days after rest

Baylan stared at Artemis, the gentle face he'd known since he was a babe now hardened, framed by the crimson paint of the Battle Maid's ritualistic war face. The reality was a jagged shard in his gut. Artemis, who had soothed his childhood fears, bathed his scraped knees, and told him fantastical stories, was a warrior, a legend.

"Artemis?" he croaked, the word a ghost of a question.

She met his gaze, the blue of her eyes sharp and unwavering. "Baylan. It's been a long time." Her voice was devoid of the warmth he remembered, replaced by a cool, professional detachment. "I am not Artemis now. I am Valkyrie of Aethel."

The other three battle maids, silent observers until now, shifted. One, a woman with skin the color of polished obsidian and braids adorned with tiny silver bells, spoke. "Enough pleasantries, Valkyrie. Time is not on our side."

Baylan struggled to reconcile the woman before him with the Artemis of his memories. The Artemis who would hum lullabies as she braided his hair, the Artemis who would sneak him extra slices of honeyed bread when his father wasn't looking. The Artemis who… had vanished from his life when he was ten, claiming she needed to care for a sick relative. A relative who was, apparently, a continent away and a legendary warrior.

He pushed past the shock, his mind racing. His father... Vorlag. Two years in the dungeon, and now this desperate quest for a cure for Carrie. Two years. Enough time for anything to happen.

"My father... he seeks a way to cure my mother," Baylan said, his voice gaining strength. "She's been sealed in a crystal, a magical containment to stop the spread of the disease."

Artemis/Valkyrie nodded. "We know. That is part of why we are here. We are protectors of Aethel, and your father's actions tread a dangerous path. Magic of that caliber is rarely without consequence."

Before he could respond, the woman with the silver-belled braids spoke again. "He seeks the Tears of the Phoenix, Ivar's Tears. A dangerous relic, rumored to hold the power of resurrection."

Baylan's heart clenched. He knew whispers of such legends; tales told in hushed tones around campfires. The risks involved were unimaginable.

The silence hung heavy, broken only by the crackling fire. Then, the tallest of the maids, a towering figure with fiery red hair and eyes that held a hint of the dragon blood they were said to possess, spoke. "He is a fool, this Vorlag. Ahab's Order will be drawn to such a display of power. They will not tolerate anyone wielding magic they cannot control."

Ahab's Order. The name struck a chord of fear deep within him. The Order was a zealous organization, dedicated to eradicating what they perceived as dangerous magic and those who wielded it. Their methods were brutal, their reach far.

"We have been watching you, Baylan," Valkyrie said, her voice softening slightly. "Since you arrived in Aethel. We know of your lineage, your potential. We can help you survive this."

And so began his training. Under the watchful eyes of the four battle maids, Baylan was pushed to his limits. He learned the art of the blade from the obsidian-skinned Valkyrie of Shadow, her every movement precise and deadly. The red-haired Valkyrie of Fire taught him to harness his inner strength, to channel his rage into focused power. The third, a quiet woman with earth-toned robes and a connection to the very soil of Aethel, taught him stealth and the art of blending with his surroundings.

Valkyrie of Light, the Artemis he once knew, taught him strategy and tactics, her face a mask of stoicism as she drilled him relentlessly, pushing him harder than any of the others. The comforting childhood friend was gone, replaced by a harsh but undeniably effective teacher.

He trained day and night, his body aching, his mind reeling. The weight of his father's actions, the fear for his mother, and the ever-present threat of Ahab's Order fueled his determination. He had to become strong, not just for himself, but for his family, for Aethel, for everyone who might be caught in the crossfire.

Weeks turned into months. Baylan grew stronger, faster, more skilled. He began to tap into a power he hadn't known he possessed, a raw, nascent magic inherited from his lineage. The battle maids saw it, too, a flicker of potential that could either save them all or doom them.

One night, as they trained beneath the silvery glow of the moon, Valkyrie of Light stopped him. "Word has reached us," she said, her voice grave. "Ahab's Order knows of Vorlag's quest. They suspect he seeks the Tears of the Phoenix. They are sending scouts, hunters… and they are also searching for you."

Baylan's blood ran cold. They were coming for him. Because of Vorlag's actions, Baylan was a target. He looked at Valkyrie, at the steel in her eyes, and knew he wasn't just training to survive anymore. He was training to fight. He was training to defend the ones he loved. And he was training to protect Aethel from the coming storm. This time Artemis was no longer his nurse, she may have been training him, but, he knew, in a fight she would not hold back. She was his ally, his trainer, the formidable Valkyrie of Light. The comforting nurse from his youth was gone, sealed away beneath layers of steel and purpose forged in the fires of war. The lines between the past and the present had blurred and if it comes down to it, she will choose to protect Aethel.