The dining hall was a modest room. A long table stood in the center, illuminated by the soft, warm glow of magical stones embedded in the ceiling. These stones pulsed faintly, casting an almost ethereal light that filled the room with a sense of quiet reverence. Seated around the table were the children, their plates laden with steaming stew and freshly baked bread. The fragrant aroma of the meal mingled with the faint smell of aged wood, creating a comforting atmosphere.

  Commander Kaelthar sat at the head of the table , his armor gleaming even in the soft light.

  He reached up and unfastened his helmet. A collective hush fell over the group as he set it down with a heavy clink on the table’s edge.

  For the first time, they saw his face. Kaelthar was an old man, though age had not dulled the sharpness of his features. His skin was weathered, a testament to years spent under harsh suns and in the midst of battle. His eyes were piercing, a steely gray that seemed to see through every facade. A pair of silver earrings glinted faintly in the light, catching the children’s attention. His silver hair was neatly cut, further emphasizing the sharp angles of his face.

  He quickly unbuckle his gauntlets, placing them neatly beside his helmet.

  “You’re really old,” The girl blurted out suddenly, her voice small but clear. She immediately clapped her hands over her mouth, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red.

  Kaelthar’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through. “I’ve seen a lot of years, yes,” he said evenly, his tone devoid of offense. He tore a piece of bread from the loaf in front of him, his movements deliberate and precise.

  “How did you survive that explosion?” The blond boy asked, his voice tinged with defiance but underpinned by genuine curiosity.

  Kaelthar sharp eyes locking onto Tristan’s. The room seemed to grow quieter, the children holding their breath as they awaited his answer. Finally, he spoke.

  “I am no normal person,” he said simply. “But I am not invincible, either. Armor can only protect so much. The rest…” He gestured vaguely, the silver earrings catching the light again. “The rest comes from experience.”

  The stocky boy’s voice quivered as he asked, “Are you a mage?” His words were barely above a whisper, his nervousness palpable, yet the spark of curiosity in his eyes betrayed his underlying courage.

  Kaelthar paused, fixing his steely gaze on the boy. Then, with deliberate force, he raised his fist and struck it against his chest plate. The sound reverberated through the room like a drumbeat, silencing the faint rustle of utensils. “Forged in the Forge of Dominion,” he said, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to settle into every corner of the room. “Long before even your parents were born.” His words were filled with pride, a testament to his unwavering belief in his origins, and they lingered in the air like a solemn vow.

  The children exchanged uneasy glances, their expression awe struck.

  Finally, the blonde boy, broke the silence, leaning forward slightly as he spoke. “I don’t mean to be rude, sir, but… why are you wasting your time escorting some kids?” His sharp blue eyes met Kaelthar’s unflinchingly, his tone bold but not disrespectful. “You’re a veteran. This job seems… beneath you.”

  The words hung in the air, bold yet spoken without malice. The girl gasped softly, while stocky boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his plate. Even Cale’s brow furrowed slightly.

  The commander leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing, letting the silence stretch until it felt like the walls themselves were holding their breath. The flickering light of the magical stones overhead cast shifting shadows across his face, accentuating the hard lines and the glint of his silver earrings. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured but carried a gravity that sent chills down their spines.

  “Do you think this is a simple task, boy?” he asked, his piercing eyes locking onto blonde boy’s. “Escorting children? Protecting the next generation from dangers you can’t yet comprehend? Tell me,” he continued, leaning forward now, his elbows resting heavily on the table, “if I am not here to ensure your safety, who will be? Your strength, your courage, your resolve… they are seeds, not yet grown. Until they bloom, you are vulnerable. Do you understand that?”

  The boy swallowed hard, his earlier confidence faltering under the weight of Kaelthar’s words. “I… I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, tinged with uncertainty.

  Kaelthar’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “It’s not an insult to question,” he said, his voice quieter now, though no less powerful. “But remember this: what you see as ‘lower’ work is often the most important. The tasks that seem beneath you are the ones that build the foundation for greater things. You will learn this, if you live long enough.”

