An Offer of Training

The lord's gaze lingered on Aelar, assessing him with the practiced eye of a warrior who had trained generations of soldiers. The boy had potential—it was evident in his posture, in the way his eyes constantly assessed his surroundings, in the lean muscle visible beneath his simple traveling clothes. An idea began to form in Lord Rodel's mind.

"By the way, boy, are you interested in training?" he continued, the sudden change of subject catching Aelar off guard. His eyes sparkled with interest as he awaited the young man's response.

Aelar's heart leaped in his chest. Training—real training with weapons and techniques beyond what his father could teach him in their isolated existence—had been a distant dream for as long as he could remember. His eyes sought his father's, silently pleading for permission.

Rioran, recognizing the undisguised longing in his son's expression, gave a slight nod of approval. Perhaps this is why we were meant to come here, after all. He deserves more than a life of running and hiding.

"It's also for your safety," Rioran added with uncharacteristic openness. "You can use it against potential adversaries. Use it wisely." He smiled broadly at his son, recognizing that this moment marked a significant turn in their journey together. For the first time in many years, Rioran allowed himself to hope for a future where his son might walk in daylight without fear.

Aelar straightened in his chair, hardly able to contain his excitement. Training with Lord Rodel's men would mean structure, community, and purpose—all things he had secretly yearned for during their nomadic existence. "With all sincerity, Lord Rodel, I wholeheartedly accept your offer," he replied, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.

Lord Rodel's face broke into a genuine smile, the first since their arrival. "Excellent! Brom!" he called out, his voice carrying effortlessly through the thick wooden doors of the chamber.

The doors swung open immediately, revealing a tall, powerfully built man flanked by a group of disciplined soldiers. Brom's face was a map of scars earned honorably in countless battles, and his eyes held the sharp focus of one who lived by the sword. He moved with the fluid grace of a master swordsman as he approached the table and bowed respectfully to Lord Rodel.

"Lord, why did you summon me?" Brom inquired, his deep voice resonating with the natural authority of a veteran commander. His gaze flicked briefly to the visitors, assessment and curiosity evident in his expression.

"Inform your trainees that you have a new student now," Lord Rodel instructed, gesturing toward Aelar with a casual wave of his hand that belied the significance of the moment.

Brom's eyes narrowed as he studied the young man more carefully. "Is he the one, Lord?" he asked, an undercurrent of meaning in his question that went beyond the simple words.

"Yes, can't you see?" Lord Rodel responded, his tone carrying a weight that indicated there was far more to Aelar than met the eye.

Brom crossed his arms over his broad chest, considering the boy with newfound interest. "Is that so? We'll gauge his capabilities before he officially becomes a student," he remarked, already formulating training regimens in his mind, wondering if this unassuming young man could live up to whatever Lord Rodel saw in him.

Lord Rodel beckoned Brom closer and lowered his voice to a whisper that Aelar couldn't quite catch despite his straining ears. "The responsibility is yours. But treat him differently from your other students; he's the son of the former leader of—"

Brom's eyes widened dramatically, and he straightened so abruptly that his sword clanked against his armor. The son of Rioran Dayan—THE Rioran Dayan! His mind raced with the implications. The legendary hero's bloodline hadn't ended as everyone believed. This changed everything.

With newfound reverence, Brom approached Aelar, who shifted uncomfortably under the sudden intensity of the swordmaster's gaze. Rioran watched the interaction with hawkish vigilance, his hand casually dropping to the concealed blade at his hip—a movement so subtle only the most trained eye would catch it. If there's any threat to my son, even here among old allies, I will end it without hesitation.

"I'm Brom Lorend," the swordmaster introduced himself with formal courtesy. "Starting tomorrow, I'll be your teacher, Aelar. Make sure you're ready for what lies ahead." His voice carried both warning and promise—this would be no easy path, but the rewards would be worth the hardship.

Rioran observed the nervousness flitting across Aelar's face—the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, the almost imperceptible straightening of his shoulders. But beneath that superficial anxiety, Rioran recognized the gleam of eagerness in his son's eyes. He's been waiting for this chance his entire life, Rioran realized with a mixture of pride and melancholy. To be more than a fugitive's son, to find his path.

"Well done, well done," Lord Rodel nodded approvingly, hands clasped before him on the table. "Now, let's discuss—"

His words were cut short as the heavy chamber door burst open with such force that it slammed against the stone wall, the sound reverberating through the room like a thunderclap. The soldiers flanking Brom instinctively reached for their weapons, while Rioran's hand closed around the hilt of his hidden blade.

"Daddy~~!!!" a high, exuberant voice called out as a whirlwind of energy and flowing fabric burst into the chamber.

Lord Rodel's face transformed from commanding lord to exasperated father in an instant. "Alena, didn't I tell you not to open the door without warning?!" he scolded, though there was more resignation than real anger in his tone.

The newcomer—a young woman with Lord Rodel's stubborn jaw but softened by feminine features—skidded to a halt before the table. Her training clothes were smudged with dirt and what appeared to be tree sap, and her hair had partially escaped its practical braid. Despite her disheveled appearance, there was no mistaking her noble bearing or the confidence with which she carried herself.

"Why, Daddy? Our door is sturdy enough," Alena argued with the logic of one accustomed to testing boundaries. Her bright eyes surveyed the visitors with unabashed curiosity, lingering particularly on Aelar.

Lord Rodel pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture of familiar frustration. "Can't you see I have visitors? Please go to your room for a moment," he requested, his tone making it clear this was not truly a request but a command thinly veiled in politeness.

Alena's bottom lip protruded in a practiced pout as she crossed her arms. "Eeehhhh~~, but Dad, I still have training to do in the training area," she complained, shifting her weight from one foot to the other like a restless colt.

From the doorway, an elegantly dressed woman—clearly Alena's maid—stepped forward with the weary determination of one who had fought this particular battle many times before. "Miss Alena, we need to go to your room to wash you now; you're too stinky," she insisted, wrinkling her nose for dramatic effect.

Alena sniffed at her sleeve and grimaced, conceding the point. "Oh, okay~," she replied, turning to follow her maid. But before she left, her eyes locked onto Aelar with sudden recognition, and she pointed at him with unrestrained excitement.

"Daddy, he's the cute boy I saw outside the gate!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up with delight.

Lord Rodel's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he turned to Aelar. "Huh?! What are you talking about, Alena? Is that true, Aelar?" he asked, confusion evident in his furrowed brow.

Aelar, mortified by the sudden attention and the young lady's description of him, felt heat rising to his cheeks. He slid partially behind his father's broad shoulders, a childhood habit he thought he had outgrown. "....Yes, Lord Rodel," he admitted reluctantly, embarrassment coloring his voice.