The Send-Off
Dawn slid through the latticework and painted Aeros' ceiling in gold. He lay there a few extra breaths, riding the mix of nerves and excitement that wouldn't quite let him sink or float. Today wasn't just a trial; it was time to leave home for real.
He dressed simple—travel robes, light boots, hair tied back—and crossed the quiet corridors to the private dining hall. The palace felt different this early: fewer footsteps, more birdsong from the open courts, kitchens murmuring instead of roaring.
Aria was already there, pouring tea. "Morning, baby bird," she said, smile warm enough to cut the chill. "Sleep?"
"Enough," Aeros said, sliding into his seat. "Heart didn't get the memo."
"Mm." She pushed a plate toward him—his favorites, because of course she'd remembered. "Eat anyway. Nerves burn fuel."
They talked about easy things while he worked through breakfast: his friends' latest disasters, a new mural in the east hall, which uncle had offended which elder by "borrowing" a relic to test it on a training dummy. Aria told a short, mischievous story about sneaking into a forbidden library when she was his age and getting caught because she sneezed on a scroll. Aeros laughed, and the knot in his chest loosened a little.
"You've grown so fast," she said, after a quiet stretch. "Feels like yesterday I was chasing you down these halls because you stole a whole basket of moonfruit."
"I maintain the basket was unguarded," Aeros said. "Finders keepers."
Aria reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "Listen. Wherever you go, whatever you touch—remember who you are. Strength is good. Character is better."
Aeros swallowed, then nodded. "I know. I'll make you proud."
"You already do," she said, eyes bright. "But I expect updates. If you vanish for months, I'll drag you home by the ear."
"That would be a sight," he said, grinning.
They finished in companionable silence. At the window, they stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the city wake: banners lifting, markets opening, training bells calling the morning drills.
"Promise me one more thing," Aria said, softer now. "Stay kind. The world will try to talk you out of it."
"I promise."
She brushed a hand over his horns the way she had since he was small, then drew him into a tight hug. "Alright. Let's go before I decide to lock you in your room."
They walked out to the main terrace. The send-off crowd had already gathered—disciples, elders, merchants, kids on their parents' shoulders. A path opened as Aeros stepped forward, the sound rolling over him like surf: cheers, names called, a thousand good-luck wishes braided into one.
Serus waited near the steps, tall as a rumor and twice as casual. He tipped his chin when Aeros approached. "Ready to be famous for the right reasons?"
"As ready as I'll get," Aeros said.
Claudia stood beside him in dusk-hued armor, raven hair braided back. She hooked a finger at Aeros; he bowed out of habit, then straightened when she pulled him into a brief, rib-tight hug.
"Little hopper," she said, amused. "Don't let your feet outrun your head."
"Yes, Master."
She looked him over, eyes catching details most people missed. "Bow form?"
"Sharp."
"Temper?"
"In training."
"Good." Her hand settled on his shoulder. "Power without perspective is a storm with no rain. Remember why you draw the string."
Aeros breathed out. "I will."
The air changed.
It wasn't wind; it was pressure, the way a storm announces itself before the first drop. A round of silence spread through the terrace. Overhead, space folded open like a door, and a man stepped through it.
Orion Stormhaven didn't need heralds. The plaza felt smaller when he arrived, and not because he was towering—though he was. It was the gravity of him, the weight of a life lived at the tip of a spear and the center of a family.
Aria and Serus bowed. The crowd followed in waves.
Orion's gaze found Aeros at once. He smiled, and for a heartbeat the world felt easy.
"Aeros," he said, voice carrying without force. "Walk steady. Most 'impossible' things become possible the moment you take the next step."
Aeros stood taller. "Yes, Grandfather."
"You carry our hopes," Orion went on, "but you also carry your own. Keep both. Seek strength, but don't trade your compass for a blade."
He laid a hand on Aeros' shoulder—warm, firm, grounding. "Go. Learn. Return."
"Thank you," Aeros said, throat tight but voice clear. "I'll honor our name."
Orion's eyes softened. "I know." He turned, and the fold of space closed behind him as he left—no thunder, just the bell of the city resuming its ring.
The cheer that followed was wild and relieved and a little teary. Aeros swept the crowd with his eyes: friends waving, elders nodding, smiths raising hammers like toasts.
Aria reappeared at Serus' side and pinched his waist, hard enough that he winced. "Promise me you'll keep him alive," she said.
Serus put on his most innocent face. "Me? I am safety."
Aria arched an eyebrow.
"Fine," he said, laughing. "I promise."
She turned to Aeros and cupped his face. "Be good. Be careful. Write."
"I will." He hugged her once more, memorizing the way she smelled like tea and ink and steel.
Serus clapped his hands. "Alright. Gather your things. We leave at noon."
Aeros nodded, heart hammering in a good way now. He glanced at Claudia. "Any last orders?"
"Eat," she said. "Nap for a quarter hour. Then go."
Aeros blinked. "A nap?"
"The world loves to test you right after you decide you're ready," she said, deadpan.
He grinned despite himself. "Yes, Master."
They split; Serus to finalize routes, Claudia to speak with an elder, Aria to field a flood of well-wishers. Aeros took one last look at the terrace, breathed deep, and headed inside to pack.
The trial would be hard. Good. He didn't want easy. He wanted true.