A Man Named Thorneval

Eamon was again asleep for the whole day. His body needed the rest, and he did not fight it this time. When the next morning's light filtered through the small wooden windows, he opened his eyes. He felt lighter. The usual heaviness in his chest was gone. For the first time in a long while, he did not feel like a dying man.

He sat up slowly and stretched. A kettle of warm tea sat beside him. Arvin must have left it before heading out. Eamon poured himself a cup and took a sip. The warmth travelled through his body like a gentle wave. It felt good.

Not long after, Arvin came in. He looked calm as always.

"Let's try using that same Tier 3 spell again," Arvin said. "I'll prepare the Torkes level puppets like before. This time, don't hold back. Use the spell directly."

Eamon nodded. "Okay."

Arvin paused. His eyes turned serious. "But Eamon, if my theory doesn't work, you will die this time. I don't have another charm. I can't protect you. Are you prepared?"

Eamon looked down at his hands. He clenched them tight. "I don't have any other choice. If I stay like this, the curse—The Revenant's Embrace—will kill me anyway. So let's do it."

They stepped outside. The morning air was cold, but it carried a calmness with it. Arvin walked ahead and placed the wooden puppets in a row. They stood still for a moment, then began to twitch. Arvin poured mana into them, and they started to move.

Eamon took a deep breath. He raised his hand. His fingers trembled slightly. He closed his eyes and began chanting.

"Arcana Crimson Requiem!"

A red magic circle formed around his hand. Flames sparked around it. A wave of fire burst from the circle and flew toward the puppets. It hit the first one and shattered it into pieces. The others charged forward. Eamon braced himself. His heart raced. He pulled back his hand in defence.

But before the puppets reached him, Arvin stepped in. With a wave of his hand, the puppets vanished.

Eamon stood frozen. His heart was thumping.

"What just happened?" he asked. "Am I going to die?"

Arvin chuckled. "No, you're not going to die, kid. My theory worked. The seal was lifted partially. You can now use Tier 3 magic."

Eamon looked confused. "But the spell barely worked. It only destroyed one puppet."

"I know," Arvin said. "But as I said yesterday, this is normal. When someone first tries a higher-tier spell, sometimes it won't always work right away. That day, the spell worked because you were in panic. You pushed all your mana into it. Today, you didn't do that. You were stable. That means your body is adjusting."

Eamon looked down at his hand. "So that means the seal can be broken if I find those charms."

Arvin nodded. "Yes. And it also means we can now increase your training. You need to become powerful enough to actually use Tier 3 spells."

Eamon's eyes lit up. "Yes."

The rest of the day was spent in training. Arvin summoned more Torkes level puppets. Eamon was given a wooden sword, and the training began. The puppets were fast and ruthless. Every time Eamon dropped his guard, he was hit. But he did not complain. He got up each time and fought back.

Arvin corrected his stances. He shouted instructions. Eamon followed every word. His body ached by afternoon, but he kept going. The fire inside him burned stronger now.

By sunset, Eamon collapsed on the ground. He was covered in bruises and sweat. Arvin walked over and handed him a flask of water.

"You did well today," Arvin said.

Eamon nodded weakly. "Thank you."

They sat under the stars that night. The fire crackled beside them. Eamon took out his flute from his bag. It was old and worn, but the sound it made was still sweet. He began playing a soft tune.

The music floated in the air. Arvin closed his eyes and listened. It reminded him of days long past. Eamon played without thinking. The flute was a gift from his grandfather Aegon. He had taught him how to play it when he was a child. Every note carried a memory.

After some time, Eamon stopped playing. He looked up at the sky. The stars were bright tonight. The moon was just a sliver.

Eamon then stated, "The new moon is approaching…".

He continued. "So, after the coming new moon," Eamon said, his voice steady, "I will set out for the journey to find and hunt the Obsidian Seraphs. Also, I need to find the charms that can break the seal on my mana core. And finally, I will find the person who put the seal on me."

Eamon had a fire in his eyes.

