The huntress smiled, her expression calm yet proud. As she stepped forward, her eyes shimmered green, and a soft hum filled the air. She raised her hand, and light gathered around her fingers, swirling like living vines.
Then—fwssh!—the glow solidified into a bow of living wood, its limbs curved with elegant strength. Delicate leaves etched in emerald light spiraled along its frame, each one pulsing faintly as though alive.
She drew an arrow of pure energy, its tip glowing bright as dawn—then released.
Thwip!
The arrow struck the distant target with flawless precision, splitting straight through its center. Gasps rippled through the children.
"Whoa! She's a wood element!" Matheros exclaimed, eyes wide.
The huntress lowered her bow, the glowing vines fading from her hand. "Wood is not only gentle," she said softly, "but enduring. Every leaf carries the memory of the earth that raised it. Remember that, young ones—the strength of your element lies in how you understand it."
Teacher Devein noticed the small crowd gathering and hurried over, concern etched across his face. "Master Caldier, what's going on here? Did the boys cause some kind of trouble?"
Caldier turned slightly, his expression calm but intent. "No, nothing of the sort. In fact, you arrived just in time. You're his personal mentor, yes? But I believe…"—his eyes flicked to Xerxez—"the young prince must now be under my watch as well."
Devein folded his arms, cautious. "And may I ask why this sudden interest, Master Caldier? You've many students to oversee. Why single out the prince?"
"Because I am the head instructor," Caldier replied firmly. "And the young prince of Thallerion shows remarkable signs of potential—signs I cannot ignore. His shard revealed something beyond our usual spectrum. That alone demands special attention."
Devein studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "If this will help his growth, then I'll trust your judgment. But do not mistake my words—I remain his mentor. I will walk beside him on this journey."
Caldier's lips curved into a knowing grin. "Of course. I wouldn't dream of it. After all, you were his grandfather's most loyal student, weren't you?"
Xerxez blinked, his curiosity sparking. "Wait—you were my grandpa's student, Teacher Devein?"
Devein smiled faintly, memories flickering behind his eyes. "Yes. When your grandfather stepped down from the throne, he would often travel here in secret. Even after the Cyprioxians cast out the Wendlock dwellers, he never forgot us. He believed the true strength of Thallerion rested not in crowns… but in the spirit of its hunters."
Caldier nodded in agreement. "A wise man, your grandfather. And now, it seems, his legacy breathes again."
Matheros tilted his head, impatient curiosity breaking the solemn air. "Uh… so, Master Caldier—about that 'legacy'—which faction does he belong to then?"
Caldier folded his arms, studying the faint blue shimmer still hovering around Xerxez's hand. "Hmm. For now, place him in whichever faction he chooses. We'll discuss his true alignment later—once we've gathered what we need to confirm his element."
The huntress nodded. "Understood, Master Caldier."
Xerxez stepped forward, eyes still wide with awe. "Teacher Vadylly, can you teach me how to shape my element? Your bow—it's… incredible."
She smiled, "You're welcome to visit the Wood Faction anytime, young prince. Or," she added with a teasing grin, "you could always join us. I'd be glad to guide you myself."
But before Xerxez could answer, Matheros leaned in, his voice rising in protest. "Wait—what about me? You're not gonna leave me behind, right, Xerxez?" His eyes gleamed with a mix of worry and stubbornness. "We've been through all this together. You can't just switch sides now!"
Xerxez chuckled softly, glancing at his friend. "Relax, Matheros. No one's getting left behind."
Elders gathered again within the stone hall, the air heavy with murmurs and unease. The faint glow of the shard—cracked, yet pulsing with restless energy—rested atop the round table. Master Caldier had sent it for scrutiny, its strange hue stirring both wonder and dread.
Many among them speculated that the fragment had simply been burned or broken. Yet Elder Faidenthor, eyes sharp as candleflame, shook his head slowly.
"No… this is no accident. The shard grasped something — a power that does not belong to mere element. It reflected what lies within the boy's soul."
He stepped closer, laying a trembling hand beside it.
"If the shard turned dark violet," Faidenthor's voice quivered, "then we may be standing before a truth we dare not ignore. There is darkness mingled with light inside the young prince. To disregard this omen could bring calamity. But if we confront it — if we understand it — we might help him awaken his true nature before it consumes him."
Caldier nodded thoughtfully.
"I've spoken with the boy. His heart is good, steady. He's not reckless — not defiant. Whatever power lies within, it has not yet tainted him."
The elders exchanged glances, weighing his words. Then, slowly, Faidenthor's gaze turned distant — as if peering back through time.
