Training in Aurenfall did not begin with instruction.
It began with pain.
Frank hit the stone floor for the third time that morning, breath knocked from his lungs. The training yard was already slick with sweat, the air sharp with effort and steel. Rhea stood over him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Get up," she said.
Frank forced himself to his feet, legs trembling. Across from him, a city trainee smirked, spinning a practice blade with casual ease.
"You hesitate," Rhea continued. "Out there, hesitation is death."
The trainee lunged again—fast, precise. Frank barely raised his guard in time. The impact rattled his bones. He staggered, but this time, he didn't fall.
Rhea's eyes narrowed. "Again."
By midday, Frank's hands bled. His muscles screamed. He lost more fights than he won—but he learned. He learned how city fighters moved in groups, how they feinted for advantage, how power here was as much position as strength.
That night, Rhea finally spoke plainly.
"Aurenfall isn't one force," she said, handing him water. "It's factions. The Iron Guard controls the streets. The Merchant Council controls the coin. And the Veiled Circle—" she paused, "—they control information."
Frank wiped his brow. "And Caelum?"
Rhea's jaw tightened. "He moves between them. That's his strength."
POWER IN THE CITY
Days passed. Frank trained until dawn and listened at dusk. He learned that contracts were signed in back rooms, that guards answered to pay as much as duty, and that Caelum Vire once held influence in all three factions—before vanishing.
But whispers carried something new.
"He doesn't step into circles with witnesses anymore," one voice murmured.
"He avoids public confrontations," another said.
Frank felt it then—a crack in the image.
"What's his weakness?" Frank asked Rhea quietly one evening.
She hesitated. "Control. He needs everything aligned. When it isn't… he pulls back."
Frank nodded slowly. Fear of chaos, he realized. He can't stand what he can't command.
INK AND DISTANCE
That night, Frank sat by lantern light and wrote his first letter.
Elara,
The city is loud, but not alive like home. I train every day. It hurts—but I'm still standing.
I keep the band you gave me wrapped around my hand. It reminds me why I didn't turn back.
—Frank
Days later, a reply arrived, folded carefully.
Frank,
The town is quieter without you. I help where I can. People ask about you more than they admit.
Don't let the city change who you are. Let it sharpen you.
Come back safe.
—Elara
Frank read the letter twice. Then once more.
The ache in his chest eased—not gone, but steadied.
THE SHADOW WATCHES
High above the city, Caelum Vire stood before a map of Aurenfall, markers shifting under his fingers.
"He trains," a subordinate reported.
Caelum nodded. "Good. Pressure makes people predictable."
But as he turned away, his hand paused—just briefly—over the symbol of the training yards.
"Chaos," he murmured, displeased. "Too much of it invites mistakes."
And for the first time, his expression tightened.
Frank returned to the yard at dawn, letter tucked safely inside his coat. His body hurt. His mind was sharper. And now, he understood the battlefield beyond fists and fire.
Cities had rules.
Power had cracks.
And even the strongest men feared losing control.
Frank raised his guard.
"There he stood… learning not just how to fight—but where to strike."