The streets of the city looked almost ordinary in the early morning light. Dust clung to the corners of buildings, but the chaos of the plaza felt like a memory fading with each step Eryndor took. Kael walked beside him, lighter on his feet now, the remnants of yesterday's storm gone from his cloak.
They paused at the edge of the city gates. Eryndor's hand brushed over the stone archway, feeling the subtle grooves beneath his fingers. For a moment, it was just him, just a boy walking through streets he had known all his life.
"Well," Kael said, adjusting the strap of his sword, "I guess this is goodbye… for now."
Eryndor nodded. "Until the next one."
Kael smirked. "Knowing us, that's never far away." He clapped Eryndor on the shoulder and strode off, disappearing into the streets like a shadow freed from a cage.
Eryndor lingered for a moment, letting the calm settle around him. Then, with a small exhale, he turned toward the academy.
Life at the academy felt almost surreal after the events of the past weeks. The morning drills, the lectures, the endless scrolls of exercises—it was all mundane, yet comforting in its rhythm. He moved through each task with the same precision he had once reserved for combat, now with a quiet ease that came from experience.
In the practice yard, Eryndor sparred with his classmates, carefully controlling his strength so no one was truly hurt. A fist pressed against a training dummy, a kick sent it spinning, and yet, no sparks, no uncontrolled force — only measured motion.
During meals, he sat quietly, listening to chatter he didn't need to join, watching the world go by in small slices. Someone dropped a cup of tea, a friend laughed, the sun fell through the academy's high windows, painting stripes of light on the wooden floor.
It was… normal.
Weeks passed. Assignments were completed with ease, lectures absorbed with attention. The academy staff murmured their approval, and on the final day, as the ceremony for graduation began, Eryndor stood in line among his peers. Robes neatly pressed, shoulders squared, he accepted his certificate with a nod.
His classmates clapped and cheered, but his gaze drifted toward the balcony where his father waited. Calm, controlled, but his eyes carried the weight of someone who had plans far beyond simple celebration.
After the ceremony, they walked together through the gardens. The air smelled of blossoms and warm stone. Birds trilled overhead. Children ran past, laughing, unaware of the power their city's streets had just witnessed.
His father stopped beneath a large oak, roots twisting like ancient veins. He placed a hand on Eryndor's shoulder.
"You've grown stronger than I imagined," he said quietly, eyes glinting with pride—and something sharper, something almost dangerous. "But this city… this world… it is too small for what I have in mind for you."
Eryndor raised an eyebrow. "Too small?"
His father smiled faintly, not warm, but calculating. "Yes. There are opportunities… larger challenges. Things you will need to prepare for. Things that will demand all that you are—and more than you think you can be."
Eryndor felt a familiar stir in his veins. That quiet hum of power, of potential, that had always warned him the world was bigger than it seemed. He nodded slowly. "Then I'll be ready."
His father's eyes softened just a fraction before the smile vanished, replaced by a gleam of intent. "I know you will. But be careful… not everything waits for a hero to arrive. Sometimes, the world takes what it wants, whether you're ready or not."
Eryndor looked up at the sky, the sun high now, spilling gold across the academy grounds. For a moment, he allowed himself to just breathe, to feel the quiet.
And somewhere in the distance, he could already feel the storm stirring again.