"Zerceux Herzthroven… Xerxez's grandfather," he murmured. "I remember the day he awakened his Orion ability. The heavens themselves trembled when his Cephues blood stirred. That day, his mind became one with his weapon — he could bend it with mere thought. His will commanded light and steel alike."
He paused, sorrow shadowing his face.
"But even he… could not awaken it in full. The Cephues gift slumbered, incomplete — its true potential sealed away by forces we did not yet understand."
A hush fell across the chamber.
"You mean," Caldier said softly, leaning forward, "that the violet hue may not be a curse… but a sign — the mark of Cephues awakening once again?"
Faidenthor's eyes gleamed beneath the torchlight.
"Yes. The Cephues bloodline — rare, feared, and revered — flows in the young prince's veins. If that is true, then Xerxez carries not only the legacy of Thallerion… but the shadowed gift that once forged heroes and destroyers alike."
Then, came a hunter rushing in the room.
"Master, we spotted a crawling flock near the Wendlock barrier." The hunter said.
"Thavizarus." Elder Faidenthor snorted short. " What are they doing in our barrier? Are they trying to sneak inside?"
" Then, the heavy doors burst open — a young hunter rushed in, breath ragged, cloak still trailing leaves and dust.
"Master!" he cried, bowing hastily. "We've spotted movement beyond the Wendlock barrier — a crawling flock pressing close to the southern ridge."
Caldier's brow tightened. "A flock? Are you certain?"
"Yes, Master. Their scent — their gait — unmistakable."
Elder Faidenthor's eyes narrowed, his voice a low growl.
"Thavizarus." He spat the name like poison. "What business have those serpents so near our border? Do they think they can breach our wards now?"
"Strange…" Caldier muttered, pacing toward the nearest window slit. "For years, our veil hid us — even from their scouts. If they've begun to sense us, then something… has changed."
Faidenthor crossed his arms.
"Even if they've caught our trail, the barrier stands firm. No shadow may trespass its light."
The young hunter nodded quickly. "Yes, Master — none have crossed it yet. But they linger. Watching. Measuring."
Caldier's eyes hardened as he stared at the faint shimmer of the shield in the distance — a dome of pale energy humming against the dusk.
"Complacency is death. If they study our defenses long enough, they'll find the weak points."
He turned sharply.
"Send word to Alexunther. Tell him to ready his people. Training begins at once — the coming days will test us all."
The hunter bowed and fled the chamber.
Faidenthor exhaled, the weight of age pressing in his tone.
"Alexunther's men are loyal, but their strength is still green. Their Orion's light has not yet ripened. If we thrust them into battle too soon, we'll only feed the enemy with their blood."
"I know," Caldier said, still watching the flickering ward. "But hesitation is a sharper blade to the heart. The Thavizarus will not wait — they never do. If war must come, better it finds us standing than sleeping."
Faidenthor's gaze turned toward the shard still pulsing on the table.
"Do you still remember, my son..." Faidenthor's voice trembled like wind over ancient graves. "Those dark times — when the Thavizarus overran our camp. They were no mere beasts, Caldier. They swelled like giants — towering as elephants, their scales harder than obsidian."
Caldier nodded grimly. "I remember their shadows blotting the fires… and the air burning with their screeches."
Faidenthor's eyes narrowed.
"Now, I fear their bloodline has evolved further. If the old chronicles speak true, they do not stop at one transformation. Each cycle, their form ascends — and with it, their hunger. What once towered like a beast may now rise like a Titan."
Caldier's breath caught. "They can still grow? Beyond the strength we once knew?"
"Yes," Faidenthor answered gravely. "The legends say, upon full evolution, their forms reach the size of citadels. Their roar alone can shatter weaker souls."
Caldier frowned, his spirit energy stirring faintly around his hands. "If that's true, how can we stand against them? Our spirit-forged weapons might not pierce their scales!"
Faidenthor turned, the flicker of the barrier light casting deep shadows across his face.
"Perhaps not alone. But remember, our weapons are not bound by iron — they are born from our spirit essence. Their power grows with the strength of our will. And within the young prince… I sense a power yet untamed — something ancient."
"The boy still struggles to mold his Orion's energy," Caldier said. "But if fate grants us time, I'll help him awaken it — to forge his own spirit weapon, one worthy to face such monsters."
Faidenthor nodded, his voice was low with resolve.
""Then do so swiftly. For when the Thavizarus rise again… I fear they will be unstoppable."
"But the question remains," one councilor interjected, his voice sharp with suspicion. "How did the Thavizarus find our hidden campus? Could there be… a blooded lizard disguised as one of the Wendlock dwellers?"
"We don't know yet," Caldier replied gravely. "But rest assured — we will handle this matter."
