Side Story 1- Torin’s Resolve

 A little after Abell leaves Eudora

Town council meeting:

The town hall was packed to capacity, the murmur of anxious voices creating an almost suffocating atmosphere. Farmers, shopkeepers, and parents huddled close, their faces marked with lines of worry. Some clutched their cloaks tightly; others tapped their feet or wrung their hands, their unease as palpable as the faint scent of damp earth lingering from the earlier rain.

At the center of the raised platform stood the elder, his weathered face a mask of grim determination. He slammed his cane against the floor, silencing the crowd. "We gather here today to discuss the state of Iridius," he began, his voice calm but heavy.

A man in the front row raised his hand. "Elder, is this about the Malignants?"

The elder nodded solemnly. "Yes. Malignant attacks have increased rapidly in recent weeks. So far, we've been fortunate, thanks to the efforts of individuals like Keeko, Freed, Ream—though Ream is rarely here—and Abell, who left us two weeks ago. But their strength alone will not sustain us forever."

A ripple of unease swept through the crowd, punctuated by whispers and worried glances.

"What about the Luminaries?" someone called out. "They patrol here, don't they?"

The elder snorted. "Those damned Luminaries! They come and go as they please, prioritizing bigger cities. When have you seen them stay when things get dangerous? They toss us scraps of their time and leave."

A farmer stood, his voice rising in anger. "They should be protecting all of us! What good are they if they only serve the rich?"

"Exactly!" another villager shouted, raising a fist. "They've abandoned us!"

The elder banged his cane once more, the sharp crack cutting through the uproar. "Enough! Complaining about the Luminaries won't change anything. This is our reality, and we need to face it. Villages like ours are being wiped out. Entire communities, gone in a single night. Iridius could be next."

A mother near the back clutched her child tightly, her face pale. "But what can we do?" she whispered.

The elder's voice softened, but his words carried the weight of a decision already made. "We must prepare ourselves. Specifically, we must prepare our youth. I propose that all children thirteen and older begin combat training under Lady Keeko's guidance."

Pandemonium erupted.

"Train our children? Are you insane?" shouted a father, rising to his feet.

"They're just kids!" a mother cried, her voice trembling with disbelief. "You can't ask this of us!"

"You'd send them to die!" barked a man near the door, his voice thick with anger.

The elder let the chaos carry for a moment before slamming his cane against the floor once more. "I know this is difficult to hear," he said firmly, his tone cutting through the noise. "But sitting idly, waiting to be slaughtered, is not a plan. Relying on Keeko, Freed, and the occasional Luminary patrol is not sustainable. If we do not act, we are doomed."

The crowd fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Parents exchanged uneasy glances, and even the most vocal dissenters hesitated.

"This is not a demand," the elder continued, "but I urge you to consider this. Think of your families. Think of Iridius' future."

Murmurs resumed, softer this time, as the gravity of the situation sank in. Some nodded reluctantly, while others remained grim and stone-faced.

"This meeting is adjourned," the elder said, stepping down from the platform. His cane echoed against the floor as he exited, leaving the townsfolk to grapple with their fears and the difficult choices ahead.

The Blacksmith's Forge

Later that evening, the forge was alive with the crackle of fire and the steady clang of hammer on steel. Freed stood by the anvil, his muscular arms swinging the hammer with practiced ease. The glow of molten metal lit his face, and his deep, booming laughter filled the shop.

"Training kids to fight Malignants, huh?" Freed said, grinning as he placed the red-hot blade into a trough of water. Steam hissed as he turned to his wife. "Now this is something! What do you think, Mary?" 

Mary frowned as she sat at the workbench, sorting herbs into neat bundles. "Freed, please. This isn't a joke. It's a serious decision for families to make."

Freed shrugged, his grin widening. "Sure, but it's about time we did something. We've been leaning on too few people for too long. Everyone should do their part, don't you think?" He turned toward his son, who was seated quietly on a stool in the corner. "Speaking of which… what about you, boy? You've always admired Abell. Why not make that admiration useful?"

Torin rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Admire him? No way. He was my disciple, remember? I trained him."

Freed let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, is that so? Well, disciple or not, he's out there getting stronger every day. What do you think about joining Keeko's training? You've got the strength for it."

Mary turned to her son, her expression softening into concern. "Torin, you don't have to do this. Don't feel pressured."

Torin paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the glowing embers in the forge. Finally, he stood, his expression firm. "No one's pressuring me. I want to do this. Sitting around while Abell gets stronger doesn't feel right. If I can help the village, I'm in."

Mary's frown deepened as she stepped closer to her son, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Just promise me you'll be careful, Torin."

"I promise," he said with a reassuring smile, though the determination in his eyes burned brighter than his words.

Freed clapped Torin on the back, grinning ear to ear. "That's the spirit! You're going to make us proud, boy. Let's show those Malignants what Iridius is made of!"

Mary shook her head, muttering under her breath, but she couldn't hide the small, reluctant smile that crept onto her face. As she watched her son, pride and worry battled within her. She knew he was taking the first step toward something greater.

And so, as the forge's glow flickered in the dim night, Torin's resolve solidified. The shadow of Abell's departure lingered, but in its place, a new fire began to burn.

Days into training with Keeko.

"Again!" Keeko's voice rang out, sharp and unyielding as a sword strike.

