The forest stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of towering oaks and whispering pines. Their trunks rose like pillars, bark scarred by age and storms, while branches tangled overhead to form a canopy that filtered the moonlight into fractured silver beams. Mist clung to the ground, curling around roots like pale fingers, and every breath carried the damp scent of moss, earth, and decaying leaves.
The clearing where Siegfried trained was ringed with stones half buried in soil, as though marking some forgotten boundary. Ferns grew thick at the edges, their fronds brushing against his boots whenever he strayed too close. The air was heavy, filled with the hum of insects and the occasional flutter of wings from unseen birds. Shadows shifted constantly, playing tricks on the eye, and Siegfried often wondered if the forest itself was watching him.
Aster claimed the forest was alive, not merely with creatures but with memory. "Every tree here has seen battles," he once said, resting a hand against the rough bark of an ancient oak. "Every stone has felt blood. You train here because the forest remembers, and it will teach you if you listen."
Siegfried had tried listening, but all he heard were goblins. Their guttural snarls echoed through the underbrush, blending with the rustle of leaves. They moved like predators, slipping between shadows, their glowing eyes betraying their presence long before their bodies emerged. Sometimes they came in twos, sometimes in packs, always testing him.
At fourteen years old, Siegfried Lunark stood in the clearing with a sword that felt far too heavy for his hands, his breath quick and uneven as he tried to steady himself. The blade was plain, its steel worn from use, but to him it was a burden and a promise. His mentor, Aster, watched from the shadows of the trees, arms folded, his sharp eyes fixed on the boy's stance.
"Balance," Aster said, his voice calm but commanding. "The sword is not your strength. Your stance is. Without it, you are nothing but a boy waving steel."
Siegfried adjusted his feet, widening his stance, grounding himself in the damp soil. He wanted to impress Aster, to prove he was more than a boy, but his arms trembled under the weight of the blade. From the treeline came a guttural hiss, followed by the shuffle of clawed feet. The goblins were waiting.
They emerged from the mist, hunched and wiry, their eyes glowing faintly like embers. Crude weapons dangled from their hands, and their snarls filled the clearing. Siegfried's heart hammered against his ribs, but Aster did not move to intercept them. He remained still, his expression unreadable.
"They are your lesson," Aster said. "Do not fear them. Learn from them."
The first goblin lunged, shrieking. Siegfried raised his sword, clumsy but determined, and the clash rang out, steel against rusted iron. The force jolted through his arms, nearly knocking the blade from his grasp. He staggered, breath catching, but Aster's voice cut through the chaos.
"Hold your ground!"
"I am holding it!" Siegfried snapped, his voice cracking with effort.
"Then stop wobbling like a newborn foal," Aster shot back, his tone dry.
Siegfried gritted his teeth, forcing his feet to stay planted. He pushed back, the goblin snarling as its weapon skittered away. Another rushed in, circling, testing him. Siegfried's breath quickened, but he remembered Aster's words: balance first. He shifted, let the weight of the blade guide him, and struck. The goblin fell back, disarmed but alive.
"Better," Aster said. "Though you still swing like you are trying to chop firewood."
"At least I hit something," Siegfried muttered, glaring at him.
Aster smirked. "Barely."
The goblins regrouped in the shadows, snarls rising like a chorus. Siegfried tightened his grip, sweat dripping from his brow, his arms aching from the earlier clashes. He thought the fight was over, but Aster's sharp tone cut through his relief.
"Do not lower your blade. They are not finished."
Siegfried groaned. "I was hoping they would be."
"Hope is for fools. Raise your guard."
The goblins surged again, this time in a pack of five. They came from different angles, their crude weapons flashing in the dim light. Siegfried's heart raced as he spun to meet the first, parrying clumsily. The second struck from behind, forcing him to stumble forward. His boot caught on a root, and he nearly fell.
"Watch your feet!" Aster barked.
"I am watching them!" Siegfried snapped, barely catching another strike.
"Then stop tripping over them."
The boy cursed under his breath, swinging wildly to push the goblins back. One darted low, aiming for his legs again. He blocked, but the force sent him staggering. Another goblin leapt onto a fallen branch, using the height to strike downward. Siegfried raised his sword just in time, sparks flying as steel met iron.
"Too slow," Aster said.
"I am still standing!" Siegfried shouted.
"Barely."
The goblins pressed harder, their snarls echoing through the clearing. Siegfried's arms burned, his breath came in ragged gasps, but he refused to yield. He pivoted, striking one across the chest, sending it tumbling into the ferns. Another lunged, and he sidestepped, letting its momentum carry it past him. He struck again, the blade biting into its weapon and snapping it in two.
Aster's voice carried across the chaos. "Better. You are learning to use their mistakes."
"I would learn faster if you helped!" Siegfried retorted, sweat stinging his eyes.
"If I helped, you would learn nothing."
The boy growled, frustration boiling, but he fought on. The goblins circled, snarling, their glowing eyes fixed on him. He steadied his stance, grounding himself in the uneven soil. He remembered Aster's words: balance first. He let the weight of the sword guide him, not his panic.