"This is what I've feared all along," another elder muttered. "We welcomed Alexunther's people inside our walls, but what if… among them hides an outsider's bloodline? A carrier of the lizard's curse?"
Caldier's eyes flashed, his tone rising like a rolling storm. "We should not speak in poison! We are all Thallerion here. Doubt is a venom — it seeps into our trust and kills from within. Stop this talk before it spreads."
"What if," another voice pressed on, "during their escape, a lizard-human saw them… followed them… and now hides in their midst, wearing a Wendlock face?"
A hush fell across the room, broken only by the faint hum of the protective barrier outside.
"Then," Faidenthor said at last, voice heavy, "we must investigate the group — one by one, in private. Let the truth reveal itself through the shard."
"And if we find one tainted… a human bearing the blood of lizards?"
Faidenthor's gaze hardened. "Then we do what must be done. Consider it not cruelty, but duty — for our safety, for our people. A human with the mark of the lizards is not a brother… but a storm waiting to swallow us whole."
***
Alexunther and his people, too, were summoned to face their own training. After the elders' council discussed the growing threat of the Moonatorians, their decision was resolute: every Thallerion refugee must awaken their Orion ability and rise in defiance when the time came.
Yet as whispers spread across Wendlock, a deeper fear began to root — they were not only preparing for the Moonatorians, but for the return of the ancient nuisance… the Lacerta bloodline — the Thavizarus.
Inside the temple, Alexunther sat cross-legged upon the stone floor, his eyes half-open in meditation, yet his spirit restless.
"What are they saying?" he asked, rising slowly, his tone edged with disbelief. "They'll make pawns of us — to defend their shield?"
"Yes, Leader Alexunther," one of his men replied carefully. "The elders said… it's a new threat. We must cooperate, for Wendlock's sake."
Alexunther's jaw tightened. "Those elders — always speaking of patience and paths of light. We came here seeking strength, not riddles and rituals. And now they lock us in this temple, to meditate on energy, as though silence could sharpen a blade."
He turned, his gaze hardening like tempered steel. "Tell me — what will our people say? Those still waiting in Thallerion's ruins — will they call us cowards? Hiding behind mystics while they bleed under the Moonatorian flag?"
The man hesitated. "Leader… we have no choice but to trust their ways."
Alexunther's eyes narrowed. "So you're saying I sound like I'm proclaiming?"
"N-no, I just…" the soldier stammered, glancing around. "Look at us — even if we wanted to fight now, could we? We can't face Moonatoria with bare hands. We need this training, Leader."
Alexunther fell silent, his breath steadying. For a long moment, he stared at the temple's flickering torches — their light dancing like fragile promises against the dark stone.
"How are the children? Has their training begun?"
"Yes, Leader," the man replied, bowing slightly. "The young prince and your son Matheros have both completed their faction selection. Your son—he's a Water Element."
"Water?" Alexunther raised a brow, surprised. "My son? The boy's louder than a storm. How in the heavens did he end up with calm water energy?"
The man chuckled nervously. "It surprised us as well, Leader."
"And the young prince?" Alexunther asked, curiosity stirring.
"That's… the strange part," the man said, his voice lowering. "When I stood behind them in line, I saw the young prince's shard—at first, it glowed dark violet, then slowly turned orange. I heard the instructors whisper it could belong to either the lightning or fire faction. But Master Caldier confiscated it. He said the elders must study it further."
Alexunther crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Dark violet… and orange? Hmph. Strange indeed."
"Yes, Leader. The others were unsettled too."
"Good. Continue observing the training—watch the prince closely. Report everything you see."
"At once, Leader." The man bowed and departed swiftly.
Alone in the temple, Alexunther exhaled, rubbing his chin in thought.
"Lightning or fire…? If he's lightning, he'll move faster than the eye can track. But if he's fire…" He paused, a faint smile breaking through. "He might just melt the Moonatorians' frost."
A sudden voice called from the doorway.
"Excuse me… Leader Alexunther of Thallerion?"
Alexunther turned. A Wendlock hunter stepped forward—his cloak trimmed in red, the faint shimmer of fire energy flickering around his shoulders.
"Yes, that's me," Alexunther said calmly. "What is it?"
"The elders wish to speak with you—immediately."
"If this is about our training progress, then they should know we've made headway. My people are finally connecting to spirit energy—the First Gate at least."
The hunter shook his head firmly. "No, Leader. This matter is far more serious. They request your presence… in private. Please, cooperate."
Alexunther's gaze sharpened. He gave a curt nod. "Very well. Lead the way."
***
The great doors of the council hall groaned open. Inside, the air was heavy—thick with incense and tension. Around the circular table, the elders of Wendlock sat in silence, their eyes fixed on the leader of Thallerion as he entered.
