I have watched ages mold themselves around a single choice.Empires rise from a whispered word; destinies crumble from the tilt of a hand.Now, as the company of Torvas prepared to leave the sanctuary, I saw another thread tighten thin, trembling, ready to pull an entire world with it.
Kaelar's death lingered like smoke among the stone halls. His body had been laid to rest, but his absence remained louder than any bell.
And Erias The boy who had once trembled in the shadow of menNow carried the weight of a sword that had outlived dynasties.
The High Priest placed a hand on the gates, murmuring a prayer of departure. Behind him stood the three knights, armored and solemn. Varos, Dream walked without expression, though I felt the ache beneath his calm. And Erias, newly robed in the deep red and gold of Torvas's chosen, held the sword Kaelar once wielded with effortless fire.
The gates shut behind them.
The journey to the capital began.
By nightfall, the company rested beneath massive trees, their silver leaves whispering with the wind. A fire crackled softly. The High Priest sat near it, rubbing his hands together as if warming both flesh and spirit.
Varos returned from fetching water, placing the filled flasks beside him.
The High Priest watched Erias in the distanceAlone.Sword swinging in the dim glow.His movements sharper than the last time they had seen him train. Not graceful yet, but carrying a tension forged by pain.
He spoke quietly.
"Varos… do you see it?"
Varos followed his gaze.
Erias thrust forward once, twice then pivoted sharply, sweat streaking his face.
"He has changed," the High Priest whispered.
Varos remained silent.
"He is no longer the boy you brought into Aramoor. Kaelar saw something in him. Something none of us did." The High Priest lowered his voice. "But… the boy carries too much for one so young. Too much grief. Too much need to prove himself."
Varos finally turned his head, golden mortal eyes flickering with something older, something ancient.
"Yes," he murmured. "He is changing."
He did not say whether the change comforted or troubled him.
The High Priest sighed.
"Kaelar chose him. That means the burden is ours to shape him into the shield this world requires."
Varos did not respond, though I felt the thought pressing behind his silence:
But burdens can break children.
The three knights had also been watching.
They nudged one another.
"That is the successor?" one whispered, scoffing."A child with a thin arm and a heavy sword.""Kaelar must have hit his head before choosing him.""He will collapse before the capital.""Or drop the sacred blade in the mud."
Their mockery turned to challenge.
They approached Erias, forming a circle around him.
"Well then," the first knight said, leaning on his sword, "show us how the chosen of Kaelar trains."
Erias said nothing.He did not stop moving his blade.His eyes did not even lift.
The second knight sneered."Oh? The great successor too grand to answer?""Or too weak?" the third added, tapping Erias's shoulder with the flat of his blade.
Still, Erias did not reply.
He simply breathed.
Steady.Quiet.Focused.
Their insult found no purchase in him.
So they escalated.
"Let us test him," the first knight said.
They charged.
The first knight lunged with genuine speed.
Erias did not flinch.
He parried clean, sharp, faster than the knight expected.
Steel rang like a struck bell.
The knight stumbled forward, momentum carrying him past Erias.
Shock rippled through him.
"What?"
But Erias had already repositioned his stance.
The second knight dove low, attempting to sweep Erias's legs.
Erias leapt Not gracefully, but instinctively And struck the knight's diaphragm with the hilt of his sword.
The knight rolled away, gasping for breath.
"You little"
The third knight came next, swinging hard, testing Erias's guard with blow after blow. Erias blocked most, dodged others, and found his footing between each strike.
When the knight tiredErias moved.
He pivoted.Raised his blade.Pressed it toward the knight's neck
And stopped the edge a breath away from skin.
The knight froze.His eyes widened in disbelief.
Erias stepped back.
He said nothing.
No boast.No pride.
Just silence.
The three knights lowered their blades, shame creeping onto their faces.
"We… accept defeat."
But victory did not bring Erias joy.
He sheathed his sword and walked into the forest, deeper and deeper, until the firelight behind him dimmed into a distant glow.
There, alone beneath ancient branches, his strength cracked.
He fell to his knees.
His fist struck the ground.
Once.Twice.Again.
"He was supposed to teach me," he whispered. "He wasn't supposed to die."
His voice broke.
"He wasn't supposed to leave."
The forest listened.
Erias pressed his hands to his eyes, shoulders trembling. The grief he had held like a stone finally slipped free.
"I'm not ready," he whispered. "Kaelar… why me? Why did you pick me?"
Tears dripped into the moss.
That is when she arrived.
Her presence does not disturb leaves.Her footsteps make no sound.Her shape is familiar yet always shiftingA woman in pale robes, woven from the hush between heartbeats.
Death.
She stood behind Erias, watching him with ageless stillness.
Erias sensed her only when the shadows cooled. He turned, startled, wiping his face.
"W-Who… who are you?" he asked.
She did not answer.
Death rarely wastes words.
Instead, she stepped closer, kneeling beside him. Her eyes dark, endless, boundless held no malice. Only truth.
"Kaelar died as he was meant to," she said softly. Her voice was not cold. It simply was. "His thread ended at its appointed moment."
Erias clenched his fists.
"That doesn't make it easier."
"No," she agreed. "It does not."
She looked out toward the flickering campfire.
"Kaelar did not love many," she continued. "He cared for few. Trusted fewer still."
Erias lifted his head.
Death met his gaze.
"But you," she said, "you were one of them."
Erias's breath caught.
"He saw in you what others did not. Not strength of arm. Not skill of blade. He saw a heart that refuses to yield. He saw the next shield of Torvas."
Tears returned, softer this time.
"I don't know if I can be him," he whispered.
"You cannot," Death replied. "No one can be Kaelar."
She placed a hand cool, gentle upon his shoulder.
"But you can be Erias. And that will be enough."
The forest held its breath.
Erias bowed his head.
Death stood.
"When next you hold your sword," she said, "do not hold it for his memory. Hold it for your own becoming."
And then As all endings do She vanished, leaving only the faint scent of still air.
Erias returned to camp slowly, eyes red but steps steadier. Varos looked up as he approached, watching the shift in the boy's spirit.
The High Priest felt it as well.
A softening.A strengthening.A quiet resolve replacing wild grief.
Though neither spoke of it aloud, both knew something in Erias had changed.
And II saw another thread settle into its place.
The boy had taken his first step not as Kaelar's shadow
but toward becoming something new.
Destiny trembled with anticipation.
For grief, when transformed, becomes power.
And Erias had just learned to carry it.