Forage and Challenge

Past the watchtowers and into the jagged edges of House Dorne's outer grounds, Caelan walked a winding trail carved into the base of the cliffs. His destination: a forge whispered about in old soldier tales and mercenary pubs. Few had met its master, but all knew the name.

Thrain Ironvein.

A dwarf. One of the top five blacksmiths on the entire continent. A reclusive artisan whose work was said to rival the gods' own craftsmanship.

As Caelan approached, he found the forge alive with light and sound. Sparks crackled in the air. Metal sang beneath the hammer's rhythm. The heat hit like a wall.

Thrain looked up, bushy brows raised. "You the boy from Dorne?"

"I am." Caelan stepped forward, carefully unrolling a thick parchment of blueprints on a stone table. "I need these."

Thrain wiped his hands and leaned over the diagrams. His sharp eyes flicked between designs. Scalpel. Clips. Retractors. Surgical scissors. Suture scissors. Bandage scissors. Precise tools drawn with exact detail.

"What in the blackened flames of Vulkar are these?"

Caelan grinned. "Tools for surgery."

Thrain blinked. "So the rumor's true... Someone from the Dorne lineage wants to be a healer. Never thought I'd live to see it."

Caelan smiled but said nothing.

"I'll need a metal," he added. "Gold. It's durable, resistant to corrosion, and won't react with flesh. It's ideal for biocompatibility."

The dwarf scratched his beard. "Hm. Not a bad choice. And that's not all, is it?"

"I also need a sword," Caelan said. "One capable of conducting mana."

Thrain chuckled. "Now you're talking my language. Tools like these? Easy. A mana-conductive blade? That's the fun part."

"One last thing," Caelan said. "I need the tools in an organized kit. Designed to stay clean and sterile. Is that possible?"

The blacksmith's eyes gleamed. "Leave it to me. I'll deliver it myself. Something this specific? I wouldn't trust anyone else to carry it."

"I'll be waiting for your arrival."

---------------------------------------------------

Caelan stepped onto the training ground, sword hanging loose at his side. Overhead, clouds shifted like restless waves, dimming the earth below in a cold, silver hue.

He stopped a few paces from the first wooden target—its surface worn, cut, and splintered from battles past.

Mana flared beneath his skin.

With a breath, he moved.

His body surged forward—smooth, fast, precise. Each muscle obeyed, charged with speed and strength magic. The sword trailed like a streak of dark light.

His left foot struck the dirt as he approached the first target. His shoulder coiled, muscles tightening like drawn wire—then snapped forward.

A clean horizontal slash cut through the air.

Steel met wood with a heavy crack. The target split in half before bursting apart, shards and splinters scattering like shrapnel.

Without hesitation, he spun—pivoting on the ball of his foot—his sword tracing a sharp line in the air.

A quick thrust. The point of his blade sank into the second target, the wood splintering with a resounding thud. He twisted, forcing the blade deeper, the impact vibrating up his arm.

In one fluid motion, Caelan pulled the sword back and transitioned into a cross slash. His body twisted mid-air, the sword cutting diagonally across the third target. The wood splintered along the strike, and the target collapsed into a pile of broken planks.

A slow clap echoed behind him.

"Wow, brother. I gotta hand it to you... you've really grown powerful... and in such a short time too."

Caelan turned. Seren stood at the edge of the yard, arms folded, lips curled into a sly grin. His amber eyes gleamed with mischief, like he was watching a particularly interesting show.

Seren—the prodigy of House Dorne.

Caelan barely knew his younger brother.

Seren stepped forward, his tone light, almost teasing. "It's funny, isn't it? You used to be the one stuck in that bed, not me. Everyone thought you were a lost cause.

Weak bones, could barely sit upright without gasping for breath. They said you'd never walk, never swing a sword. And look at you now—Fourth Circle magic. Two-Star Swordsmanship. It's... almost unbelievable."

He took a few more steps, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Magic's tough, sure, but swordsmanship? That's harder. And the aura... it puts a strain on the body. Magic drains your core. But you? You're gliding between them like it's second nature. How do you do it?"

Caelan remained silent, his breath even, the wind tugging at his cloak.

Seren's voice dropped slightly, though his tone was still casual. "You've got the perfect combination—magic and sword. People always said you'd have to pick one, that it's impossible to master both.

But here you are, doing exactly that. It doesn't make sense... unless you've found some new trick. Something no one else has figured out."

Caelan kept his gaze steady, resisting the urge to reveal any weakness.

Seren chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "But hey, I'm not here to discuss your secrets. It's not about how you got this powerful... it's about what happens next. And, well... it's clear to everyone. You've become a real threat."

Caelan's jaw tightened. "I'm not interested in becoming the next heir."

Seren's smirk widened as he casually turned, as if the conversation were already over. "Oh, I know. But it doesn't matter. Whether you like it or not, you've already become the biggest threat to me. And that's something we can't just ignore."

Caelan's eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Seren?"

Seren paused and turned back slightly, his grin widening, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "A duel."

Caelan blinked. "A duel?"

"Yep. One month from now. You and me. In front of the whole House. The patriarch. The elders. Everyone." Seren's voice was casual, almost like he was making plans for an afternoon stroll.

Caelan's heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about?"

Seren didn't even break stride as he started to walk away. "You heard me. We'll settle this once and for all. I want everyone to see who should lead House Dorne.

You might not want the title, but you've already made yourself the most dangerous person in this family. So let's make it official."

Caelan clenched his fists, the weight of the words sinking in. "I don't care about the title."

Seren glanced back over his shoulder, his grin sharper now. "Doesn't matter. You're already a threat to me. And I plan to make sure everyone knows exactly what you're capable of."

With that, Seren vanished into the halls, his voice echoing with the promise of what was to come.

Caelan stood frozen, his pulse racing.

A duel. In a month.

Mana flared at his fingertips.

Man. What a pain , i just want to be doctor.