Alexunther stepped forward, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. "Elders, you summoned me."
Elder Faidenthor leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Yes, Alexunther. There is something we must discuss—privately and without delay."
Caldier's voice followed, calm but edged with unease. "Our sentries spotted movement beyond the Wendlock barrier. Thavizarus scouts—crawling near the border."
Alexunther's brow furrowed. "Thavizarus? Here? How did they even locate this place?"
"That," Faidenthor said gravely, "is what troubles us most. For centuries, our shield has kept us hidden. Yet now… they creep closer. They must have sensed something—someone."
A murmur rippled among the elders. "Someone?" He echoed.
Caldier's tone dropped lower. "There is… another possibility."
Alexunther glanced between them. "Speak your mind."
Faidenthor exhaled deeply. "If the Thavizarus have found our barrier… there may be a traitor among us. A bloodline tainted by the Lacerta."
The words struck like a blade. Alexunther's jaw tightened. "You're suggesting one of mine carries lizard blood?"
No one answered immediately. Only the low crackle of a torch filled the silence.
Finally, Caldier spoke. "We are not here to accuse—but to ensure the safety of all. Your people came from exile, fleeing war. If, during that chaos, one of the Lacerta followed… disguised themselves…"
Alexunther's hands clenched. "My people are loyal Thallerion. We bled for our kingdom—lost everything for it. I would never allow a serpent among my own."
Faidenthor raised a calming hand. "Peace, Alexunther. We will investigate quietly. The shard test will reveal any corruption—if a tainted emblem appears, we will know."
Alexunther's eyes flickered, recalling the strange orange glow of Xerxez's shard. A shadow passed over his face, though he hid it well. "Then may the shard speak truth. I have nothing to hide."
"Good," Faidenthor said. "Then let us proceed with vigilance. If there is one among us who bears the Lacerta mark… we must find them before the Thavizarus breach the veil."
"Speaking of the shard..." Alexunther began, his voice low, his hands clasped as though steadying a storm inside him. "I've heard whispers—about the boy, Xerxez Herzthroven. His shard showed… a strange color, didn't it?"
"Yes," Caldier admitted, the lines of his face drawn with unease. "To my judgment, the shard revealed something rare—significant power dwelling in his blood."
But as his words fell, the council's eyes hardened—piercing, distrustful. Their gazes bit deeper than their silence.
"Tell us plainly," one elder demanded, his voice like gravel on stone. "Is the boy possibly marked by those creatures? Tracked by the Lacerta themselves? Speak no riddles before the council."
Caldier's eyes flashed. "Why must your faces wear masks of paranoia? The Lacerta have nothing to do with the boy's shard. I stake my honor on that."
The chamber fell still. Firelight quivered across their faces—casting doubt and shadow in equal measure. Then came the murmurs: low, restless, cold.
"We've never questioned the young prince's bloodline," said another voice, measured yet sharp. "Devein himself verified it. But bloodline alone does not shield the heart. What we are concerned with… are those who walk beside him."
Alexunther stiffened, his voice cracking like tempered steel. "You're doubting my people?"
"Yes," came the answer—bold, unflinching.
"We should never have opened our gates so wide," another elder muttered bitterly, his eyes narrowing with accusation. "Remorse will not save us if danger already sleeps within our walls."
A second joined in, voice trembling with conviction. "We welcomed them out of mercy—but mercy can cloud reason. What if among the Thallerion refugees… one bears the Lacerta taint?"
Alexunther's jaw clenched. "We came here not as beggars, but as kin. My people bled to escape the Moonatorians' savagery. If suspicion is all you have to offer, then why call us Thallerion at all?"
His words rang through the hall—but silence, colder than before, followed in their wake.
An aged elder leaned upon his staff, voice frail yet heavy with dread. "The shard… dark violet, then orange. It is a sign unseen in our records. If not corruption… then what?"
Another slammed his palm upon the table. "You call it rare. I call it peril! What if that anomaly drew the Thavizarus to our shield? What if he is the beacon they followed?"
Caldier's brow furrowed—his voice cut like thunder. "You doubt my judgment?"
The accuser faltered, stepping back. But Faidenthor raised a calming hand, voice steady as a river stone. "Peace, Caldier. No one doubts your wisdom—but the testing stones read essence, not corruption. If tainted by Lacerta craft, their light could deceive even the keenest eye."
He turned toward the table, where shards still glowed faintly. "Most Lacerta bloodlines wield fire, earth, wood, or water. Violet is not their nature. Nor is orange. There is no proof—only fear."
The room breathed again, though uneasily.
