The court hall was still when Kaelen entered. Light filtered through the stained-glass windows, scattering across polished marble, and the air hummed faintly, a resonance only the most attuned could feel — the pulse of the palace, alive with latent magic.
He was no longer a boy. Not by High Elf reckoning. Today, at his first expedition age, he was counted among those permitted to walk the outer borders of the realm, to measure himself against the unknown, to touch the wild currents of magic beyond the city walls.
The eldest prince, Aurelion, stood just inside the hall. His eyes flicked toward Kaelen, and for a heartbeat, Kaelen felt the weight of scrutiny — not judgment, not anger, but a sharp measure, as though his entire life had been cataloged in silence.
The King appeared at the throne, robes shifting like dark water, the air around him steady, coiled. His gaze did not waver.
"Kaelen," the King said, voice even, carrying the weight of command and expectation both. "Today marks your passage."
Kaelen inclined his head. The words were ceremony, but he felt them in his veins. Years of waking before dawn, hours spent listening to currents of energy that others ignored, limbs moved almost on their own, muscles and reflexes honed for situations that had not yet arrived — all of it led to this. His preparation was woven into him; the court would not see it, would not know.
The King's eyes flicked toward Aurelion. "He goes not alone."
Aurelion's brow rose. "Your Majesty?"
"You will accompany him," the King said. "Bring the girl."
Whispers flickered like a living thing through the hall. The illegitimate child, still small, still untested — Kaelen's eyes found her across the room. She looked up, startled, hands twisting together. Her aura pulsed faintly, a soft light of untapped resonance that only someone like Kaelen could sense. Already, without instruction, she was reacting to the currents of the palace, attuning herself instinctively.
Aurelion's gaze sharpened. He had expected ceremonial tests, lessons, or perhaps Kaelen's usual exercises. Not this. Not her.
"Bring her?" he repeated, voice low, more to himself than to anyone.
"Yes," the King said. His voice carried no invitation, no debate. "She will travel with him. She is his responsibility, as all those he protects will be. The outer wilds await, and her presence will matter more than you imagine."
Kaelen nodded. His attention, though, flicked outward — toward the inner gates, the corridors that led to the unknown. Already, he felt the pull of the currents beyond the city. Even the palace's energy bent subtly, faint, like a breath of wind warning of storms to come.
The eldest prince exhaled through his nose. He did not question further. Kaelen's steps were deliberate; he carried himself as one who had spent years moving before anyone else had stirred.
The journey began in silence. Only the faint crackle of the air around them, the resonance of magic brushing against his senses, marked Kaelen's movement. The child followed closely, instinctively, fingers brushing sigils etched along her tunic — Kaelen had not taught her, yet she mirrored his subtle weaving of energy.
By the time they passed the city gates, sunlight splashed the road, and Kaelen's senses shifted, reading currents and textures, the invisible threads that ran through living things. Every tree, every stone, every rustle of leaf carried energy; every step forward required balance, calculation, anticipation.
This was the High Elf method. Training was not formalized in drills; it was absorbed, lived. Kaelen had absorbed it every day of his life — in walks along the palace walls, in practice duels with shadows, in silent meditations that threaded his body to the air itself.
A creature stirred in the hedges. Not a normal fox, but a small, wild manifestation of energy, a living echo of the forest's magic. Kaelen's hand shifted subtly, tracing a sigil in the air, and the creature froze, recognition in its eyes. A faint resonance of his aura touched it, coaxing curiosity instead of aggression.
The child watched, wide-eyed. She did not speak. She did not need to. Her hands moved in tiny, tentative arcs, trying to echo what she felt, a shimmer of instinct guiding her.