The first light of dawn broke gently over the treeline. Herbert awoke with the habits of age, his senses sharp even after a restless night. His gaze wandered—and froze.
Rael sat beneath an oak, legs crossed, eyes closed in quiet meditation. Across his lap rested a blade of unmistakable craftsmanship, and over his shoulders draped a simple traveler's cloak. But stitched faintly into its fabric was a crest Herbert knew as well as his own heartbeat.
The old man's breath caught. His staff trembled as he rose. Darren stirred, catching the change in Herbert's expression, and soon Lyra and Alice followed his gaze.
Herbert's voice came low, almost shaking.
"That sword… that crest… boy, where did you get them?"
Rael opened his eyes, blinking sleepily at the circle of stares.
"The sword? Grandfather gave it to me. And the crest—Grandmother stitched it on my cloak."
The air tightened.
Herbert's knuckles whitened on his staff. "…Then tell me their names."
Rael tilted his head, as though it were a strange question. But he answered without hesitation.
"Grandfather was Thorne. Grandmother's name was Martha."
The silence that followed was heavier than steel.
Lyra's hand covered her mouth, her eyes wide.
"Thorne the Stormbreaker… Martha the Elemental Matriarch… their names are spoken in every great hall. And you… you say them as though they were neighbors in a village?"
Alice's voice cracked with awe, her eyes fixed on Rael.
"You can wield both sword and spell… and yet you speak of them with such simplicity. Do you truly not understand the greatness of the ones who raised you?"
Rael blinked, looking between them, genuinely puzzled.
"Of course I know who they were. They were my family. Grandfather trained me. Grandmother kept me warm at night when the winters were harsh. She always made stew too salty." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "That's all there is to it."
The camp stared at him as though he had spoken blasphemy.
Darren's voice broke the stillness, cold as winter steel.
"A boy ignorant of the weight of such names claims their bloodline. Do you think us fools? Legends don't simply vanish into the woods to raise a child." His eyes narrowed, sharp and unyielding. "So—are you lying… or are you simply too blind to see the blood you carry?"
Rael scratched the back of his head, baffled by the intensity. "I'm not lying. Why would I? Here—"
From his pouch he pulled a folded, faded letter and a delicate handkerchief embroidered with the same crest.
"Grandfather's letter. Grandmother's handkerchief. That's all I've got."
Herbert stepped forward, hands trembling as he touched the cloth. His voice dropped to a whisper, more to himself than to the others.
"…This weave… there is no mistaking it."
Lyra's voice was hushed, but wary.
"If that is true… why would they retreat from the world? Why would names like theirs vanish into silence?"
Alice frowned, her awe tempered with confusion.
"And if it isn't true… then you walk a dangerous road, Rael."
Rael exhaled softly, tilting his head.
"I don't know. I never asked. They were just… them. Grandfather used to say, 'Don't carry names—carry your sword.' Maybe that's why they never told me much. I never thought it was important."
For a moment, even Darren faltered at the honesty. He turned away with a scoff, though the hard line of his shoulders loosened.
One by one, the group fell silent. They seated themselves slowly around the fading fire, each lost in uneasy thoughts. Rael leaned back against the oak, the innocence in his eyes unshaken. Lyra and Alice exchanged troubled glances, Darren sharpened his gaze upon the flames.
And Herbert… Herbert sat with his staff across his knees, his fingers trembling over the grain of the wood. His eyes stayed fixed on Rael, but they no longer saw the boy. They saw a lifetime ago—battlefields drowned in thunder and flame, comrades whose names had become legend.
The silence lingered, heavy as stone. None dared speak further, for fear of shattering the strange, fragile air that now surrounded Rael.
Darren busied himself with gathering what little remained of their gear, his movements sharp, clipped. Lyra and Alice exchanged glances but said nothing, their expressions a blend of awe and unease. Rael, oblivious to the weight he had placed upon them all, only gave a faint smile, as if the storm of questions meant nothing.
Herbert remained still the longest. His staff rested across his knees, his fingers tracing grooves in the wood. His eyes did not leave the boy—yet they did not truly see him. They were fixed on shadows of a past that stirred too vividly for comfort.
At last, the old mage drew in a long, shuddering breath.
"…We should move. The day will not wait for us."
No one argued. Quietly, they broke camp, and soon the morning light carried them onward, though the weight of Rael's words followed each step.
The road stretched long beneath the sun, silence their companion. Even when Lyra tried to lift the mood with a question or Alice hummed faintly to herself, the conversation quickly faltered, drowned beneath thoughts of the names Rael had spoken so simply.
By the time the sun sank low and shadows stretched long, the group had found a clearing to rest. A fire was kindled, sparks rising into the deepening night. The warmth of the flames drew them close, yet not even fire could banish the unease.
And Herbert—Herbert sat with the firelight flickering against his weathered face, the boy's voice still echoing in his ears. As the crackle of flame filled the silence, memory stirred, pulling him back to a time when he was young, arrogant, and certain of his place in the world…