---
Dawn had no patience for hesitation.
Rexor was already in the yard, fists and feet moving with the relentless rhythm of a storm contained within muscle and bone. Each strike was precise, each pivot deliberate. Dust lifted around him with every kick, every step. The morning light caught the sweat on his forehead, but his eyes were fixed, sharp—hungry for the impossible.
Maxmilian watched from the doorway. His expression was unreadable, calm, but every movement of Rexor's body was cataloged, every misstep noted and stored away. He did not intervene unless absolutely necessary. The boy had grown strong, dangerous even, and Maxmilian had learned long ago that guidance was often more subtle than interruption.
"Again," Maxmilian said, voice quiet but carrying weight. Not an order. A challenge.
Rexor's muscles tensed, and he moved faster, harder. His shadow stretched long against the cracked stone of the yard, striking, spinning, falling, rising. Each strike screamed confidence—but not wisdom. Maxmilian stepped just enough into his path, letting him stumble, correcting balance with a hand that could stop him without force.
"You are predictable," Maxmilian said. "Power without consideration becomes bait."
Rexor straightened, chest heaving. "I'll control it next time," he muttered. But there was no apology in the words. Only certainty that he would push again, harder, until he found the line between restraint and recklessness.
The session ended not with triumph, but with measured breathing. Maxmilian watched him gather his things, towel sweat from his brow, each movement deliberate.
"You're planning something," Maxmilian said softly.
Rexor did not answer immediately. He had been preparing his words, weighing them, like he had trained his body. "I want to go outside," he said finally, calm and dangerous. "Not just to hunt demons… I want to explore. And I want to do it as a party."
Maxmilian's lips curved into a smile almost imperceptible. A smile that had waited six years for a single word. "And how will you form this party?"
Rexor's eyes gleamed, just a fraction, the way fire glints before it roars. "I think I have a plan," he said, voice steady. "A real plan."
Maxmilian nodded once. That was all the approval the boy needed.
---
Later, when Rexor had gone to prepare supplies, Maxmilian called Voryn.
"Rexor wants to explore," Maxmilian said, voice low.
"I know," Voryn replied instantly. Not surprise. Not question. Only certainty.
"My son is good at leading," Maxmilian continued. "But he can't understand people."
"He doesn't need to," Voryn said. "I'm with him."
Silence stretched between them. Not the empty kind, but heavy, weighted with past battles, lessons unspoken, trust earned. Maxmilian only nodded. That was enough.
---
Rexor moved through the city at twilight, each step calculated, purposeful. He did not sneak. He did not hide. Instead, he left his mark. Small, subtle, but visible to those who paid attention.
Posters went up quietly, pinned on walls, tucked under doors, left in corners where eyes could find them without asking.
The city isn't safe.
I am taking initiative to make it safe.
I will not sit behind walls. I will go into the Outer Lands.
I am forming a party. If you are capable and willing to join, find me.
We have a guide.
—Rexor de Strauss
Each message was a spark. Each spark carried weight. It was a call to the brave, the foolish, and the curious.
Merchants saw them first, tucking the words behind counters, frowning. Children pointed and whispered. Guards paused, reading without comment. Fear and intrigue mingled in the air.
And Rexor watched from the shadows, unseen but certain. He had done more than prepare his body. He had begun to shape the city's perception of him. The next step, the real test, would follow soon.
---
At home, Aurélia was gathering supplies for the evening when she noticed a shadow move past the shutters. She peered into the dim street and saw one of Rexor's posters pinned under a lantern, flapping slightly in the wind. She picked it up, reading quickly, eyes widening.
Her heart clenched. "He's serious," she whispered.
Maxmilian did not respond immediately. He had been checking maps, notes, and patrol rotations. Finally, he set them aside, looking at her with calm intensity.
"Yes," he said softly. "He is."
---
Night fell fully, swallowing streets, dimming lamps, and sharpening the quiet. Rexor moved like a shadow himself, Voryn beside him. They carried only what they needed: weapons, food, water, and the instincts honed over years of relentless preparation.
"This is the first test," Voryn said quietly. "Not the Outer Lands. Not the demons. The city itself."
Rexor nodded. His eyes scanned alleyways, rooftops, streets. Every shadow could hold threat. Every whisper could carry meaning. This city had been home, yes, but tonight it became a proving ground.
By the time they returned near the Strauss home, their route planned, their first destinations mapped, the last detail accounted for, Rexor finally spoke.
"Voryn! Do you think... Someone will come for us?"
Voryn's eyebrows rose slightly, but he said nothing. He did not need to.
---
Aurélia noticed the movement long before anyone spoke.
A sudden hammering at the front door. Shouts. Steel against wood.
She rushed to Maxmilian. "What is happening?"
Maxmilian's jaw tightened. "Royal guards," he said. No further explanation. Calm, controlled, but his eyes sharpened.
Rexor and Voryn were already waiting inside. Both silent, ready. Neither looked back.
Aurélia's hands shook. She clutched Maxmilian's arm. "Why are they here?"
Maxmilian did not answer immediately. He only watched the guards approach, every muscle tuned, every calculation accounted for. His face betrayed nothing.
The guards arrived at the door, official, stern. One of them spoke with a clipped tone:
"Rexor de Strauss. You are requested at the royal court. Immediately."
Aurélia gasped, stepping forward. "No! He cannot—he is not ready!"
Maxmilian's hand rested on her shoulder. Calm, controlled, unflinching. "Aurelius family?," he said.
The guards did not look at her. They did not need to. Authority had no need for explanation.
Rexor nodded once to Voryn. Silent confirmation. Voryn's eyes narrowed, and he fell into step beside him. Both moved forward, unhesitant, carrying the weight of years and the promise of action.
Aurélia's knees threatened to buckle. She grabbed Maxmilian again, voice trembling. "What will they do to him?"
Maxmilian's eyes were steady. "They will see what they always see: the boy I trained. And perhaps, they will finally know what we've known all along."
She did not understand fully. She would not until later. She could only watch, heart in her throat, as her son and his companion disappeared into the darkness of the city.
The door closed behind the royal guards, final and absolute. Silence followed. The house felt empty in a way it had not in years.
Aurélia sank into a chair, hands clutching her chest. Maxmilian stood by the window, eyes on the horizon. Neither spoke. The city outside was calm, quiet—deceptively so. But both knew: tonight, the game had begun.
Somewhere beyond the walls, the Outer Lands waited. But so did the royal court. And Rexor de Strauss, sixteen by years but sharpened by circumstance, would meet both on his own terms.
The house remained, unbroken but tense. Aurélia's tears fell quietly, silently, like rain over stone. Maxmilian did not look at her. He only planned.
Plans were necessary now. For the boy. For the city. For the world that would not wait.
And somewhere in the shadows, Voryn's presence lingered. Silent, unflinching, ready.
The future had been called. And Rexor had answered.
---