  The room remained heavy with tension as the children absorbed his words. Finally, The girl broke the silence, her voice tentative and soft. “But… why us? Why would someone like you care about us?”

  Kaelthar’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Because I see what you could become,” he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet conviction. “And because someone once did the same for me.”

  For a moment, the children were silent, their eyes flickering with unspoken thoughts. In the flickering glow of the magical stones, Kaelthar’s silver earrings caught the light, glinting like stars.

  Beneath the steel and discipline, there was a history, a story they didn’t yet know.

  Kaelthar straightened, as he addressed the group. “Now, before you eat, introduce yourselves,” he said, his voice firm yet inviting.

  The children exchanged hesitant glances, unsure who should speak first. Finally, the blonde boy straightened in his seat, his sharp blue eyes meeting Kaelthar’s gaze without flinching. He had been waiting for this opportunity to establish himself, to show he wasn’t afraid of authority.

  “I’m Tristan Bellamy,” he said, his tone steady. “I’m from a village near the eastern woods. My mother raised me on her own, and I… don’t plan on going back.” There was a quiet defiance in his voice, but it was tempered by a flicker of vulnerability.

  Kaelthar nodded, his expression unreadable. “And what drives you, Tristan?”

  Tristan hesitated, his fingers curling into fists on the table. “I want to be strong enough that no one can push me around. Strong enough to protect the people I care about.”

  Kaelthar’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before he turned his attention to the stocky boy sitting next to Tristan. The boy shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the commander’s scrutiny.

  “I’m Davion Carter,” he said, his voice quieter but steady. “My family were miners. After… an accident, my mom and I moved to a new town. I…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the table. “I just want to keep people safe. To make sure nothing like that ever happens again.”

  Kaelthar’s expression softened slightly. “A noble goal. Fear can be a powerful motivator, but don’t let it consume you.”

  Davion nodded, though his shoulders remained tense. Kaelthar’s gaze shifted to the little girl sitting across from him. She looked up, her green eyes wide but determined, though her small hands fidgeted nervously in her lap.

  “I’m Mirelle Ashford but people call me Miri,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “My parents were performers. They taught me how to sing and paint and… tell stories. But they’re gone now.” She hesitated, fiddling with a braid that rested on her shoulder. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out where I belong.”

  Kaelthar nodded slowly. “A seeker. The world needs people like you, Miri. Never stop searching.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Finally, all eyes turned to Cale, who had been quietly observing the others. He straightened in his seat, his rich brown eyes meeting Kaelthar’s.

  “I’m Cale Durand,” he said. “My father is a smith and my mother makes the most beautiful clothes in the entire

  Kaelthar regarded him thoughtfully. “A helper, then. But remember, Cale, helping others should not come at the cost of losing yourself. Balance is key.”

  The room fell silent for a moment, the children digesting Kaelthar’s words. The commander’s gaze swept over them once more.

  “Each of you has a purpose, a drive,” he said. “Hold onto that. It will guide you in the days to come. For now, rest and eat. The road ahead is long, and it will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine.”

  The children nodded, the weight of his words settling over them as they resumed their meal. Though their paths were uncertain, for the first time, they felt a sense of unity around the table, a shared understanding that they were no longer alone.

  Kaelthar picked up his spoon and joined them in eating.

  After serving dinner, Kaelthar stood from his seat with deliberate precision. He slid his gauntlets back over his hands, the metal clinking softly with a satisfying weight, and then reached for his helmet. With practiced ease, he placed it back on his head, the faint glow of the magical stones reflecting off its polished surface. Encased fully in his armor, his imposing figure seemed even more formidable, an impenetrable wall of steel and authority.

  “Now that you’ve eaten, it is time to rest,” Kaelthar addressed them, his voice calm yet commanding, like a bell tolling in the distance. “Tomorrow, at the first rays of the sun, we will leave.”

