The First Step of the Journey

The dawn over the Sanctum of Orchids was unlike anything Tlandar had ever seen. The sky, bathed in hues of deep violet and gold, shimmered with the lingering energy of the Sanctum's ancient atmospheric field. The mountain peaks surrounding the temple were silent, untouched by war, untouched by the weight of the world outside.

And yet, for Tlandar, war had already begun.

It was not a war of weapons or battlefields—not yet. It was a war of discipline, of endurance, of mind and spirit.

His five-year training had begun.

---

The Path of the Warrior

Tlandar's first lesson was not combat. It was understanding himself.

"The mind is the first battlefield," said Instructor Jhavrek, a towering, battle-scarred Salgaran veteran with metallic prosthetic arms and piercing silver eyes. "A blade in an untrained hand is a danger to all—including its wielder."

The training began with discipline.

For hours, Tlandar sat in a meditation hall, forced to quiet his thoughts, to feel the balance that the Salgarans revered. It was harder than battle. His mind was restless, still dwelling on Salgar's prophetic words.

"You will wield Val'katl's sword."

"You will stand at Boulderkeep."

"You will enter the Valiant Contest."

But none of those things had happened. And yet, Salgar spoke with absolute certainty.

Had she seen the future?

Or was it merely the inevitable path he would walk?

Every time his thoughts drifted, Jhavrek struck him with a wooden staff—not with force, but with precision. A sharp crack against his shoulder, a reminder to focus.

"Your mind is your own worst enemy," Jhavrek warned. "Until you master it, you will never master anything else."

---

The Machines of War

On the second week of training, Tlandar was introduced to the Xothek Formicrons.

Massive twenty-foot-tall war mechs, their sleek designs marked not with runes, but with ancient Asemeri abstract symbols of knowledge and instruction. These symbols were not meant for decoration—they were directives, lessons woven into the machine itself, instructing the pilot on movement, combat, and synchronization.

Tlandar had seen these machines before, patrolling the streets of New Asemeri—but never up close.

These were not just machines. They were weapons of war.

And he had to learn how to control them.

"This is no mere vehicle," said Instructor Velshar, an expert in mechanized warfare. "The Formicron moves as an extension of its pilot. The greatest warriors do not operate them—they become them."

The training was brutal.

The first time he stepped into the cockpit, Tlandar failed.

The neural synchronization overwhelmed him, nearly making him black out. His body felt heavy, his vision blurred as the machine tried to connect with him.

"This thing is alive," he realized.

But the instructors did not allow failure.

Again.

And again.

By the end of the first month, Tlandar could finally move the Formicron without collapsing.

By the end of the second month, he could fight with it.

And by the end of the first year, he could command entire squads of them.

But the training never became easier. The weight of responsibility never lessened.

And still—Salgar never told him why he was training.

---

A Silent Understanding

On rare nights, Tlandar and Akashma spoke.

She had changed, just as he had. She no longer guided him as she once did. Now, she observed.

One evening, as the violet moons hung over the mountains, he confronted her.

"You knew everything before I came here," he said. "Didn't you?"

Akashma was silent for a long time before she answered.

"I knew enough," she admitted.

Tlandar frowned. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you wouldn't have believed it."

He couldn't argue.

He didn't even know if he believed it now.

But something had begun to change within him.

He no longer questioned if he would be ready.

He only questioned when.

---

The Unseen Future

The days passed. The months passed.

And soon, five years would pass.

The Tlandar who had once fled to New Asemeri was gone.

In his place was something new.

A warrior. A leader. A force waiting to awaken.

The future awaited.

And with it—the war that would decide everything.