Faidenthor's gaze swept across them. "No doubt lingers in my son's assessment. The shard is strange, yes—but not evil. Let us not condemn a child for what we do not yet understand."
Caldier folded his arms, shoulders tense. "Then we observe—but with open eyes. Should danger come through him, we must be ready."
Faidenthor nodded. "Then let our vigilance be tempered with reason. The boy carries Thallerion's hope—do not let fear poison that flame."
But the tension did not break.
The council's unease hung thick as fog.
At last, one elder spoke again—his tone cautious, but resolute.
"Alexunther… we will be conducting a private testing of your people. Do not mistake this for distrust. It is only a precaution—Wendlock's safety demands it."
Alexunther met their gaze—calm, but heavy with quiet hurt.
"As I said, my people hide nothing. We are pure Orion blood. But if your fear demands proof… then so be it."
****
After the council's uneasy adjournment, Master Caldier made his way toward the training grounds. The air there was alive with youthful energy — the clash of wooden practice blades, bursts of glowing energy, and the rhythmic hum of chants as young trainees sought their inner strength.
He paused at the edge, watching as the hunter-instructors guided the children into their elemental groups.
His eyes scanned the field — until they found him.
Xerxez stood among the Wood Faction, a faint shimmer of green light pulsing around his palms. Nearby, a girl — Vadylly — lifted her hands gracefully, and branches of glowing wood energy twined together, forming a bow that bloomed like living vine. The arrow she drew hummed with quiet power.
Caldier's eyes softened. So the boy chose wood… not lightning, not wind. Interesting.
Across the grounds, Matheros lingered with the Water Faction — though his posture was anything but fluid. His eyes were dim with disappointment, his glance flicking now and then toward Xerxez's group.
The Water Instructor, a tall man robed in flowing blue, addressed the trainees in a calm, measured tone.
"Listen well, Water Hunters. Today begins your journey. The first step — connect your mind to the current of your soul. Within you lies a stillness… and a storm. To awaken your hidden gift, you must learn the calm before the tide."
Matheros yawned, trying to stifle it behind his hand.
He muttered under his breath, "Boring… should've joined Xerxez. I told him water's better. Hmph. He only picked wood 'cause that lady instructor's beautiful. Heh… cunning prince."
"—You there, in the back!"
The instructor's voice snapped like a whip. "Are you muttering while I'm speaking?"
The line of children tried — and failed — to suppress their laughter.
"Wha—what? No, sir! I was just—uh—"
"Not listening," the instructor finished, unimpressed. "Come forward. If you cannot hear wisdom from afar, perhaps you'll hear it up close."
Groaning, Matheros dragged his feet toward the front.
"I hate this faction," he grumbled, though not quietly enough. "Everyone's so… cold, calm, and silent."
"I heard that," said the instructor, one brow raised. His tone wasn't cruel — but it carried the weight of patience wearing thin. "You are… talkative, I see. From this day forward, you must learn to listen — not only to others, but to the voice within."
Matheros blinked. "What do you mean?"
The man's gaze softened. "Water Hunters are calm, but wise. Still waters run deep. I believe you have that wisdom — though it sleeps beneath the noise."
Matheros straightened slightly, pride flickering in his voice. "Well, I am smart — one of Thallerion's finest young warriors."
A faint smile curved the instructor's lips.
"Perhaps so. But remember, young one — this is Wendlock, not Thallerion. Here, wisdom matters more than pride. Show us not what you were born to be… but what you can become."
Matheros fell quiet — for once — as ripples of soft laughter moved through the group.
Meanwhile, in the Wood Faction…
Soft sunlight filtered through the canopy above, dappling the ground in gentle gold. The air was thick with the scent of moss and soil — calm, cool, alive.
Vadylly stood before her group, the faint shimmer of green aura coiling around her hands. Her voice flowed like wind through leaves — soft, deliberate, patient.
"Our mind," she began, "is the most powerful vessel we possess. With it, we reach outward — learning the shape of the world around us. But tell me," she paused, eyes scanning her pupils, "how often do we listen inward? To the world within us?"
The children stayed quiet, rapt with attention. Even Xerxez, whose mind often wandered, felt her words sink deep.
"Our thoughts are bridges. What we see and what we feel — they are one," she continued. "To draw your spirit energy, you must unite your senses with your heartbeat, your breath, your blood. Every pulse carries your will."
Her eyes glimmered softly. "Now — close your eyes. Listen."
The forest hushed. Only the rustle of leaves and the soft hum of life remained. Vadylly's tone lowered, calm as rainfall.
"Breathe in. Slowly. Exhale. Let the rhythm of the woods guide you. Hear the whisper of branches… the murmur of the roots… the hymn of grass beneath your feet. Let them speak — and you, answer — in silence."