  The children quickly rose to their feet, their movements hurried and awkward. Nervousness and obedience mingled in their expressions as they fumbled to gather themselves. Kaelthar turned on his heel, he led them down the dimly lit corridor. The rhythmic sound of his heavy footsteps echoed off the wooden walls, creating a cadence that matched the faint thrum of their own hearts.

  When they reached their rooms, Kaelthar stopped, his towering presence filling the hallway. He gestured toward the doors, his gauntleted hand moving with deliberate authority. “Rest well,” he said, his gaze sweeping over them. “You will need your strength for the journey ahead.” His eyes lingered on each of them in turn, a silent but unyielding .

  Cale paused at the threshold of his room, glancing toward Mirelle. Her fiery red braids fell over her shoulders as she looked up, her wide green eyes meeting his.

  “Good night,” Cale said softly, offering her a small, sincere smile.

  Mirelle returned the smile, though it was faint and tinged with exhaustion. “Good night,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Cale stepped into his room, the faint creak of the wooden floor following him. The simple furnishings cast faint shadows in the dim light, their stillness a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. The boys settled into their beds, their movements sluggish with fatigue. The weight of the day’s events pressed down on them, and soon the rhythmic sound of their breathing filled the room. Outside, the faint whispers of the night carried on, a soothing backdrop to their rest.

  The next morning, a sharp knock echoed through the hallway, breaking the gentle cocoon of sleep. Kaelthar’s gauntleted hand struck the doors with measured force. “Rise. It’s time to move,” his voice called, steady and unyielding, carrying with it a sense of urgency that left no room for hesitation.

  The children stirred groggily, the remnants of sleep still clinging to them like cobwebs as they hurried to prepare. Their footsteps shuffled along the wooden floors as they made their way to the dining hall, where a simple but hearty breakfast awaited them. The scent of fresh bread and warm porridge filled the air, mingling with the faint chill of the morning.

  Cale couldn’t help but notice Mirelle sitting quietly at the table, her posture slightly slouched. Faint dark circles underlined her green eyes. Concern flickered across his face as he leaned closer to her.

  “How did you sleep ?” he asked gently, his voice filled with genuine worry.

  Mirelle hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of a piece of bread. Finally, she shook her head. “Not very well,” she admitted, her voice tinged with weariness. “I… I kept waking up. I hope I can get some sleep on the carriage.”

  Cale nodded, his concern deepening. “Maybe the ride will help,” he said, his tone soft and reassuring. He offered her a small, encouraging smile, hoping to lift her spirits.

  As breakfast came to an end and the group began to gather their things, Cale approached Kaelthar, his curiosity bubbling to the surface. “Commander Kaelthar,” he began hesitantly, “how long until we reach the Forge of Dominion?”

  Kaelthar paused mid-step, turning his sharp gray eyes toward Cale. The weight of his gaze made Cale’s heart quicken slightly, but the older man’s voice was calm when he replied. “In eleven days,” he said, each word deliberate and measured.

  The answer hung heavy in the air. Eleven days. To Cale, it felt like an eternity, a stretch of time filled with unknown challenges and unspoken fears. Yet the way Kaelthar delivered the answer—steady, assured, and unshaken—instilled a faint sense of confidence. It was as if the commander’s certainty was a promise that they would endure.

  Stepping outside, the children were greeted by the first rays of sunlight painting the landscape in hues of gold and orange. The carriage awaited them, its sturdy frame glistening faintly with dew. The carter was already sat at the front of the carriage, sitting on a small bench , the reigns in his hands.

  Kaelthar stood by the horses, his presence a steadfast anchor against the uncertainty that loomed ahead. His armor caught the light, gleaming like a beacon of resolve.

  The children climbed into the carriage, their movements a mixture of eagerness and trepidation. The wheels creaked as the vehicle began to roll forward, the rhythmic sound of hooves striking the earth filling the air. As the carriage carried them toward their destiny, a quiet resolve began to settle over the group.

  Cale tilted his head as he watched Tristan, who was holding a small metal bead in his palm, his sharp blue eyes fixed intently on it. Tristan’s brow furrowed, his lips pressed tightly together in concentration. The faint tension in the air was palpable, as though even the bead itself resisted his will.

