The next morning, Elowood was nothing but smoke and silence.
Ash floated like ghostly snow over burnt rooftops and scorched fields. Where laughter had once echoed and fires crackled in family hearths, only the cries of grieving survivors and the clatter of armored boots remained.
Leo sat on a stretcher, his torso bandaged tightly. He stared at the rising sun but felt no warmth. Just an emptiness — cold and coiling.
Beside him were the other children. Six in total. Wide-eyed. Hollow. Their homes gone. Their parents… gone.
And Fina?
Gone, too.
His last memory of her was his father pulling her toward the forest. He hadn't seen them since.
"Survivors will be relocated to the capital," announced the knight from before — the woman in gold-trimmed armor. Her voice was smooth, rehearsed. "You are the chosen few. Strong, brave, talented. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten."
Leo didn't speak. He didn't even look at her.
Because something was wrong.
He'd seen how the attackers moved. Precision, not chaos. Discipline, not desperation. And the Kingdom's soldiers? They arrived too late, yet too perfectly timed — like actors stepping onto a stage.
As they rode away from Elowood in a royal convoy, Leo saw a glint on the horizon — his father's sword, half-buried in ash. He clenched his fists, the cloth of his bandages tearing.
He wouldn't forget.
---
The capital — Eidralune — was the largest city in Valistheria. Walls like mountains. Spires like silver spears. Magic hummed through the streets, powering lanterns, vehicles, and floating runes that traced the skies. Leo should've been awestruck.
He wasn't.
They were led to a section of the inner city — an enormous stone complex known as the Valor Bastion. It was both a fortress and a school, one of many scattered across the kingdom. Here, the "chosen" would be trained.
Swordsmanship. Magic. Obedience. Loyalty.
Each child was assigned a mentor, a chamber, and a purpose. Leo, because of his performance during the raid, was placed under High Marshal Drenvar, a war veteran known for producing the most "useful weapons" for the crown.
"Your name is Leo?" Drenvar asked, examining him like a merchant inspecting steel. "You've got fire in you. Good. We'll beat it into shape."
Leo nodded once.
But behind his calm expression, questions festered:
Why had the royal family been so quick to respond?
Why were only the most magically-gifted children taken?
Why did no one even mention the attackers?
Weeks passed.
They were trained — harshly. Beaten for hesitation. Starved for mistakes. Rewarded only when they showed loyalty and compliance. Magic was forced out of them like water from stone. They were taught to hate demons, to seek out forbidden relics, and to see the King and Queen as gods.
Some of the children broke.
Others forgot.
But Leo?
He remembered.
Every night, he stared at the stars, whispering his sister's name like a prayer. He'd grow stronger. Smarter. Quiet. He would learn everything they taught him — but not for them.
For revenge.
---
End of Chapter 3