Hurry up, Aden," Richard called out, his voice echoing lightly through the trees. "We don't want to be out here when night hits. Here."
Richard stepped closer and passed me a wood axe. The handle was worn smooth from years of use, the metal edge nicked and scarred from countless swings.
"Chop a few over there," he added, nodding toward a nearby tree.
I caught it instinctively and simply nodded.
"Okay, Dad."
I walked toward the tree he pointed out. The forest was calm, far calmer than the battlefield I still remembered so clearly. The air was cool, carrying the scent of leaves and damp soil. Sunlight filtered through the branches above, casting broken shadows on the ground.
As I held the axe, something felt strange.
Unsettling.
The weight of it rested naturally in my palm, as if it belonged there. My fingers adjusted their grip without conscious thought. For a brief moment, the axe felt no different from my sword.
My heart tightened.
It was like my former self had surfaced for just an instant.
I positioned my feet, my body straightening unconsciously. My arm extended forward. I focused, not on the tree itself, but on the point where the blade would land.
I concentrated.
Then I sliced.
The axe moved cleanly through the air.
The thick tree branch fell instantly, severed in one smooth motion. It hit the ground with a dull sound, rolling slightly before coming to a stop.
Silence followed.
Richard froze mid-step.
"Ho… how did you do that?" he asked, his voice strained as he moved closer. "Aden?"
"What do you mean, Dad?" I asked, forcing innocence into my tone. "I simply cut the tree."
Richard didn't answer right away.
He approached the fallen branch slowly, crouched down, and picked it up. His eyes narrowed as his fingers traced the surface of the cut. He turned it slightly, inspecting it from different angles.
The cut was too clean.
Far too clean for a child.
I had forgotten for a moment.
Richard was a retired knight.
He straightened and looked at me again, his gaze sharp and searching.
"Do you know what this means?" he asked.
I hesitated.
Before I could say anything, Richard suddenly burst into laughter.
"It means my son is destined to be a great warrior!" he declared loudly.
He stepped forward and pulled me into a tight hug, lifting me slightly off the ground.
"Hahaha! A father couldn't be more proud!"
His laughter echoed through the forest, warm and genuine.
"That's enough," Richard said after a moment, setting me down. A wide smile curved across his lips. "Let's finish up here quickly."
We continued chopping firewood. I was careful this time—far more careful. I slowed my movements, dulled my swings, made mistakes on purpose. Richard didn't notice. He was still smiling.
Once we had enough, we stacked the firewood together and started heading back toward the house.
The path home was quiet.
"Dad," I asked after a while, breaking the silence, "who is the strongest warrior of this era?"
Richard turned his head toward me, studying my face.
"Sometimes," he said slowly, "you make me feel like I'm talking to an old man. You know that?"
That's because I am old, I replied inwardly.
"The strongest, eh?" Richard continued, thinking aloud. "That would be the Eight Archmages of the noble houses."
"Mages?" I asked, shocked. "No swordsmen?"
Richard shook his head.
"Ever since the Great Battle a hundred thousand years ago—or so they say—no swordsman has ever risen like they did in the legends."
"You mean like Aden Vale?" I asked quietly.
"Yes," Richard replied without hesitation. "Exactly like Aden Vale. He's an inspiration to everyone who pursues the path of the sword."
He sighed, the sound heavy.
"But unfortunately," he continued, "it's nothing more than a legend now."
My steps slowed slightly.
What?
What exactly happened in the last hundred thousand years?
Had the art of swordsmanship been lost? Forgotten? Replaced?
The thought stayed with me as we reached the front of the house.
Richard noticed my silence immediately.
When we entered and dropped the firewood inside, he placed a large hand on my shoulder.
"Son," he said gently, lowering his voice, "don't be so down. Who knows? Maybe one day you'll become one of those legendary warriors."
Elena opened the front door just then.
"You're back," she said warmly. "Come inside, both of you. Dinner's ready."
"We'll be there soon, my love," Richard replied, pulling her closer and giving her a quick kiss.
"Richard, not in front of Aden!" Elena protested, pushing him away. Her cheeks flushed red.
Even though this was normal for couples…
I could never get used to the cringe.
I turned away and walked straight inside.
At least don't do it in front of me, I muttered inwardly.
I went to my room and pushed the door open.
It was small.
My bed took up most of the space, pressed against one wall. A small reading table sat near the window, just large enough to hold a few books. Sunlight streamed in faintly through the glass.
I took off my coat and boots and set them aside.
Then I went to the dining table.
A roasted chicken sat at the center, surrounded by other dishes. The smell filled the room, warm and inviting.
"Happy birthday, my beautiful baby!" Elena exclaimed, wrapping me in a tight hug.
The suddenness caught me off guard.
It completely slipped my mind, I thought. How old am I now, really?
It didn't matter anymore.
"You're going to hug me to death, Mom," I said, trying to pull away.
"It was just yesterday when I first held you in my arms," Elena continued, refusing to let go.
"Dad, help!" I shouted.
"Darling, it's okay," Richard said, standing up and trying to pry her off me. "You're making me jealous."
Elena finally released me, and Richard pulled her back to their seats.
I dragged out a chair and sat down.
"Hey, son," Richard said, smiling. "I got something for you."