The next wave came, three goblins rushing together. Siegfried braced, parried the first, pivoted to catch the second, then ducked as the third swung overhead. His blade flashed, catching the strike, and he shoved the goblin back. His arms trembled, but his movements were sharper now, less frantic.
Aster nodded, though his tone remained sharp. "You are still sloppy, but you are improving."
"Sloppy? I am surviving!"
"Survival is not enough. You must master them."
The goblins snarled, regrouping once more. Siegfried's chest heaved, his muscles screamed, but his eyes burned with determination. He raised his sword, ready for the next clash. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the mist curling tighter around the stones, the shadows deepening.
They came again, faster, more coordinated. One feinted left, another struck right, while a third darted low. Siegfried's instincts screamed, and he moved without thinking. He parried the first, pivoted to catch the second, then kicked the third back before it could reach his legs. His blade flashed, his stance held, and for the first time, he felt in control.
Aster's voice carried across the clearing, softer now. "Good. You are beginning to listen."
Siegfried smirked, despite the sweat dripping down his face. "Maybe I am finally better than your insults."
"Do not flatter yourself," Aster replied, though his eyes gleamed with approval.
The goblins snarled, but their attacks grew hesitant. Siegfried's strikes were sharper, his parries smoother, his movements more precise. He anticipated their rhythm, adapted to their feints, and used the terrain to his advantage. Roots no longer tripped him; branches became obstacles for his enemies. He fought not with desperation, but with determination.
When the last goblin fell back into the shadows, the clearing fell silent. Siegfried stood in the center, chest heaving, sword angled toward the ground. His arms trembled, his body ached, but his eyes shone with resolve.
Aster stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You are learning, Siegfried Lunark. The forest will shape you, if you let it."
Siegfried swallowed hard, staring into the dark where the goblins had vanished. "Four years of this, and you still sound like a riddle."
"Four years, and you still complain like a child," Aster replied smoothly.
"I am fourteen. Not a child."
"Then stop whining."
"I was not whining."
"You were."
Their voices clashed almost as sharply as their blades had, but beneath the bickering was a rhythm as familiar as the forest itself. Siegfried's frustration was real, yet it carried no bitterness. He had grown used to Aster's sharp tongue, and in truth he relied on it. Every insult was a challenge, every correction a reminder that someone believed he could be better.
The clearing smelled of sweat and iron, the mist curling tighter now that the goblins had fled. Siegfried lowered his sword, his arms trembling, and dropped onto a stone at the edge of the ring. His chest rose and fell like a bellows, each breath heavy with exhaustion.
Aster joined him, settling onto a fallen log with the ease of a man who had fought a thousand battles. He pulled a flask from his belt, took a sip, then handed it to Siegfried. "Drink. You will need it."
Siegfried accepted, gulping greedily before coughing. "Tastes like dirt."
"It is water from the stream. Dirt is part of it."
"You could at least boil it."
"You could at least stop complaining."
Siegfried smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Four years, and you still think insults are teaching."
"They are. You remember them better than my wisdom."
"That is because your wisdom sounds like riddles."
Aster chuckled, a rare sound that softened the edges of his stern face. "Perhaps. But you are still alive, are you not?"
"Barely," Siegfried muttered, though his grin betrayed him.
The forest around them seemed to breathe, the canopy whispering as the night deepened. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called, its voice echoing through the mist. The stones of the clearing glistened faintly with dew, and Siegfried thought again of Aster's words—that the forest remembered. He wondered what battles had been fought here before, what warriors had stood where he now sat, and whether they too had been mocked by their mentors.
Aster rose, brushing dirt from his cloak. "Enough rest. Tomorrow the goblins will come again, and you must be ready."
Siegfried groaned, leaning back against the stone. "Do they ever stop?"
"No. And neither will you."
"I am fourteen. I should be sleeping, not fighting monsters every night."
"You are fourteen. That is why you fight. If you wait until you are grown, it will be too late."
Siegfried sighed, staring at the sword resting across his knees. Its steel was plain, worn, but in the moonlight it gleamed faintly, as if it carried secrets he had yet to uncover. He traced a finger along the blade, feeling the nicks and scratches from countless battles.
"Do you ever wonder why it is always goblins?" he asked quietly.
Aster's gaze lingered on the treeline. "Because they are weak enough to teach you, yet strong enough to kill you if you falter. They are the perfect lesson."
Siegfried frowned. "So I am just practice."
"You are becoming more than practice. You are becoming a warrior."
The boy fell silent, the weight of the words settling over him. He thought of the goblins' glowing eyes, their snarls, their relentless attacks. He thought of his own trembling arms, his clumsy strikes, his stubborn defiance. He thought of Aster, always watching, always mocking, yet never abandoning him.
The forest held its secrets, the prologue of Siegfried's story hidden in shadows. He did not yet know the threads that bound him to the past, nor the destiny that awaited him. But as he sat in the clearing, sword in hand, he felt the weight of something greater. The forest had shaped him, the goblins had taught him, and Aster had guided him with scolding, with sarcasm, and with a bond forged in four years of fire and steel.