It had been five years since Klein arrived in this world. Now fifteen years of age, he had spent every sunrise and sunset refining his swordsmanship, pushing his limits, and grinding his levels as if destiny itself had placed a blade in his hand. From slaying goblins to collapsing at Lucien's feet after every duel, Klein had grown into one of the strongest within the Azure Crest Garrison—second only to Lucien himself.
His once childish face had sharpened with determination. His body, once frail and uncertain, now carried the compact strength of a young warrior honed by sweat and willpower. The dragon core within him had evolved to 42%, its power flowing subtly through his veins. The change was not monstrous—at least, not yet. His hair had grown long and thick, a crimson red that shimmered in the sunlight like liquid flame. His skin retained its human softness, but when angered or excited, faint crimson traces seemed to ripple beneath it—like the glow of embers hiding under flesh.
The soldiers often joked that he looked more like a noble's prodigal son than a battlefield recruit, but anyone who sparred with him knew the truth: Klein Adler was a storm contained within skin.
....
The clang of steel echoed through the garrison's training field that morning.
CLANG!
CLANG!
Klein's sword, Whisperfang, struck fast and fluid, each blow aimed with calculated precision. Lucien, in contrast, moved with disarming calm, parrying every strike effortlessly. His blade flew with a measured intent—controlled, fluid, deliberate. Even after all these years, Klein still couldn't land a clean hit.
"Your swings have weight now," Lucien said between parries, voice steady and low. "Good… but you're still impatient."
"I call it enthusiasm," Klein grunted, twisting his stance. Sweat beaded his forehead, rolling down his cheek as he lunged again, the motion swift enough to slice the air in silence.
Lucien sidestepped lightly, bringing his blade up in a graceful arc. CLANG! The collision sent a soft vibration through both weapons. Whisperfang's silent edge shimmered faintly in the light, devouring the sun's reflection as if it hungered for shadow.
Lucien's eyes flicked toward the weapon, a faint smirk on his lips. "Still as quiet as ever. That blade suits you. Silent, but relentless."
Klein exhaled, pulling back and resetting his stance. "And you're still annoyingly unbeatable."
"That's the point," Lucien said, stepping forward with a blur of motion. His sword swept down like a silver streak. Klein barely blocked it, the impact forcing him back several steps through the dirt. "If I let you beat me too easily, you'd stop growing."
Paros' voice chimed softly in Klein's mind. 'You've been saying that for years, and yet he still wipes the floor with you. Some mentor.'
"Shut it, Paros," Klein muttered through clenched teeth, adjusting his grip.
(A/N: THIS DOESN'T MEAN KLEIN HAS BEEN TALKING TO PAROS OUT LOUD, HE JUST SPILLED 'SHUT IT,' OUT LOUD THIS TIME.)
Lucien tilted his head. "Talking to yourself again?"
"Yeah," Klein said, panting lightly. "My imaginary friend says you fight like an old man."
Lucien chuckled. "Tell your imaginary friend he's right."
The two clashed again, their blades a blur—Klein's relentless speed against Lucien's effortless precision. The onlookers, a few knights resting near the wall, whispered in awe. It was a sight they had grown used to yet never tired of: the commander and his apprentice, one forged by fire and one molded by shadow, meeting at the edge of perfection.
After several more exchanges, Lucien finally stepped back, lowering his sword. "Enough. You'll wear yourself out before tomorrow."
Klein straightened, chest rising and falling. "Tomorrow?"
Lucien nodded, sheathing his blade. "Your awakening."
For a moment, the word hung in the air like a solemn vow. Klein had been anticipating this for years—the day when his mana would finally surge forth, when the dormant potential inside him would ignite. Yet now that it was close, a flicker of uncertainty stirred in him.
"What if…" Klein began, his tone softer than before. "What if nothing happens?"
Lucien's eyes, calm as still water, met his. "Something will. You have too much spirit for the world to ignore."
Klein tried to smile, but his hands fidgeted around the hilt of his sword. "It's just… I've been waiting so long for this. What if I mess it up?"
Lucien approached him, his boots quiet on the packed dirt. "Fear is natural," he said gently. "It means you care about what comes next. But don't let it rule you."
He reached out, brushing a lock of crimson hair away from Klein's forehead, studying him with quiet pride. "You've already proven yourself in more ways than one. Tomorrow is simply… confirmation."
Klein looked up, eyes glinting with determination. "So you think I'll finally be able to use mana like you?"
Lucien smiled faintly. "Perhaps not like me. You'll find your own way. And when you do, it'll be something neither of us could have predicted."
They walked together across the training ground, the afternoon sun painting long golden lines across the dust. The air smelled faintly of iron and wildflowers from the nearby meadow, and the distant sound of soldiers laughing carried softly through the wind. For a while, neither spoke.
Then Klein said, quietly, "Five years… it doesn't feel that long."
Lucien chuckled. "That's because you never stop moving. I've seen grown men age slower than your impatience."
Klein smirked. "You're saying I'm restless?"
"I'm saying," Lucien replied, eyes narrowing in amusement, "that if I chained you to a chair, you'd still find a way to duel yourself."
Paros snorted in his mind. 'He's not wrong.'
"Et tu, Paros?" Klein muttered, rolling his eyes.
Lucien gave him a puzzled glance, then shook his head with a smile. "Whatever that means, I'll assume it's an apology."
As they reached the end of the field, Lucien stopped and turned. The fading sunlight cast his face in soft hues of orange and gold, and for the briefest moment, Klein saw the faint sadness that sometimes shadowed his mentor's expression—a trace of memory, perhaps, of someone long gone.
"Tomorrow will be a defining day for you," Lucien said quietly. "But remember—awakening doesn't change who you are. It only amplifies what's already inside."
Klein nodded slowly. "And what's inside me?"
Lucien smiled faintly, bending down slightly until they were eye to eye. His hand came to rest atop Klein's head, warm and steady.
"A star," he said softly. "Small, perhaps. But burning bright enough to light the dark. Don't let that star fade, Klein."
The gesture was simple—an affectionate tap on the head—but it carried weight beyond words. Klein felt something stir deep in his chest, a mix of pride and warmth. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn't come. Instead, he only nodded.
Lucien straightened, sheathing his sword once more. "Rest for tonight. Tomorrow, the world begins to see what I already know."
As Lucien walked away, his figure framed by the evening glow, Klein stood still, watching until the older man disappeared into the barracks. The wind rustled softly around him, tugging at his crimson hair.
Paros' voice broke the silence. 'He believes in you, you know.'
Klein's eyes softened. "Yeah," he murmured. "I just hope I don't let him down."
The horizon burned with the color of fire and promise—two things Klein carried within himself in equal measure.