden hall. The venue stretched wide before him, its roof supported by beams carved with old runes. Inside, long rectangular tables lined the room in rows, their surfaces set with simple wooden bowls and tin cups.
Children filled the benches, murmuring among themselves, laughter rising like sparks before breakfast. Torches blazed along the walls, their flames dancing over stone, casting a warm glow across eager faces. In the corners, teachers stood watchful, their eyes quietly scanning the crowd. Devein stood nearby, arms crossed, a faint smile tracing his lips.
Then — silence.
The hall hushed as the elders entered. Their presence alone stilled the children's chatter. At their head walked Elder Faidenthor, his cloak trailing like smoke, the glint of ancient sigils upon its hem. His gait carried both wisdom and gravity — like one who had seen too many winters and too few victories.
Matheros leaned closer, whispering under his breath, "No doubt about it — that old man we met last night is a wizard."
Xerxez smirked. "He's a good man. He gave me a pendant, remember? My grandpa trusted him."
"Whatever you say," Matheros muttered, crossing his arms. "Still looks like a real wizard to me."
On the raised stage, the elders gathered, taking their places with quiet precision. Their robes brushed the floor as they formed a half-circle, their faces solemn under the flickering torchlight. A hush hung over the children — a mix of curiosity, reverence, and the faint scent of baked grain from the steaming trays nearby.
Something in the air told Xerxez this was no ordinary breakfast.
It was a beginning.
Elder Faidenthor took a step forward, the soft tap of his staff echoing across the hall. His gaze swept over the children — faces both new and familiar, eyes wide with wonder, fear, and determination.
"Children of Wendlock," he began, his voice deep and resonant, "and those who have journeyed from distant Thallerion — I welcome you."
He paused, letting the silence hold his words. "You stand here, not merely as survivors, but as the heirs of forgotten legacies. Each of you carries a bloodline older than any crown, a spark woven by the hands of our ancestors — the hands that once shaped both steel and spirit."
A flicker of emotion crossed his eyes, like the memory of firelight over ruin. "The world beyond these forests has long misunderstood us. They call us outcasts. Wielders of dark arts. Demons, even. But hear me well — Wendlock is not a refuge of monsters. It is a haven of hunters, of seekers, of those who endure."
The children shifted, glancing at one another, some unsure, others proud.
"In time," Faidenthor continued, "each of you will learn the art of balance — between might and mercy, between courage and restraint. Your training will test more than your limbs; it will measure your heart."
He lifted his staff slightly, and the torches behind him flared, sending warm light cascading over the gathered faces.
"Today, your lessons begin — not to make you warriors of rage, but guardians of will. Remember this: power without purpose is a storm that devours its own sky. But power with honor…" he smiled faintly, "can restore even what was lost."
Then he turned slightly, gesturing toward the man standing behind him — broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, with arms thick as carved oak.
"Your first guide upon this path will be Caldier — teacher of skill, of weapon, and of mastery. His blade has sung against beasts and tyrants alike. His lessons will not be easy, but they will be true."
Caldier stepped forward, bowing once, his expression stern yet calm.
Faidenthor's voice softened. "And to the new generation — remember that Wendlock is your home now. Let your hearts be strong, and your bonds unbroken."
A murmur of reverence spread through the hall as Faidenthor lowered his staff. "Eat well," he said at last. "For strength begins at the table — and courage is born in the morning light."
Then, the foods was served. All the children were eating, munching with a new pleasure found with every bite. Xerxez was stunned by the unique food cuisine of Wendlock, it seemed similar to the cooking style of Martheuw Cereun though, mysterious Crane's eggs was undisputed in tastes.
At the center of the stage, Master Caldier stood tall, the torchlight glinting across his weathered features and the old scars carved upon his arms — marks of the wild, not of war. His gaze roamed over the children, silent and steady, until their laughter softened and the sound of chewing gave way to stillness.
He lifted his hand once, and his voice rolled through the hall — deep, commanding, yet alive with spirit.
"Listen, all of you," he began. "The food before you — it is no gift from merchants, nor tribute from kings. We did not buy it with coin, nor beg it from strangers. We earned it — through sweat, through skill, through the call of the hunt."
He gestured toward the roasted boar at the center of the tables. "That beast was taken in the deep woods, where the shadows move and the wind itself hides fangs. Every bite you take — remember — came from courage, not comfort."
A murmur passed through the hall of venue, the children glancing at one another, their awe growing.
"In Wendlock," Caldier continued, voice like thunder against stone, "we live not by gold, but by grit. We live by the edge of our blades, the strength of our arms, and the clarity of our senses. We rise before dawn, track the wind, and listen to the silence — because in that silence, the forest speaks."
He let the words settle, then lowered his tone.
"From this day on, you will not only learn to hunt the beasts that roam, but to hunt the weakness within yourselves. You will shape your will into a weapon — one that cuts through fear, through doubt, through the dark that seeks to devour us."
His eyes lingered on Xerxez and Matheros, then swept the hall once more.
"You are not here to play at war. You are here to remember who we are — Thallerions, hunters, heirs of Orion's bloodline."
He raised his chin, voice firm as steel. "Now eat. Fill your bellies. After this meal, your first lesson begins — and the forest will show no mercy."
—revised ends here—