Chapter 9 - The Falcon’s Journey

The crackling of the fire filled the quiet night, a rhythmic snapping of wood surrendering to the flames. Wisps of smoke curled into the air, carrying the earthy scent of burning bark and lingering embers. The night breeze whispered through the trees, rustling leaves and weaving cool currents through the campsite. It was a perfect balance—warmth from the fire, crispness from the wind, and the deep, rich aroma of nature.

Audrey leaned back, his head tilting slightly as he breathed it all in. His sharp senses absorbed every detail—the heat flickering against his skin, the comforting weight of the earth beneath him, and the subtle tremors of life moving through the woods. He let out a slow, satisfied sigh, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"This feels nice," Audrey murmured, his voice carrying the simple joy of the moment. "Nothing really beats nature."

Amelia, seated beside him, turned her head slightly. "You enjoying it?"

A nod. "Yeah," Audrey replied, his tone filled with quiet happiness.

The driver, a middle-aged man with a rugged yet kind face, observed their exchange. He leaned forward, poking the fire with a stick, a distant look crossing his eyes. He had spent years on the road, always moving, always guiding people from one place to another. But moments like this—peaceful nights under the stars, the quiet company of travelers—were what made it all worth it. It reminded him why he chose this life, why he never settled down in one place.

"That's good," the driver said with a small nod, his voice laced with nostalgia.

As the night deepened, the three settled into their meal—nothing extravagant, just simple, well-prepared food. Roasted meat, warm bread, and a bit of dried fruit. It was enough to fill their stomachs without weighing them down. The conversation was light, peppered with short exchanges, but silence held its own presence, wrapping them in a comfortable stillness.

Once their meal was finished, the driver stretched, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Well, I'll take my rest now," he said, settling himself under a nearby tree. He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, and within minutes, soft snores filled the air.

Audrey, on the other hand, climbed into the carriage. He had his own routines to follow, things he needed to train, even in his sleep. As his body settled, his mind sharpened, instinctively stretching his awareness outward. The rustling of leaves, the distant chirp of insects, the shifting wind—everything was information, and he took it all in.

Amelia, however, remained awake.

The warmth she carried—the gentle, nurturing presence of a mother—had faded. Replaced by something colder. Heavier. An aura that did not belong to a mere noblewoman or a simple traveler. The air around her seemed to still, as if nature itself recognized the shift.

Amelia moved deeper into the forest, each step soundless. The darkness did not hinder her; it welcomed her. She weaved through the trees effortlessly, her presence blending with the night. The moon above cast silver light upon her form, but even under its glow, she felt like a shadow moving through the world.

She knew exactly how far to go—far enough that Audrey, with all his heightened senses, would not detect what was about to happen.

Soon, she reached a small clearing, where a group of figures knelt in silence. They wore ragged, tattered clothes—intentionally so. A disguise. But Amelia knew better. These were not mere beggars or lost souls. No, these were her people.

One of them, a man with sharp features and piercing eyes, lifted his gaze. Though he kneeled, his posture was not one of submission, but of respect. His voice, when he spoke, was steady and filled with reverence.

"A wonderful night to you, my lady."

His words carried weight, as did the way he looked at her—not as a superior, not as a noble, but as something more. Something irreplaceable. And it was not just him. Every person present bore the same expression.

"How's the progress on the weapon?" Amelia's voice held authority, but there was no coldness in it. This was not the voice of a master speaking to subordinates, but of a leader addressing her comrades. People who had fought beside her, who had bled for her.

The man, likely their leader, responded without hesitation. "We still need another six years to finish it, my lady."

Amelia's eyes gleamed in the moonlight. A slow smile formed—not one of amusement, but of satisfaction.

"Good job," she said, and though her words were simple, they held genuine appreciation. Her gaze softened slightly as a thought crossed her mind. *Audrey will like this weapon.*

She turned away, casting a final glance at them. "You may return now."

"As you command."

Like whispers in the wind, they vanished into the darkness.

Amelia remained still for a moment, lifting her head to the sky. The moon hung above her, distant yet familiar. Her lips parted, and in the solitude of the night, she whispered,

"How are you, honey?"

There was no answer. There never was.

A faint breeze brushed against her cheek, and for a brief second, she allowed herself to believe it was a response. Then, with a quiet exhale, she turned and made her way back to the campsite. To her son.

Morning came with the golden glow of dawn spilling through the trees. The fire had burned low, leaving behind a bed of warm embers. Amelia and the driver were already up, securing their belongings, preparing for departure.

Audrey, as expected, was not idly waiting.

A short distance away, he was training.

Though he did not have sight, he did not need it. His body moved with precision, his senses extending far beyond what ordinary people could perceive. Every shift in the wind, every vibration in the ground, every change in temperature—it was all information. He was refining his awareness, sharpening the instincts that would one day make him more than just a fighter. More than just a noble son.

The driver watched with interest.

"Mrs. Amelia," he said, his tone filled with genuine curiosity, "if you don't mind me asking, what exactly is your son doing?"

Amelia paused for a moment, then smiled—a knowing, almost proud smile. "Training to become the new Falcon."

The driver blinked. "New Falcon?"

Her eyes drifted to Audrey, her voice carrying something almost nostalgic. "One day, you'll hear the name—the Blind Falcon." A chuckle escaped her lips. "Probably the future's strongest."

The driver absorbed her words, then looked back at Audrey. A small, intrigued smile formed on his lips. "Is that so?" He nodded, as if making a silent promise to himself. "I'll be looking forward to that."

*Elsewhere...*

Somewhere beyond the limitations of mortal sight, beyond the reach of the known world, something smiled.

Not a cruel smile, nor a benevolent one—just the kind that belonged to a watcher, an observer who had seen the wheels of fate turn countless times before.

The world would change.

And soon, the Falcon would take flight.