Chapter 2: Sparks in the Wind

The morning after the royal summons had passed like a sudden storm through Brinmere. The usual quiet rhythms of the village were fractured by whispered conversations, hurried preparations, and nervous glances cast toward the road that led to Elarion.

Kael woke before dawn, the rain finally paused, leaving the world slick and glistening under a cold, pale sun. He dressed quickly, the rough fabric of his shirt sticking slightly to damp skin, and stepped outside. The village was stirring—farmers loading carts, children chasing after hens, the distant clang of the smithy's hammer echoing through the crisp air.

Lira was already waiting near the well, her bow strapped across her back and her expression sharper than usual. She caught his eye and smirked. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

Kael managed a half-smile. "More like a king."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she teased, tugging her braid over one shoulder.

"Not really." He hesitated, then added, "You coming with me?"

She shrugged. "You're a city boy now, Kael. I'm not sure you're ready for the palace games."

"Neither am I," he admitted.

Together, they slipped through the back alleys toward the village edge, where the thick woods of the Whispering Groves began. It was their secret training ground, a place where no one questioned their absence, where Lira's arrows flew true and Kael practiced with his worn wooden sword.

As they entered the shade of towering oaks, Kael felt the weight of the summons settle heavier on his shoulders. The High Court was no place for a stable boy, and yet, something within him tugged toward it—a fire, stubborn and wild.

"Try to keep up," Lira called over her shoulder, sprinting ahead.

Kael's breath came hard as he dodged low branches and leapt over tangled roots. Lira's laughter echoed, light and free, chasing the tension from his chest. For a moment, the summons and the shadow of his father's fate felt distant, like a bad dream dissolving in sunlight.

They reached a clearing where shafts of light pierced the canopy, illuminating patches of moss and the gnarled roots of ancient trees. Lira nocked an arrow and took aim at a makeshift target—an old leather pouch hanging from a branch.

Kael raised his wooden sword, swinging clumsily. "I'll beat you this time."

She smirked, releasing the arrow. It struck true, splitting the pouch open and scattering sand over the moss.

Kael swung his sword again, more carefully this time. "Maybe. If you don't count my father's sword."

"Ha! Your old man didn't need luck," Lira teased, stepping closer. "So, tell me—what's really bothering you?"

Kael hesitated. The dream of fire. The voice only he could hear. The fear of following his father's doomed path.

"I keep seeing things," he finally said, voice low. "Dreams… voices."

Lira's eyes darkened. "You're not the only one. The woods have secrets. The old magic hasn't died. It's just waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"For someone who won't give up."

Kael swallowed hard. "You really think I can do that?"

She reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You've already started. The question is, how far will you go?"

Days passed, and Kael's training with Lira grew harder. Each morning brought new challenges—running through the groves, tracking animals, sparring with wooden swords until bruises bloomed on their arms. Lira was relentless but fair, pushing him beyond his limits.

One afternoon, as they rested beside a babbling brook, Lira shared stories of her past—a childhood spent on the edge of the wildlands, learning to survive when there was nothing but silence and hunger. Kael listened, fascinated by her strength and fierce independence.

"I lost my family to the Blightborn," she said quietly. "But I don't let that break me. You have to keep fighting. Otherwise, the darkness wins."

Her words struck a chord deep inside Kael. For so long, he'd hidden from fear and grief, burying them beneath layers of doubt. But hearing Lira's resilience made him realize that strength wasn't about never falling—it was about getting up, every time.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the groves, Kael and Lira sat atop a moss-covered hill, watching the stars emerge.

"Do you ever think about the Everflame?" Kael asked, breaking the silence.

Lira shrugged. "Legends are dangerous, Kael. They can inspire hope or fear. Sometimes both."

He nodded slowly. "I feel it inside me. Like a spark. I don't know what it means."

"Maybe it means you're meant for something more," she said softly. "Or maybe it means you just have to keep going."

Kael smiled, the weight in his chest lightening. For the first time in a long while, he felt ready to face whatever came next.

The day of departure arrived faster than expected. Villagers gathered to see off those called to serve. Kael's mother pressed a small cloth into his hand—a worn piece embroidered with a burning tree.

"For courage," she said, eyes glistening.

Lira clasped his shoulder. "I'll be waiting when you come back. No matter what."

Kael took a deep breath, the memory of the fire, the voice, and the unyielding bond with Lira all burning within him. He stepped forward, determined.

No matter the trials ahead, he would not give up.