Calming rage.

After Amara disappeared, the battle between solara and Ignisar carried on. Ten years have passed, and the kingdom that stood victorious was Ignisar, a realm forged in the flames of conquest and steeled by discipline.

Over the years, Ignisar had transformed into a beacon of advancement, where strict military regimens were balanced by the pursuit of innovation and knowledge. 

It's people lived under the iron rule of a king whose laws were absolute. He had declared that every male child, upon reaching the age of nineteen, must be conscripted into the military ranks, sworn to serve and protect the kingdom that had triumphed through blood and fire.

Amara's life, however, existed on the outskirts of this grand kingdom, nestled in the quiet corners of a humble town where she owned a small fruit store. Over the five years since the war's end, she had rebuilt herself, finding peace in her simple life. Her days were filled with tending to her store, and farming.

She lived with a young boy who she told her neighbors that he was his son. But the villagers couldn't believe her since Amara seemed young, how could she possibly had a child in the age of eighteen. Although kael looked fragile and had a petite body, he looked completely different from his mother. His appearance was striking, almost ethereal.

He was tall, his silhouette lean yet graceful, and his face bore a haunting beauty. His long, jet-black hair cascaded past his shoulders, framing eyes of endless onyx. His skin was pale, almost translucent, as if he were untouched by the sun's warmth.

People often whispered about his delicate demeanor, his quiet voice, and his peculiar air of mystery. Though frail in appearance, there was a fire in his gaze, unexplainable furry. Karl was a child of science and curiosity. In the years since the war, Ignisar had ushered in an era of technological enlightenment, merging the old traditions of the sword and spear with gears, pistons, and ancient arcane machinery.

The kingdom had established institutions of knowledge, where the brightest minds were trained in the workings of advanced war machines, alchemical innovations, and the study of natural elements. The boy excelled in these pursuits, immersing himself in lessons of metallurgy, combustion engines, and the ancient lore of fire energy—an enigmatic force said to power many of Ignisar's advancements.

Yet for all his brilliance, he was still subject to the laws of the land. In less than a year, he would be conscripted into the army, a fate Amara feared more than anything. The thought of him wielding a weapon, of marching into battle, filled her with dread. Her heart ached as she watched him pour over his books and blueprints, so focused, so eager to learn.

Amara's life had remained quiet for years, but her son's impending military service threatened to unravel everything she tried to hide. As the day of his conscription drew nearer, she began to feel the weight of her secrets pressing down on her. He was her son, but there was more to him than anyone in their small town could ever imagine. Amara feared not only for his safety but for what his future might reveal about his origins, the truth that even his son himself was unaware of.

One evening, walked through the door, the boy's posture was stiff. His face bruised, and his knuckles red from the strain of clenching his fists too tightly. His long black hair was disheveled, falling over his face, but it couldn't hide the frustration burning in his dark eyes.

Amara, who had been tending to a basket of fruit at the table, immediately noticed his state. Her heart clenched at the sight of her son battered and bruised. She rushed to him, her hands brushing back his hair to reveal the swelling on his cheek and the split on his lower lip.

"Kael!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

The boy pulled away slightly, his expression a mix of anger and shame. "It's nothing, Mother," he muttered, his voice low but tight with emotion. "Just some idiots at the institution. They… they think I don't belong there. That I'm… weak."

Amara's heart broke at his words. She guided him to sit at the table, grabbing a damp cloth to gently dab at his wounds. "Weak?" she repeated softly. "You are anything but weak, Kael. They don't know you. They don't know what you're capable of."

He chuckled bitterly, the sound hollow and pained. "Capable of what, Mother? Getting beaten like a dog? You always warned me not to fight, always told me to hold back… but look at me now. I didn't fight, and this is what happened."

Amara paused, her hands hovering over his bruised face. She looked into his eyes, searching for the boy she had raised—the boy with a kind heart and an unyielding sense of curiosity. "I warned you," she said quietly, "because I know what you're capable of, Kael. And it's not this." Her voice grew softer, but there was a weight to her words that made Kael stop and listen. "Violence… it's not your path. You have a gift, my son. You are meant to create, to build, not to destroy. Fighting would not have solved anything."

Kael scoffed, though his anger seemed to disappered as he met his mother's steady gaze. "Then what am I supposed to do, Mother? Let them beat me? Let them walk all over me?"

Amara smiled faintly, her hand resting gently on his cheek. "No, Kael. You rise above them. You prove them wrong. Not with your fists, but with your mind. You're stronger than you think. And one day, they will see that."

Kael stared at her for a moment, his frustration giving way to something softer. He reached up and covered her hand with his own, closing his eyes briefly. "You always say the right thing," he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his swollen lips. "Even when I don't want to hear it."

Amara chuckled, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's a mother's job," she replied, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. "Now sit still and let me clean you up properly."

As she tended to his wounds, Kael's thoughts lingered on her words. He didn't fully understand what she meant about his "gift" or what he was truly capable of, but deep down, he knows that he lacks in many things or perhaps his mother was right.