The sun was setting, yet the world felt unchanged. He had spent years waiting—for what, he wasn't sure. But something inside him whispered that the time for waiting was over.
The road back to Dystonia was long, but Aldric barely noticed the miles passing beneath his tired steps. His body ached, his wounds burned, and his mind was clouded with exhaustion. Every step felt heavier than the last, but he pressed on, knowing that home was waiting for him.
By the time he reached the outskirts of the town, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows over the golden fields of corn. The familiar sight should have been comforting, but his heart was burdened with the weight of failure. The village was saved, yet at what cost? So many lives lost. The chief… he could still hear his final words, still see the life fade from his eyes.
Each step carried the echo of that final plea—a reminder that even victory bore a heavy price.
When the manor gates came into view, Aldric's vision blurred. The towering estate, always a symbol of safety and strength, now felt distant—like something belonging to another life. The guards at the entrance rushed to him, eyes wide with shock at his condition. One of them hesitated before running inside to call for the duke.
The doors to the estate burst open before Aldric could take another step. Claire Ravenshield stood at the threshold, her face pale as she took in the sight of her son.
"Aldric!"
He barely had time to react before she was upon him, wrapping him in a desperate embrace. The warmth of her touch was almost enough to break him. Almost. He wanted to say something, to reassure her, but his voice caught in his throat.
"You're hurt," she whispered, pulling back to cup his face, her delicate hands trembling. "You're burning up—what happened? Who did this to you?"
Aldric opened his mouth, but before he could answer, another voice cut through the air.
"So you've finally returned."
Duke Alistair Ravenshield stood a few steps away, his arms crossed, his sharp gaze scanning Aldric from head to toe. He looked relieved, though his expression remained firm.
Aldric straightened his back, ignoring the pain that flared through his body. "Father, I—"
"Inside. Now."
His mother guided him in as the duke followed behind. The servants rushed to prepare medicine, bandages, anything to tend to their young master's wounds. Claire stayed by his side, dabbing at the dried blood on his face with a cloth, her eyes filled with silent worry.
Alistair stood in front of him, studying him intently before finally speaking. "I heard what happened." His voice was calm, yet there was an unmistakable edge to it. "You fought the bandits. You risked your life."
Aldric clenched his fists. "I had to. They were—"
"You acted recklessly." His father's tone sharpened. "You could have died. Did you think you were invincible? Did you believe that honor alone would protect you?"
He had trained in swordplay, studied history, and even learned basic magic—but in the face of true hardship, every lesson felt painfully insufficient.
Aldric flinched, but he did not look away. "I couldn't stand by and do nothing."
Alistair exhaled, closing his eyes briefly. "Foolish boy." Then, to Aldric's surprise, his father stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "But… you protected them."
Aldric's breath hitched. His father had never been one for open displays of affection, yet in that moment, there was something heavy in his touch. Something that felt like pride.
"You have a noble heart, Aldric," Alistair admitted. "But heart alone won't be enough. You saw it yourself, didn't you? The world does not reward good intentions. Strength is what matters."
Aldric lowered his gaze. He had seen it. Felt it. Varek had toyed with him, belittled him, made him realize just how powerless he truly was.
His father continued, his voice softer now. "Rest. Recover. And remember this feeling. If you want to change the world, you must first become strong enough to stand against it."
Aldric did not respond. He didn't have to. The truth had already settled deep within him.
That night, as he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his body still aching, he made his decision.
Once alone in the quiet of his room, the familiar walls of the manor felt more like a prison than a sanctuary, echoing with the failures of the day.
In that quiet darkness, as a solitary beam of moonlight broke through the window, Aldric's resolve crystallized—it was not just a decision, but the forging of a promise to transform his helplessness into unyielding strength.
He would leave.
He had to.
Not because he wanted to prove anything to his father, not because he sought glory—but because he had seen the truth. The world was far crueler than he had ever imagined. Dystonia was just a small corner of it, a peaceful illusion built atop something darker. If he stayed here, he would always be protected, always be sheltered. But out there… out there, the world was waiting.
Dystonia, with its gentle rhythms and protective embrace, was a fragile bubble of safety. Beyond its borders lay a harsh reality—one filled with peril and the potential for greatness.
The first step had already been decided. The Night Academy. If he claimed he was going there, his father wouldn't question it. And from there…
His fingers tightened around the fabric of his sheets.
There was no turning back.