Torin's body hit the ground with a heavy thud, the air knocked from his lungs. He groaned, sweat dripping from his face as he looked up at Keeko. Her stance was firm, her eyes cold as steel, yet her voice carried an unmistakable edge of disappointment.

"This isn't going to cut it, Torin," she said, folding her arms. "You'll never survive against Malignants at this rate."

Torin slammed a fist into the dirt, his frustration boiling over. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. "What am I supposed to do?" he shouted, his voice cracking. "I have no special powers like Abell! Or his heroic attitude I'm just… average! This training regimen is too much for me."

Keeko raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting his words hang in the tense silence.

Torin sat up, his fists trembling. "I get up every morning to come here, pushing myself harder than anyone else, but it's like I'm not making any progress. No matter how hard I try, it's just a bunch of losses and disappointment."

"Even little Misha is excelling."

Keeko's expression hardened. "Is that how you really feel about these sessions?"

Torin hesitated, the heat of his anger cooling slightly. "Yeah," he muttered. "It's pointless. I'm not cut out for this."

Keeko's voice dropped, her tone sharp and commanding. "Then you can leave."

Torin blinked, stunned. "What?"

"You heard me." She stepped closer, towering over him. "If you think you don't belong here, then get out. Training isn't for people who give up the moment it gets hard. It's for those willing to fight, no matter how many times they hit the ground."

Torin clenched his jaw, anger surging anew. He wanted to shout back, to argue, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he stood, grabbing his wooden training sword from the dirt. Without another word, he turned and walked away.

Torin sat at the edge of the training yard, his head resting on his knees. His hands stung from gripping the training sword, and his entire body ached. It wasn't just the physical pain that gnawed at him—it was the weight of failure, the sense that he wasn't good enough.

"Torin?" a soft voice broke through his thoughts.

He looked up to see Astrid standing a few feet away, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. Her usual confidence was replaced with something softer, more cautious.

"What do you want?" Torin muttered, looking away.

Astrid frowned but didn't leave. Instead, she walked over and sat beside him, the long grass brushing against her knees. "I saw what happened," she said quietly. "You looked… frustrated."

"Yeah, well, it's none of your business," Torin replied, his voice sharp.

Astrid didn't flinch. "You know, it's okay to feel like this. Everyone struggles."

"Not like me," Torin said, shaking his head. "I'm not like Abell or Keeko. They have their powers, their fancy traits. Me? I've got nothing. I'm just a guy swinging a stick around, hoping it'll be enough."

Astrid was quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Do you think Keeko was always so strong even Abell." she asked suddenly.

Torin blinked. "What?"

"They struggled too," Astrid continued. "You think Abell didn't fall a hundred times before he got to where he is now? And Keeko? She's one of the strongest people in this country, but she didn't get there overnight."

"Yeah, but they have something special," Torin argued. "I don't."

Astrid turned to him, her expression firm. "You're wrong. You have something special, Torin. You're one of the most stubborn, hardworking people I've ever met. You don't give up, even when it feels like the odds are stacked against you."

Torin scoffed. "Doesn't feel like that right now."

Astrid smiled softly. "You're still here, aren't you? You could've gone home, but you didn't. That says a lot."

Torin looked down at his hands, his grip tightening around the wooden sword. He wanted to believe her, but doubt still clouded his mind. "What if it's not enough?"

"It will be," Astrid said simply. "But only if you keep going."

Torin sat in silence for a long moment, Astrid's words sinking in. He thought about the countless mornings he'd spent training, the blisters on his hands, the bruises on his arms. He thought about Abell—his rival, his former "disciple"—out there growing stronger every day. And he thought about the people of Iridius, the villagers who relied on others to keep them safe.

Slowly, Torin stood, his grip on the training sword firm. He turned to Astrid, a spark of determination lighting in his eyes. "You're right," he said quietly. "I can't quit. Not now. Also, I'm never one to look so weak next to a lady, I apologize."

Astrid grinned, standing beside him. "That's the Torin I know."

He looked back at the training yard, where Keeko was still drilling the other trainees. She hadn't noticed his return yet, but Torin didn't care. He didn't need her approval—not yet.

"I'm going back," he said, his voice steady. "Thanks, Astrid."

"Don't mention it," she replied with a playful smile. "Just don't let Keeko knock you out again, okay?"

Torin chuckled, the weight on his shoulders feeling just a little lighter. "No promises that woman is harsh."

With that, he strode back into the training yard, his fire reignited. He didn't know if he'd ever reach the heights of Abell or any luminary, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. One step at a time, he'd find his own strength—and maybe, just maybe, he'd prove to everyone, including himself, that he was more than just "average."

 Torin reentered the training yard, he noticed a wooden sword leaning against the rack—slightly longer and heavier than the others. He hesitated for a moment before grabbing it, the rough wood feeling solid in his hands.

Keeko's voice cut through the air. "You think you can handle that one?"

Torin met her gaze, a flicker of determination in his eyes. "I'll make it work."

Keeko smirked faintly, folding her arms. "We'll see."

Torin tightened his grip and stepped back into position, the weight of the sword grounding him. This time, when Keeko's attack came, he didn't falter. The blade felt like an extension of himself, steady and deliberate. It wasn't perfect, but it was progress—and that was enough.