The Blood Moon had risen and set three nights ago, casting its crimson light over Silverfang village in a display that left even the elders speaking in hushed, reverent tones. Bete had spent that night on the roof of his family's home, watching the massive red orb traverse the star-scattered sky while strange dreams filled his mind—visions of running through moonlit forests with a pack that felt both foreign and familiar.
Now, as morning sunlight filtered through the autumn leaves, Bete made his way to the training grounds with a new sense of purpose. The Blood Moon had awakened something within him, a restless energy that made his usual practice sessions feel inadequate. He needed to push himself harder, learn faster, become stronger.
"You're early today," Sergeant Borin observed as Bete arrived to find the training area nearly empty. "The other children won't be here for another hour."
"I wanted extra practice," Bete replied, hefting his wooden practice sword. "I feel like I'm not progressing fast enough."
The gruff sergeant studied him with eyes that had seen decades of young warriors come and go. "Impatience is the enemy of true skill, boy. Better to build a solid foundation slowly than to rush ahead and develop bad habits."
"But what if slow isn't fast enough?" Bete asked, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "What if something happens and I'm not ready to protect the people I care about?"
Sergeant Borin's expression softened slightly. "That's a heavy burden for eight-year-old shoulders to carry. What's brought this on?"
Before Bete could answer, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted their conversation. Both turned to see a stranger walking toward the training grounds—a man of perhaps forty years, travel-worn but moving with the fluid grace of someone comfortable with violence.
The stranger was tall and lean, with dark hair streaked with premature silver and eyes that seemed to catalog every detail of his surroundings. His clothes were well-made but practical, designed for long journeys rather than appearance. Most notably, he carried a sword at his hip—not the ceremonial blade of a village guard, but a weapon that had clearly seen real combat.
"Excuse me," the stranger called out as he approached. "I'm looking for Captain Fenris Loga. I was told I might find him here."
"Captain's not due for another hour," Sergeant Borin replied cautiously. The peaceful nature of Silverfang meant that armed strangers were rare and potentially concerning. "Might I ask your business with him?"
The man's attention had shifted to Bete, who was still holding his practice sword in a ready position. Something flickered in the stranger's eyes—recognition, perhaps, or professional assessment.
"My name is Marcus Thorne," the man said, though his gaze remained on Bete. "I'm a retired adventurer looking for a place to settle down. I heard that Silverfang was a peaceful village with good people, so I thought I'd inquire about making it my home."
"An adventurer?" Bete asked, unable to hide his excitement. He had heard stories about adventurers—warriors and mages who explored dangerous dungeons and fought monsters for a living—but he had never met one.
Marcus smiled at the boy's enthusiasm. "Former adventurer," he corrected gently. "I hung up my sword a few years ago and decided to find a quieter life."
"What made you stop?" Bete pressed, much to Sergeant Borin's obvious embarrassment at his lack of manners.
"Boy, that's not—" the sergeant began, but Marcus held up a hand.
"It's a fair question," Marcus said, his expression growing more serious. "I stopped because I learned that there are some battles you can't win through strength alone, and some prices that victory demands that aren't worth paying."
The weight behind those words made Bete shiver, though he wasn't sure why.
"You handle that practice sword well," Marcus observed, changing the subject. "How long have you been training?"
"A few months," Bete replied, trying not to show how pleased he was by the compliment. "But I feel like I'm not learning fast enough. Everyone else in my group is bigger and stronger than me."
Marcus nodded thoughtfully. "Size and strength are useful advantages, but they're not the only path to effectiveness. May I see your stance?"
Bete immediately dropped into the ready position Sergeant Borin had taught him, feet properly spaced, sword held at the correct angle. Marcus walked around him slowly, examining his form with the critical eye of an expert.
"Your foundation is solid," Marcus said finally. "Sergeant Borin has taught you well. But I can see what you mean about needing to compensate for size disadvantages."
"Is there a way?" Bete asked hopefully.
"Several ways, actually. The question is whether you're willing to work harder than everyone else to master them."
"I am," Bete said without hesitation.
Marcus exchanged a look with Sergeant Borin, who shrugged as if to say 'the boy's been asking for more advanced training anyway.'