  “What are you doing?” Cale finally asked, his curiosity breaking the silence.

  Tristan didn’t look up immediately, as though he hadn’t even heard the question. After a few moments, he let out a frustrated sigh and glanced at Cale. “I’m trying to move it,” he said simply, his tone edged with impatience.

  Mirelle leaned forward, her fiery braids swaying as she rested her elbows on her knees. “You’ve been staring at that ball for a few minutes already,” she said. “Nothing’s happening.”

  Tristan’s jaw tightened, and he closed his fingers around the bead protectively. “It’s not that simple,” he snapped. “I have to focus.”

  Cale and Mirelle exchanged a puzzled glance. Davion, sitting quietly nearby, shifted uncomfortably. “Focus on what?” Cale asked.

  Tristan let out a groan, running his free hand through his unruly blond hair. “Magic,” he said, as if the word itself should explain everything. When the others continued to look at him blankly, his frustration boiled over. “Do you three know anything about magic?” he demanded, his piercing gaze darting between Cale, Mirelle, and Davion.

  Cale shrugged, his brown eyes wide. “Not much.. Magic isn’t exactly part of our daily chores. My grandfather was a fire mage, but he died before I was born.”

  “I know some stories,” Mirelle offered hesitantly, her green eyes narrowing as she tried to recall. “Like how mages wave their hands and say weird words, and then… boom. Magic.”

  Davion hesitated, his voice quieter than the others. “I heard the miners talk about earth mages once,” he said. “They said they could make the ground move just by thinking about it. But I never saw it myself.”

  Tristan stared at them, his mouth slightly agape. “That’s it?” he asked incredulously. “That’s all you know?”

  Cale shrugged again. “Pretty much.”

  Tristan shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Unbelievable. No wonder you don’t understand.” He held up the bead again, turning it slowly in his fingers. “Magic isn’t just about waving your hands and saying words. Mages use mana to power their spells. It’s like… a fuel that comes from within them. But those with an affinity can control their element without using magic spells. It’s different. They don’t need mana, just focus.”

  Mirelle tilted her head. “Affinity?”

  “Yeah,” Tristan said, nodding. “An affinity is like… a natural connection to an element. Fire, water, air, earth, metal… stuff like that. If you have an affinity, you can manipulate your element directly. It still tires you out, though, because it takes so much concentration. But it’s not the same as casting spells.”

  Cale frowned thoughtfully, looking down at his own hands as if searching for some hidden potential. “How does it feel?” he asked.

  Tristan hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around the bead. “It’s… hard to describe. It’s like… a pull, I guess. Like something deep inside you is trying to reach out, but it’s just out of reach.”

  Davion’s brow furrowed. “But if it’s so hard, why bother?” he asked. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to leave it alone and just use mana instead ?”

  Tristan turned to him, his blue eyes blazing. “Because it’s part of me,” he said, his voice fierce. “I can’t just ignore it.”

  Mirelle’s expression softened, curiosity replacing her earlier skepticism. “How do you know so much about this?” she asked.

  Tristan’s posture relaxed slightly, though a hint of defensiveness lingered in his voice. “There was an old mage in my village,” he said. “He just lived there, helping people when he could. I used to help him with chores and stuff, and in return, he… he taught me about magic.”

  Cale’s eyes lit up. “That’s amazing. What was he like?”

  Tristan’s gaze grew distant, his fingers absently rolling the bead between them. “He was… kind. Patient. But strict, too. He said magic wasn’t something to play around with. It’s dangerous, and it demands respect.” He paused, his voice growing quieter. “He said I had potential.”

  Davion, his voice soft, asked hesitantly, “Do you think he’d be proud of you now?”

  Tristan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m going to try.” He looked back at the bead in his hand, determination hardening his features. “Because if I don’t, then what’s the point?”

  The room fell quiet, the weight of his words sinking in. Cale watched him with admiration, while Mirelle’s green eyes softened with understanding. Davion nodded thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on Tristan.

  Kaelthar: