The sun was almost gone, its last light spilling over the old training field like fading gold dust.
A lone figure stood at the center — a boy who refused to give up.
Kairen's hand swung forward again. His voice cracked. His breath tore through his chest like sandpaper.
Nothing happened.
Again.
He shouted one more spell, the same one that had failed a hundred times before. The words left his throat like broken pieces of glass. The wind didn't move. The dirt stayed still.
Kairen's legs trembled. His fingers ached. But he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop.
From the shadow beneath a stone archway, a man watched silently. His eyes were calm but heavy with memory.
Magister Kellan had seen many students break before. But this boy — Torren's son — was different.
There was a fire in him. Small, flickering, but stubborn enough to burn through pain.
Kairen raised his hand one last time. His body rocked. His voice sounded like a raw whisper.
Still nothing.
His knees gave out, hitting the ground hard. The noise reverberated across the vacant yard.
He remained there with dust on his cheeks and gasping. Sweat burned his eyes as it trickled down his cheek.
Then came the heat.
It started deep in his back — right where the mark was. A sharp, crawling pain spread under his skin. It burned hotter, like iron pressed against flesh.
Kairen's teeth clenched. His breath hitched. The world blurred around him.
Not now. Please, not now.
Every time he failed, the mark punished him. But tonight, it felt crueler than ever — like it was alive, angry, mocking him. The hurt caused his vision to flash white, but he wouldn't scream.
He'd already provided the world with enough of his vulnerability.
Then a calm voice spoke behind him.
"That's enough for one day, boy."
Kairen froze.
He turned around slowly.
Magister Kellan stood a few steps away — tall, steady, his eyes unreadable. The last bit of sunlight cut across his face, making him look carved from the light itself.
"M-Magister Kellan…" Kairen's voice broke. His body lunged up, nearly toppling again as his legs trembled under him.
"Easy." Kellan's tone softened. "You're not in trouble."
He pointed toward a stone bench near a tree. "Sit down before you fall down."
The words struck Kairen as mercy and humiliation simultaneously.
He stumbled to the bench and gave a feeble nod. He sat down to find the world somewhat skewed. His hands trembled on his knees.
He saw everything. He saw me fail.
The thought buried itself deep.
Later, Kellan approached from behind and took a seat on the bench in silence. A thick quiet fell between them, yet it wasn't rude. The steady, repetitive singing of twilight crickets filled the air like the planet letting out a breath.
Kairen kept his gaze low. His heart pounded in pain.
Finally, Kellan spoke.
"Are you really the son of Torren?"
Kairen nodded, slow and unsure.
"I thought so," Kellan said. His voice carried a trace of warmth now. "You've got his eyes. And his impossible stubbornness."
He laughed quietly, his voice harsh yet kind. "Your father was my best friend. He could lift a boulder with one hand — and tell the world's worst jokes with the other."
Kairen blinked.
He'd grown up hearing about Torren the Hero — the savior of cities, the flame of Azurefall — but never about Torren who told bad jokes.
For the first time, the statue in his heart started to look a little more like a person.
"Did you know my mother too?" Kairen asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kellan smiled wider. "Of course I did. Elara — the sharpest mind I've ever met. We used to say she ran the missions while Torren just made noise." He looked down, a faint sadness touching his features. "Is she well?"
"She works at the city archives now," Kairen said. "Still yelling at people for using the wrong shelf."
Kellan laughed quietly. "That sounds just like her."
A thoughtful silence took the place of the fading laughter.. Then, Kellan's voice grew serious.
"I've been watching you, boy. You have a fighter's heart, not a mage's. Have you ever thought about another Path?"
Kairen hesitated. "You mean… like a swordsman?"
"Exactly."
A small flicker of hope sparked inside him — fragile, trembling. But the old fear rose just as quickly.
He lowered his head. "But… a real swordsman needs a magic blade. Like Rayan's. I don't have magic. I don't have anything."
"You're wrong."
Kellan's voice cut through the dusk like a blade.
Kairen looked up.
"Magister…" His throat tightened. "Was my father ever… scared?"
The question hung in the air.
Kellan's hand stilled. His gaze softened in a way Kairen had never seen.
He stuck his hand into his belt and pulled out a whetstone and a simple dagger — simple, but sharp and in good condition.
As he began to hone it, the soft scraping noise filled their air between them.
"Every day," Kellan said quietly. "Your father was scared every day. Scared of failing. Scared of losing the people he loved. Scared of what would happen if he wasn't strong enough."
He lifted his eyes, meeting Kairen's. "But that fear never stopped him. That's what made him a hero. Courage isn't the absence of fear — it's standing your ground while your hands shake."
Kairen felt something crack inside — a tiny, painful warmth rising in his chest.
Kellan leaned forward slightly. "A magic blade doesn't make a warrior. Your father's greatest weapon wasn't the fire he wielded — it was his heart. He never gave up. Not once. Not when it hurt. Not when it was hopeless."
He hesitated, attempting to take in what he had said. "I saw that same thing in you today. You kept fighting when everything said stop. Maybe your magic will come, maybe not. But that spirit — that refusal to break — is stronger than any spell."
Kellan stood, tucking the dagger away. The sun was gone now, the world painted in soft blue and gold shadows. His voice carried quietly through the cooling air.
"Stop trying to be your father. Stop chasing a legend. Be someone who protects others in your own way. With your hands. With your heart. That's the kind of strength Torren would be proud of."
Kairen couldn't find the words. His back continued to burn, but the pain was different — not punishment, this time, but something alive, pulsing, like a heartbeat.
Then a shout cut through the calm.
"We got the spicy noodles!"
Kairen blinked. The sound was so loud, so full of energy, that it broke the heaviness like glass.
Dain came running from the archway, a big grin on his face, arms full of food boxes. Behind him, Ilya followed with her usual calm expression, the smell of hot peppers following her.
"I told the guy to make them extra spicy!" Dain said proudly. "It builds character!"
He froze mid-step when he saw Kellan. His eyes went wide.
"M-M-Magister Kellan, sir!" he stammered, trying to salute without dropping the boxes. "What an honor! We were just—uh—bringing food! For Kairen!"
Kellan's stern face melted into a small smile. "At ease, son. Good to see students looking out for one another."
"He called me son," Dain whispered loudly, nearly vibrating.
Ilya simply gave a calm nod. "Magister."
Kellan looked at her, his eyes narrowing slightly in recognition. Veyne… Ilya Veyne. He had heard that name before. The Moonlit Blade. His expression shifted — amusement replaced by quiet respect.
"Miss Veyne," he said, nodding once.
He put a steady, kind, and truthful hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Take into account what I said," he said quietly. Then, glancing at Dain's boxes, "And eat. You've earned it."
Magister Kellan then turned and left, his shadow lingering in the dusk.
They all remained silent for a minute.
Then Dain exploded.
"What was THAT?! You were talking to Magister Kellan! The Magister Kellan! Did he invite you to his squad? Did he tell you about the war? Did you ask if Lyraelle's single?! And what was that look he gave Ilya?!"
Kairen groaned and pressed his hand to his face. "Dain, please…"
Ilya sighed. "You're impossible."
But Kairen smiled. For the first time in that day, he felt the burden in his chest relax.