She lifted a delicate lyre and plucked its strings. Notes rippled through the grove, gentle and serene — each chord a thread binding earth and soul.
"Now… open the gate of your mind. Let darkness be your canvas, and light, your guide. When a spark appears — follow it. As if a firefly dances through your thoughts."
One by one, the trainees slipped into their focus. Some trembled; others smiled faintly as faint wisps of green shimmered around them.
Then, a soft voice broke the stillness.
"I… I found an orange light," Xerxez murmured, his tone edged with awe. "It's flying… like a small bug inside my mind."
Vadylly's brows furrowed slightly — but her voice stayed gentle.
"Shh… remain calm. Don't chase it — guide it. Let it grow, let it bloom. Let its warmth fill your vision. The more it shines, the clearer your path."
Xerxez inhaled deeply, feeling the light swell — from a flicker to a flame. The glow deepened, orange folding into violet, as though dusk itself had taken root in his mind.
A strange pulse echoed through his chest — soft, but ancient — as if something other stirred in response.
And though Vadylly's lyre still sang, a faint tremor whispered through the earth.
"Young hunters, open your eyes!" Vadylly's voice rang with joy. "Look beneath your feet — the ground is breathing!"
A chorus of gasps followed. All around, patches of lush moss spread like green fire, weaving over soil and stone. Her lips curved into a proud smile — the first sign her students had awakened their spirit link.
But then — her gaze froze.
Where the young prince stood, the moss hadn't grown — it had vanished. The earth beneath him was fractured, thin trails of smoke curling from glowing cracks.
"Y-Your ground… it's scorched!" Vadylly's eyes widened in awe. "You burned the stone itself…" She stepped closer, studying the faint shimmer that danced around his feet. "No doubt about it — your spirit leans toward lightning. That power is too fierce for the wood's calm breath."
Xerxez blinked, startled. "I… I didn't mean to…"
Vadylly quickly composed herself. "Everyone — listen!" She clapped her hands softly, bringing focus back. "No matter your element, the path of awakening begins the same. Feel your energy, guide it gently, let it answer your will. Whether moss or flame — control is the true lesson."
Then, her tone softened as she turned to Xerxez. "As for you, young prince — you must learn restraint. Your energy is strong… too strong for a beginner's rite."
A voice rose from the back — a girl with a ponytail, her green aura faintly pulsing. "Teacher… why is he even here?" she asked, eyes narrowed. "If he can burn the ground, how can he help us grow moss? His power will only destroy it."
Vadylly smiled, though her glance was thoughtful. "The prince of Thallerion seeks to learn, as all of you do. Sometimes, strength must walk beside gentleness. Perhaps there's something you both can teach each other."
She pointed to the girl's feet. "Look — your moss has grown two inches taller! That's remarkable, young one. Don't let pride cloud what you've achieved."
The girl flushed slightly. "Th-thank you, teacher… but I still don't think we'll get along. He's my opposite."
Xerxez grinned, folding his arms. "Hey, I heard that. You're cute — but I don't like girls who sound so gloomy."
Her brow twitched. "Hmph. And I don't like boys who think everything's a joke."
"Wha— joke? I'm serious!"
"Quiet, both of you." Vadylly raised a hand, though a small smile tugged her lips. "Differences don't divide — they balance. Remember that, young hunters. In the forest, every root and branch has its purpose."
The students quieted, the gentle notes of Vadylly's lyre drifting through the air — though her gaze lingered for a moment on the cracked earth around the prince's feet, a flicker of concern glinting in her eyes.
Beside Xerxez, a girl whispered, "By the way, I'm Zenny Myrtle McGuirre! My family's famous for wind-style hunting… but I got wood element instead. They say I'm one of the most talented in Wendlock."
"Okay, nice to meet you… Zeny—uh, Mere?"
"It's Zenny, or Myrtle!" she corrected, puffing her cheeks.
"Oh, right. Zenny."
She crossed her arms proudly. "You might be a prince, but I'm way smarter than you."
"Wait, really?" Xerxez blinked, then grinned. "I don't think that's something you can prove. I'm a hunter too, you know!"
"Hah! What kind of hunter?" she teased, narrowing her eyes.
"Well…" He smirked a little. "That's a secret."
"Uh-huh, sure." She rolled her eyes. "Just don't mess up this faction. We don't need troublemakers."
"I thought you didn't like me," he said, raising a brow. "Why sit next to me then?"
Zenny huffed. "A smart girl knows her true rival. And I think you're mine. Besides, someone's gotta make sure you learn how things work around here!"
"Hahaha!" Xerxez laughed softly. "You sound like my guardian or something! Don't tell me you're gonna babysit me too?"