"Yes. Seventeen days remain until the next new moon. I will make sure that you are ready for your journey," Arvin said, standing up and brushing the dust off his coat. "Oh, and hey. An owl came in the evening when you were training. It carries something from your grandfather and also his will."

Eamon blinked. "An owl? But I don't remember my grandpa having an owl."

Arvin shrugged. "Well, I don't know about that. But given that he had that forbidden curse in your storeroom, it means he had some secrets of his own. And there is a chance that he knew about the seal on your mana core."

Eamon was confused. His thoughts swirled with questions. Why would his grandfather keep such things hidden? Why would he never mention a bond or a seal?

Arvin turned and walked into the house. Eamon stood silently under the open sky. A minute later, Arvin came back out, holding a huge bag.

"The owl said it cannot meet you right now. But it will surely meet you in the future."

Eamon raised an eyebrow. "The owl said? You mean the owl talked?"

"It was your grandpa's bond," Arvin said as he placed the bag down. "He said your grandpa broke the sacred connection with him when your parents died and he came to the village. He said he broke the connection for your safety. He didn't say anything else and left."

Eamon stepped forward slowly. "I never knew Grandpa had a bond. And he broke the connection for my safety..."

Arvin nodded. "He told me he had one before your birth. Bonds are very rare. I don't know why he didn't tell you. Maybe he had his own reasons."

Arvin knelt and unbuckled the bag. Inside were two more bags. One was a large one, the other small. He pulled out a paper from the large bag and handed it to Eamon.

"This says, 'For Eamon, in case I am no more.'"

Eamon opened the large bag slowly. Inside was a sleek claymore sword, a dagger, and a folded letter. The sword shimmered even in the dim light. It looked perfectly balanced. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, and the blade was flawless.

He picked up the letter with trembling hands and unfolded it.

"""Dear Eamon,

You were the best gift of my life. You were my reason to live. I loved you more than anything. Maybe after my death, you have faced some problems and now you have some questions in your mind about me and you as well.

Find a man named Thorneval. He has all the answers for your questions. He will guide you.

Eamon, you were my world, and I was yours. But after I am gone, I want you to make friends, find love, live freely, and live happily, my child.

Forever - your grandpa."""

Eamon stared at the paper for a long time. His hands shook. His eyes welled up with tears and a drop fell on the letter.

He lowered his head.

Arvin stepped beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Your grandpa loved you more than anything, Eamon. You must live in order to fulfil his wish."

Eamon nodded slowly, wiping his face with the sleeve of his tunic.

Arvin then bent down and picked up the claymore sword from the bag. It was a massive sword with a shining blade and a dragon etched into its wide cross-guard, built for strength and balance in both hands. He examined it closely. As he looked at the blade, his expression changed. His eyes widened. His hands trembled. Then the sword slipped from his grip and hit the ground with a thud.

"This can't be..."

Eamon looked at him, surprised. "What happened?"

Arvin stepped back. "This is made of Vixterium. It's a very, very rare metal, Eamon. I have no clue in heavens where your grandpa got this from."

He picked up the sword again and turned it in his hands.

"It's so rare that only the king, the generals, and the royal knights have swords made of this metal. And even they guard theirs like treasure. Your grandfather must have gone through hell to get this."

Eamon was stunned. He had never heard of Vixterium. But the way Arvin spoke about it made the sword feel even heavier in his hands. The bag also had a dagger made from the same material.

Arvin then turned to the small bag. He opened it carefully. Inside was a folded note with his name on it and a small bottle of honey. He picked up the note and read it silently.

A moment later, he burst out laughing.

Eamon blinked. "What is it?"

Arvin was still laughing. He shook his head and held up the bottle of honey.

"Many years ago," he said between laughs, "I wanted honey and I was attacked by hundreds of bees and I fell into a lake."

Eamon stared, confused.

Arvin laughed harder. "Since then, your grandpa has always been teasing me. And see... now that bastard is teasing me even from above."

Eamon looked at the bottle, then at Arvin, and suddenly began laughing too. The sound echoed into the night as both stood there, under the stars, laughing together.