Morning crept softly into Riverbend, stretching pale gold across the rooftops. Mist gathered low, swirling in slow spirals as if the village itself wasn't ready to wake.
Arcanis had already woken.
He tightened the straps of his travel pack with quiet precision, checking each buckle with that calm focus he carried into everything. His butler stood in the corner, yawning into his hand while pretending to inspect a lantern.
"You're ready early, Your—" he caught himself, adjusting quickly, "—Arcan."
Arcanis's eyes flicked over. "You say that like you're surprised."
"You barely slept," the man muttered.
"I slept enough."
He swung his cloak over one shoulder. "And I don't intend to waste daylight."
The butler gave him a long look — something between worry and resignation.
"Most boys your age cling to their bed on cold mornings."
"Then I'm not most boys."
"Unfortunately," the man sighed, "I've realized that."
Arcanis's expression softened, subtle as a breath.
"Thank you for staying discreet."
"Discreet?" the butler smirked. "I've lied so much about your identity these past two days I'm starting to forget your real name."
A quiet chuckle slipped from Arcanis.
"Good. That means you're effective."
And with that, he stepped into the morning.
---
Cold air greeted him — sharp enough to wake a dull mind, clean enough to sharpen a sharp one. Riverbend lay peaceful under the mist, but Arcanis never mistook calm for safe.
His boots sank lightly into dew-soft dirt as he walked the empty street. His thoughts drifted — not to the frost wolf, but to the boy who had thrown himself at it without hesitation.
Sylas.
Reckless.
Stubborn.
Courageous enough to make caution look unnecessary.
Arcanis adjusted his cloak.
Not admiration.
Recognition.
The silent kind one warrior offers another — even if the second hadn't realized he was a warrior yet.
The ford came into view: shallow water sliding over smooth stones, dawn-lit mist drifting above the current.
Someone was already there.
---
Sylas stood near the water, leaning on his wooden practice sword. Bandages wrapped tight beneath his shirt. His curls were wild, his skin pale but steady. Determined men had a particular posture — grounded, braced, unbending even when bending would ease the pain.
Sylas had that posture.
Arcanis approached.
"You look like you walked through the night."
Sylas snorted softly.
"I woke before dawn."
"Why?"
"You said dawn. I didn't want to be late."
Arcanis studied him — the stiffness when he breathed, the grit in his jaw, the way he didn't hide the pain but didn't surrender to it either.
"You're hurt," Arcanis said simply.
"I'm alive."
"That's not what I asked."
Sylas exhaled slowly.
"I can walk. I can fight a little. I can learn."
Arcanis nodded once.
"Then you're enough for now."
A faint ease entered Sylas's shoulders.
"Good," he muttered. "Because I was planning to drag myself here even if I couldn't stand."
Arcanis raised a brow.
"You've got questionable judgment."
Sylas smirked.
"You did fight a wolf alone."
"That wolf attacked first."
"And you attacked second."
"Because the alternative was dying."
Sylas shrugged.
"Same logic I used."
Arcanis paused — then nodded once.
"…Fair."
---
Arcanis extended a hand.
"Your sword."
Sylas passed him the wooden practice blade. Arcanis weighed it — light, uneven, rough along the grip.
"You trained with this?"
"Yes."
"For two days?"
"Yes."
"It's terrible."
Sylas frowned. "It's a stick."
"And somehow," Arcanis said, swinging it in a clean arc, "you improved with it."
Sylas blinked.
"How can you tell from just that?"
Arcanis pointed at his feet.
"Your weight shifts correctly now. Your shoulders are no longer locked. And your right foot isn't trying to escape into the next village."
Sylas's jaw dropped.
"My foot doesn't wander."
"It did."
"…Well, it doesn't now."
Arcanis returned the wooden sword.
"When you get a real blade, things will make more sense."
Sylas gripped the wood tighter.
"I'm ready for that."
"No," Arcanis corrected gently — firm, not harsh.
"You're willing. There's a difference."
Sylas let that settle, breath catching for half a heartbeat.
Then — a single nod.
"Then I'll become ready."
---
The dawn brightened, gold threading through the mist like molten fire. They crossed the ford together, stepping from stone to stone as icy water flowed around their ankles.
Sylas broke the quiet first.
"I've been thinking about that night. The wolf."
Arcanis slowed — listening, present.
"I really thought I'd die," Sylas admitted. "I'm not afraid to say it."
"You're alive," Arcanis said. "The outcome matters more than the fear."
"But you came," Sylas said, looking at him now. "You didn't have to."
Arcanis looked out over the trees, weighing the truth before answering.
"People move for different reasons," he said. "Some wait for the perfect moment. Others act because the moment won't wait for them."
He met Sylas's eyes.
"You acted. That's why I did too."
Sylas stared at him — a slow, quiet understanding forming.
"…So you helped me because I helped you first?"
"No," Arcanis said.
"I move with people who move."
A beat.
"Simple as that."
Sylas's stance shifted — not pride, not awe.
Something quieter. Respect, earned honestly.
"Then…" he said softly,
"I won't stop moving."
Arcanis's lips tugged upward — a subtle, warm line.
"Good. It's easier to walk with someone who keeps pace."
Sylas huffed.
"Try walking with cracked ribs."
Arcanis raised a brow.
"Try keeping up with me even without cracked ribs."
"…Fair."
---
The forest path opened before them — tall trunks, dark underbrush, the scent of wet leaves thick in the waking air.
Arcanis stopped at the treeline and faced Sylas.
"This won't be easy."
"I know."
"There will be beasts stronger than that wolf."
"I heard."
"There will be pain."
Sylas exhaled once.
"There already is."
Arcanis nodded.
"Good. Then you're prepared."
Sylas stepped forward, wooden sword in hand, breath steady despite the ache in his ribs.
Arcanis turned and began walking.
Sylas followed — not behind him, not ahead of him, but beside him.
Two boys leaving a village.
Two futures stepping onto the same road.
One shaped by throne.
One shaped by steel.
The forest swallowed their footsteps.
The world ahead was merciless.
But so were they.