Time blurred into days of busy preparation, the weight of promise hovering over Eclion like a soft dawn. While Luenor waited for a mage to come forward to answer his call, the village was buzzing with life and change.
Thalanar had taken nearly complete control of the mines that were reclaimed from the bandits, the distant yet comforting sounds of pickaxes ringing through the trees as villagers and elves all worked together under the watch of the elven sentinels, even Arwin worked tirelessly directing construction of new homes and walls, ensuring the villagers' their anxiety was soothed while working on the foundations of security.
But Luenor… Luenor was bored.
One morning he wandered to the square with a badly beaten iron sword in his hand. He attempted to make a swing, try to simulate form, but the weight of the sword was pulling on his thin arms, and each hesitant slice ended with the sword wobbling uselessly around his head.
Lyssari was sitting on the steps of the new granary watching him intensely, and he could tell by her bright eyes and that ·not quite hidden· smile that she found him amusing.
"Are you having fun Luenor?" she called with laughter bubbling beneath her voice.
He turned, the color on his cheeks growing red. "What? You think you could do better?" He smirked.
Lyssari tilted her head, her hair glinting in the sun. "I'm not a swordswoman" she said, chuckling lightly. "I'm more suited to the forest's gentle magics than blades."
"Then show me," Luenor said dropping his sword and grinning as if he knew what was coming next. "A little forest magic trick, just a tiny one?"
Lyssari's cheeks rose a darker shade of pink. "I.. I am still practicing" she said faintly and very defensively.
Luenor let out his breath, with his shoulders slumped forward. "Fine," he said and threw his arms up in the air in battle-worn resignation. "I will find someone who can teach me."
Hunter was at the edge of the village, with Faren, helping to build a new storehouse, when Luenor came to him. The older man looked up as they approached.
"Hunter," Luenor said breathlessly, his determination more unmistakable with every passing moment, "Teach me. Please. I want to be strong, I need to be."
Hunter's looks were unreadable. He said nothing for a while, just looked at the boy that bore such strong resemblance to Arhenius. Such a child, yet so small and untested.
"You recall your experiences in the duchy," Hunter stated slowly. "You never did your training like the others. Your... condition-"
"I don't care," Luenor replied quickly. "I must do something. I can't just stand here while everyone else is fighting."
Hunter's lips tightened. But after a long breath, he nodded. "Then come. But I will not give you a blade-not yet."
In the clearing in the woods, Luenor stood barefoot in the morning dew, the iron taste of the earth in his lungs. Hunter moved slowly, deliberate, steady.
"Strength isn't in the blade," Hunter said, his voice deep, and confident. "It's in your body. Your breath. Your balance. You learn that first."
Luenor did his best not to show how disappointed he was when Hunter had him drop into low stances, feeling the burn in all of his muscles at the slow, careful pace. No sword. No graceful arcs of mana—only the slow, constant grind of sweat and exertion.
At times, Lyssari would appear at the edge of the clearing, buzzing with shy curiosity. Other times, Thalanar stepped from the shadows of the trees, his staff in hand, his voice quiet.
"The forest," Thalanar said, once, while Luenor's feet slipped in the damp leaves, "will teach you balance, if you listen. It bends but does not break. Allow your breath to follow it."
Hunter nodded his approval. "Good advice. Listen to the forest, and your body."
___
The forest clearing had become a second home to Luenor. Every morning, he woke up well before the sun, breath fogging the cold air and found Hunter's unwavering eyes watching him.
"Lower," Hunter said, his patience short and tone unwavering. "You're too tight in the shoulders."
Luenor clenched his jaw and tried again, legs quivering as he sank deeper. Sweat gleamed on his brow, arms howled in anger.
Everything in him wanted to fall onto the ground and gasp for breath, and rest. He kept pushing, suffering in the heat of discipline for something deeper than pride - a memory of what was lost, and what he had lost, and still had left to fight for.
Thalanar regularly watched from the bush, staying hidden under the shelter of the enormous trees. One day, he brought Lyssari with him, her eyes wide with intrigue.
"You're joining him," Thalanar said modestly as he prodded Lyssari forward.
Lyssari hesitated as she looked at Luenor before turning back to her father, her face burning. "Me? I... I'm not a fighter."
"You'll learn something about yourself," Thalanar said simply, "Even the forest has depths to its roots."
Luenor threw her a brief grin as she hesitated beside him, "It's not so terrible," he said with a crooked smile, a stream of sweat gathering along his temple, "Well, maybe it is."
She laughed just a little and stepped next to him.
As time passed the two trained with Hunter's mentorful scrutiny. Luenor trained more sharply with each movement; his balance appeared more affirmative. Lyssari, though a bit clumsy initially, began to locate peace through a quiet grace in the motions, rhythmically marking their steps with the whispering forests' sway.
Yet, at night, although his body was tired, Luenor continued to lay awake with aches and his mind turning with anxiety. He was only beginning to feel the burden of Eclion's future.
On the seventh day, the earth mage finally arrived.
She cantered into Eclion after midday. She was a tall, dark-skinned woman with close-cropped blonde hair, wearing a dark green cloak with a distinct shimmer of faint runes. Her eyes were fierce and sharp - taking in the village and everyone around her with skepticism and curiosity.
She had a staff at her side, tipped with a jagged piece of rose quartz, which had a faint glow of earth mana.
The moment her feet touched the ground, Thalanar approached her with his staff, ears covered with cloaks. "You were called for the mines," he said, flat and monotonous, "Who are you?"
The woman raised her chin, proudly. "I am Nalia. Five Star Earth mage, part time mercenary. I was promised good coin, for this work - if this is a trick, I will turn the 'earth' beneath you, to dust."
Nalia's words elicited a surprised murmur from the villagers. Some of the elf warriors fidgeted, their grips on hilt's tightening.
Hunter stepped forward, calm and collected. "There is no trick," he said in his deep, calm, flat voice. "But your contract is not with the 'forest', or the 'village' - it is with the one who called you."
Nalia frowned and narrowed her eyes. "Then where is he? Now, let him speak."
For a moment, the air was tense.
Then Luenor stepped forward, cloaked in the long, dark folds of Alfrenzo. He said nothing—only inclined his head, the hood hiding his young face completely.
Thalanar's voice filled the hush. "This is Alfrenzo," he said simply. "He has claimed the mines and wishes to see them worked properly. You will find him fair—but do not mistake his silence for weakness."
Nalia's eyes flickered, taking in the cloaked figure, the powerful man who spoke for him, and the quiet strength of the villagers and elves who watched in silence.