"I might if you act like a baby!" she snapped playfully. "Anyway, I have two abilities—wind and wood. Beat that!"
"Two?" he gasped. "That's cheating! I bet mine's stronger anyway."
"Oh yeah? What is it, then?"
He shrugged. "Not sure yet. The elders haven't decided. But it's probably something cool—like fire or lightning."
Zenny smirked. "Tsk, or maybe your shard's confused. Maybe you don't belong to any faction!"
"Shut up!" he blurted, cheeks puffing.
She giggled. "Heh, touched a nerve, huh?"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
Vadylly sighed softly, still playing the lyre. "Ah, children…" she thought, shaking her head with a faint smile.
****
Meanwhile, in the Fire Faction, Caldier approached the instructor with steady steps.
"How is my child, Evenneor Faidenthor? Is his performance well?" Caldier asked, his voice low but expectant.
The instructor gave a respectful bow. "Master Caldier, your son is remarkable. He already produces fireballs stronger than our elite hunters. Honestly, he could be sent into the real field of hunters even now."
Caldier's brows furrowed. "No. He must stay here in the faction. I will train him myself, until I know he is ready."
"But Master," the instructor insisted, "he grows restless. Surrounded by naive trainees, he seems careless… unmotivated. Just today, he destroyed the shooting mark with a single blast. His strength is beyond measure, but his attitude…"
"Enough," Caldier cut in sharply. "I will speak with him."
The instructor stepped back, bowing again. Caldier's eyes scanned the grounds until they landed on his son.
"Evenneor. Come. Follow me."
The young hunter rose without a word, his expression cold, eyes burning faintly like embers. He trailed after his father until they reached behind the training tents, where the noise of the trainees faded.
Caldier stopped and turned, his voice heavy. "Son, how many times have I told you? Do not show your full strength unless it is needed. Your fireball ability must remain hidden until the right moment. Please, as your father… listen to me."
Evenneor scowled, clenching his fists. "Why should I hold back? These new trainees are pathetic—weaklings who ask too many questions. I hate them. They live in soft homes, with no scars, no battles. They don't belong here."
Caldier's gaze softened just a little. "Son… strength is not only for yourself. One day, they will look to you for guidance. Be proud, and let them be inspired by you—not crushed beneath your pride."
Evenneor looked away, his jaw tight. "Inspiration doesn't make me stronger."
"No," Caldier said firmly, laying a hand on his son's shoulder. "But it makes you worthy of your strength."
The boy's fire-lit eyes flickered with something unspoken, caught between defiance and the faintest glimmer of respect. His jaw clenched as the heat around his fists shimmered, smoke curling upward.
"But Father… I feel like you underestimate me. You speak of caution, of restraint, yet you've seen my flames. You've seen how far I've surpassed the others. Why hold me back when I can already burn brighter than any of them?" His voice was heavy with both pride and frustration, the ground beneath him darkening where sparks fell.
Caldier met his son's gaze, unwavering. "No, Evenneor. I do not underestimate you. On the contrary, I know the depth of your power better than anyone alive. That is why I speak so firmly. Power without control is a torch in the hands of a child—it may light the way, but it can also consume everything around it. What I do, my son, is not to diminish you… it is to protect you, and to guide your flame until it becomes a fire the world cannot put out."
The boy's lips pressed into a thin line, embers dancing in his eyes. "Then why keep me here? Why leave me surrounded by children who can barely spark kindling, when my fireball could already scorch the battlefield? Why not send me to the real world, to fight with true hunters?"
His words carried both anger and longing, his shoulders trembling as smoke curled from his fists.
Caldier sighed, his gaze softening for the briefest moment before it hardened again.
"Because I chose this path for you. I placed you here not out of doubt, but because destiny winds in ways you do not yet understand. I want you close to the prince of Thallerion. I placed him in this fire faction deliberately, so that you and he might grow together. His abilities are still sealed, waiting to awaken, but once they do… they will rival your own. I want you to learn not only how to burn alone, but how to burn alongside another."
Evenneor scoffed, his flames flaring hotter, yet his eyes betrayed curiosity. "The prince? The boy with the strange shard color? You expect me to play guardian to some pampered child who probably brags about his crown and his wealth? Babysit him while he stumbles over powers he can't even control? I want no part in it, Father. My fire is my own—it does not need to be dimmed for someone else's sake."
Caldier's hand tightened on his son's shoulder, firm and grounding. "You are wrong, Evenneor. He is not what you imagine. He does not flaunt riches, nor does he hide behind titles. He, too, walks with a burden heavier than most can carry. You despise arrogance—so does he. And though you may not see it now, you share more than you realize. This is not about babysitting. This is about forging bonds with those whose strength is different from yours, bonds that will temper your fire instead of smother it."
