Half a month later, the general's manor was shrouded in silence. Servants tiptoed through the halls, careful not to make a sound. Dorian sat in his wheelchair, dressed in simple white robes, his expression blank and emotionless. He held a book in his hands, but the pages hadn't turned in ages.
Brant had abandoned his usual routine on the training grounds. Since Dorian's attack, he'd taken to drowning his sorrows in drink, stumbling around in a haze, muttering nonsense and roaring at nothing.
Thane kept to himself, often retreating to the family shrine or his late wife's grave. There, he'd whisper apologies to the ancestors, burdened by his failures to protect the family.
Elara spent her days in tears, poring over the medical texts Cedric had left behind before his wanderings. She knew even her father couldn't restore Dorian's legs, but surely somewhere in the world there were miraculous herbs or elixirs that could rebuild bone. Yet such treasures were far beyond the reach of a modest Rivermark general's household. Every glimpse of Dorian in that chair twisted her heart like a knife.
Gavric still shuttled between the barracks and home, his face a stoic mask. But the sudden streaks of white in his hair added years to his weary appearance, marking the toll on the family patriarch.
Lysandra said little, her once-bright smile vanished. The lively girl now devoted herself to practicing wood-element magic. She'd heard tales of SS-rank spells that could heal the gravest wounds. Having never even seen an A-rank spell, she vowed to master one someday.
Aldric locked himself in his room for three days and nights, refusing food or water. No one knew what thoughts churned in his mind, but he burned with regret over his past helplessness. He penned a letter to his future sister-in-law, assuring her that Dorian would stand again and claim her as his bride. Aldric swore on his life to wipe out the Nightshade Clan within a decade. At the end, he urged Ophelia to take care.
On the morning of the fourth day, Aldric emerged and headed straight to the training grounds. Standing in the center under the sun's warm glow on his youthful face, he eyed the rack of weapons. He reached out, hesitated, then pulled back, a mix of fear and embarrassment flickering in his eyes.
After a moment, he grabbed a longsword, drawing on memories of his father's lessons to his brothers. He moved through the forms, one deliberate strike at a time. The training grounds had always been his least favorite spot, the weapons something he'd avoided like the plague. But now, determination hardened his gaze. He cursed himself for waking up too late, for not picking up a blade sooner.
As Aldric sweated through his sword drills, a heavy thud echoed nearby. He spun around to see Brant sprawled on the ground, a jug of wine clutched in his hand. Aldric rushed over, helping him up. "Brant, ease up on the booze. I get it—you're hurting. But you've got the Arcane Spire Academy exam coming up. You can't keep this up!"
Brant let out a bitter laugh that stretched on before he replied, "Not bad with that sword, little bro. But I can't take the exam anymore. Don't worry—I'll sober up in a couple days."
Aldric stared in shock. "What? Why not? Getting into Arcane Spire has been your dream! Is it because of the Nightshade Clan?"
Brant gazed at his jug, his voice distant. "The Nightshade Clan? They're enemies I'll crush one day. No, I'm not scared of them. Dorian can't stand anymore. The family needs me. The Iron Riders need me. I'll finish what he started—protect our home. The academy doesn't matter now."
He looked at his stunned brother and clapped him on the shoulder. "Aldric, your talent outshines mine by far. You're the family's future. Take my dream with you to the academy. Become a legend on this continent. Make it happen for me!"
Aldric hadn't considered the ripple effects of Dorian's fall, how it forced Brant to sacrifice his ambitions to shield the family. Meeting Brant's eyes, he saw the resignation mixed with hope. Without a word, Aldric nodded firmly.
A voice, stern yet tinged with weariness, spoke from behind. "Are you really willing to head to an academy and train?"
Gavric approached, his eyes filled with a complex swirl of emotions as he regarded his sons. Aldric didn't hesitate. "Yes, Father. I'll get into Arcane Spire Academy. Once I've mastered what they teach, I'll make the Nightshade Clan pay."
Gavric sighed deeply. "I've failed you both as a father."
The brothers shook their heads in unison, Aldric speaking first. "Family rises or falls together. It's our turn to step up and protect it."
Gavric studied Aldric, noting the faint sorrow in his eyes. The boy who once laughed so freely hadn't smiled in weeks. But they were right—the family's fate rested in their hands now.
Straightening, Gavric said, "Brant, you'll take over Dorian's role as vice-commander of the Iron Riders. And word is, the Nightshade Clan has spies in every town leading to Arcane Spire, with your portrait in hand. If they spot you, they'll strike without mercy."
Aldric jumped in. "Then let me go, Father. I'll make it to Arcane Spire and pass the entrance test!"
Gavric shook his head. "You can't. They're watching all the routes. Going alone is too risky, and your grandfather and I can't leave the family unprotected to escort you. Besides, academies require Warrior rank, third stage, or Adept rank, third stage, by age sixteen. You're only at Warrior first stage, and the exams are in less than six months. You won't qualify. And they recruit every three years—miss this, and you'll be too old next time."
Aldric's face twisted in frustration. After a thoughtful pause, he declared, "I've got a way to pass and get in! The Ironforge Dominion has more than one academy. If Arcane Spire's out, I'll head to the distant Sanctara Academy! Sure, I'm at first stage now, but I know I can hit third in six months. I'll make it into Sanctara!"
Gavric was taken aback by his son's resolve. After mulling it over, he replied, "This isn't a game. Sanctara Academy is on the empire's far side, worlds away. The journey's riddled with dangers. You've never even left Rivermark city—how can we trust you'll be safe? And with travel eating your time, how will you train? Even if you arrive, you'll fail the test. It's not feasible."
Aldric met his father's gaze, his voice steady and loud. "Father, believe in me. I'll make it happen. I'll grow strong at Sanctara and return to erase the Skyforge family's humiliation with my own hands!"
Brant chimed in. "I believe in him too, Father. We all know he's the smartest, the most gifted."
Gavric spoke slowly. "Academies draw prodigies from across Eldoria. Don't think your smarts make you special—avoid being the frog in the well."
He paused, closing his eyes in thought. "If you're set on venturing out, I'll back you. But promise me one thing: until you're truly strong, stay low-key. Grow in the shadows. No more recklessness—that's what worries me most. The Skyforge family can't afford more losses. Can you agree to that?"
Aldric considered it briefly. "I promise. I'll keep a low profile—play the fool to catch the wise!"
Gavric gave him a long look. "Be at the training grounds at dawn tomorrow. I'll teach you our family's secret technique, Thunderstrike Fist. Master it, then set out for the academy. Don't let me down." With that, he turned and walked away.