"Tell you what," Marcus said. "If Captain Loga gives me permission to settle in the village, and if your parents approve, I'd be willing to supplement your regular training with some additional lessons. I've learned a few techniques over the years that might help someone in your situation."
Bete's heart leaped with excitement, but before he could respond, the sound of approaching voices announced the arrival of the other trainees. Kael appeared first, followed by Marcus—the boy, not the adventurer—and several other children from the village.
"Bete, who's that?" Kael asked, eyeing the stranger with curiosity.
"This is Marcus Thorne," Bete explained. "He's a retired adventurer who might be moving to our village."
The word 'adventurer' sent a ripple of excitement through the group of children. Soon Marcus found himself surrounded by eager young faces, all asking questions about dungeons and monsters and magical treasures.
"Alright, settle down," Sergeant Borin commanded, though he seemed amused by the children's enthusiasm. "We have training to do, and Master Thorne has business with the Captain."
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Captain Fenris appeared at the edge of the training ground, his usual morning inspection having brought him to check on the youth training program. His eyes immediately found the stranger, and Bete saw his father's posture shift subtly—not aggressive, but alert and ready.
"Captain Loga?" Marcus asked, stepping forward with the proper deference due to a village's military leader.
"I am. And you are?"
"Marcus Thorne. I was hoping to speak with you about the possibility of settling in Silverfang."
Captain Fenris studied the man carefully, his experienced gaze taking in details that Bete was only beginning to learn to notice. "You're armed."
"Old habits," Marcus replied calmly. "I've been traveling for several weeks, and the roads aren't always safe. I'm more than willing to abide by whatever weapons policies your village maintains."
"Walk with me," Captain Fenris said after a moment's consideration. "We can discuss the matter privately."
As the two men walked away, Bete found himself hoping desperately that his father would approve Marcus's request. The chance to learn from a real adventurer, someone who had faced genuine dangers and survived to tell about it, was more than he had ever dared to dream.
"Focus, boy," Sergeant Borin called out, snapping Bete back to the present. "Daydreaming doesn't improve sword work."
The morning training session passed in a blur of forms and exercises, but Bete's attention kept drifting to where his father and Marcus were engaged in quiet conversation at the far end of the field. He couldn't make out their words, but he could read their body language well enough to know that the discussion was serious and thorough.
Finally, as the training session was ending, Captain Fenris and Marcus returned to the group.
"Master Thorne has been granted provisional residency in Silverfang," Captain Fenris announced. "He'll be staying at the inn while he looks for more permanent housing."
Bete felt a surge of relief and excitement.
"Additionally," his father continued, "he's offered to provide supplemental training to some of our young people, assuming their parents approve. Anyone interested should discuss it with their families."
The training session ended with the children chattering excitedly about the possibilities. As they dispersed to return home, Marcus approached Bete.
"I meant what I said about the additional training," he said quietly. "But I should warn you—my methods are more demanding than what you're used to. I don't believe in making things easy."
"I don't want easy," Bete replied firmly. "I want to be strong enough to protect the people I care about."
Marcus studied him for a long moment, and Bete had the strange feeling that the man was seeing something beyond his eight-year-old exterior.
"Strength comes in many forms," Marcus said finally. "Some of them exact prices you might not expect to pay. Are you sure this is what you want?"
Bete thought of Mira's trusting smile, of his grandmother's gentle wisdom, of the way his father commanded respect through competence and compassion rather than fear. He thought of the fox he had successfully deterred and the satisfaction of protecting something precious.
"Yes," he said. "I'm sure."
Marcus nodded slowly. "Then we'll begin tomorrow, after your regular training. Meet me at the old oak grove just outside the village. And Bete?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Bring your determination. You're going to need it."
As Bete walked home that afternoon, his mind raced with possibilities. A real adventurer was going to train him personally, teach him techniques that went beyond the basics he was learning with the village guard. For the first time since the Blood Moon had awakened his restless energy, he felt like he was taking a meaningful step toward becoming the protector he wanted to be.
He had no way of knowing that Marcus Thorne carried secrets and sorrows that would shape both their destinies, or that the skills he was about to learn would one day be all that stood between his family and complete destruction.
For now, he was simply a boy who had been offered the chance to become something more, and he was eager to seize it with both hands.