The boy's flames dimmed slightly, though his body still trembled with suppressed defiance. His breath came harsh, but there was hesitation now in his voice. "And if you're wrong? If he proves to be just another spoiled heir with nothing but his name to lean on?"
Caldier's gaze bore into him, unyielding. "Then you will still learn patience. You will still learn discipline. And in doing so, you will prove that your flame is greater than pride, greater than arrogance. That is the difference between power that destroys and power that leads."
For a long moment, Evenneor said nothing. The smoke around his fists curled upward into the darkening sky, his eyes burning with a storm of emotions—anger, pride, but also something deeper, something unsettled. He finally muttered, "We'll see if your faith is worth the wait, father."
Caldier nodded, silent, his hand still resting heavily on his son's shoulder. The fire between them did not waver—it smoldered, fierce and untamed, awaiting the day it would be tested.
****
In the soft glow of the afternoon sun, the training grounds of Wendlock were alive with quiet murmurs and focused breaths. The air shimmered faintly with residual energy, the scent of earth and moss mixing with the faint tang of spirit essence. Children sat cross-legged in their respective factions — fire, water, wind, and wood — their small faces marked with determination, exhaustion, and awe.
After hours of meditative exercises to connect their minds to their inner power, the time had come for the next step — a simple trial in theory, yet profound in meaning: to summon a flame of spirit energy upon their palms, small and steady, like a candle's flicker.
"Breathe in… focus your will," the instructors whispered, pacing among their groups. "Feel the rhythm of your heart, guide it into your hand — let your spirit glow."
But as minutes passed, tension replaced expectation. Many stared at their hands in frustration — especially the children of Thallerion, whose palms remained dim and lifeless. Even Xerxez, eyes closed and brow furrowed in deep focus, felt only a pulse of warmth, never the flare of light.
Across the grounds, however, faint glimmers began to bloom among the Wendlock dwellers — soft green sparks, blue embers, gold wisps swirling with the wind. Small cheers erupted as some children giggled in triumph, cupping the dancing light like a precious secret.
From the shaded platform, the elders watched closely. Their faces softened with pride for their own pupils, yet sorrow lingered in their eyes as they turned toward the struggling Thallerion youths. "It will take time," murmured one elder, folding his hands. "They are still strangers to this soil. The spirit of Wendlock may not yet recognize their call."
Still, none voiced disappointment — only patience.
When the bell tolled at last, the instructors gathered the children before the stage. Dust swirled gently at their feet as they assembled, sweat-streaked but eager for words of encouragement.
Caldier stepped forward, robes brushing against the stone steps, his presence commanding quiet. "Do not let your hearts be troubled," he said, his voice calm but resolute. "Children of Thallerion, every ember begins unseen — the flame comes only to those who endure."
A few small heads lifted, hope flickering faintly in their eyes.
"You have more days to train," Caldier continued, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "Do not feel hopeless now — growth is not measured in sparks alone."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before his tone brightened with promise. "Tomorrow, your factions shall move to their proper halls. Each of you will have your own rooms — a space to rest, study, and reflect. No longer will you sit upon stone or grass, but under roofs of your own."
A ripple of excitement spread among the children — whispers of "rooms?" and "real beds!" darted through the crowd.
"And tonight," Caldier added with a faint smile, "you will feast. The hunters have returned from the wilds bearing rich bounty — venison, river fish, and fruit from the high groves. You have all earned your meal through effort and courage."
Cheers broke out among the younger ones, laughter mingling with relief. Even the elders shared quiet smiles, their earlier worries softened by the sight.
For now, the struggles of the day faded beneath the warmth of promise — though deep in the crowd, Xerxez clenched his fists, his eyes wandering to the faint sparks still glowing in the Wendlock children's palms. Somewhere within, a vow formed: Tomorrow, I'll find my light.
As the training grounds slowly emptied, laughter and chatter faded into the distant hum of departing factions. The warm orange light of dusk spilled across the clearing, stretching long shadows across the cracked earth. Children hurried along their designated paths — fire faction toward the western hall, water toward the streamside barracks, wood beneath the canopy grove, and wind to the cliffside huts.
But one boy stood still amidst the bustle — Xerxez Herzthroven, arms crossed and expression uncertain, his eyes scanning the thinning crowd.
"Where is he now?" he muttered under his breath. "Did he get mad because I didn't join his faction? Or did he forget me again?"
The wind brushed his cloak as more students passed by, leaving him alone near the central steps. Then, from behind, a calm yet firm voice called out —
"Xerxez."