Chapter 14 – Silent Dawn

The fire crackled in low embers in the center of the cabin. Outside, the night spread clear and silent, embroidered with stars. The mountain breeze descended, chilly but not cruel. Helster and Shiro sat on the wooden porch, covered to their shoulders in simple blankets. The world seemed suspended in time.

Helster broke the silence with a low voice:

— Hey… Shiro.

— Hm?

—That thing in the cave. The shadow. I... managed to defeat it.

Shiro turned his face, attentive.

- Serious?

Helster nodded, his eyes lost in the sky.

"It wasn't pretty. It wasn't quick. She showed me everything I hated about myself. She called me worthless. She said you and the others were just carrying me away...
" "But in the end... I screamed at her. Louder than her voice. When the darkness tried to swallow me... I was more stubborn than she was."

Shiro let out a tired smile.

— Heh … that’s just like you.

Helster laughed too.

— And you? Did you get it?

The smile disappeared.

Shiro looked at his hands—they were still shaking.

— I did it…, but not the right way.

- Like this?

Shiro took a deep breath, his chest heavy.

— I let anger guide me. When I saw that distorted version of myself... something inside me broke. And when I left the cave... I was blind. I attacked Alvim. I almost lost control.

Helster became serious.

—But you came back. You didn't stay there.

Shiro nodded slowly.

— Yes. But I can't let that happen again. This anger... it's powerful. But if I give in to it, I'll become what I fought for.

Silence. Only the wind. Only the cold.

Helster then reached out and patted his friend firmly on the shoulder.

— Hey... you're still you. And if you forget that, I'm here to remind you.

Shiro smiled—a real smile, even if brief.

— Thank you, Helster.

Dawn was approaching. Helster slept in the corner of the room, tucked into his blankets like a boar in hay. But Shiro, awake, stared at the ceiling. The silence of the forest made his thoughts echo louder.

He felt the claws again. He
felt the fury sleeping inside him, waiting for a reason to wake up.

He left the house in silence.

The cold greeted him with a damp embrace and the smell of wet wood. The surrounding trees whispered ancient secrets. The stars, indifferent, watched from above.

Sitting on a rock near the cabin, as if he had been waiting for him, was Alvim.

The old black bear watched him with calm, steady eyes. A simple cloak covered him, but the energy surrounding him pulsed brightly, like a fire that never dies.

"Did you think I'd be sleeping?" he said, without taking his eyes off the sky.

Shiro walked up to him.

— Part of me hoped so. The other... knew you'd be here.

Alvim pointed to the space next to him. Shiro sat down. The silence between them was more comfortable than any words.

— About before... — Shiro began.

— You're still stewing over the provocation — Alvim cut in calmly.

— You spoke of my father. You said he was weak.

Alvim took a deep breath.

— I said it because I needed to pull you out of where you're hiding.
Not because I believed it. But because I knew what was coming next.

Shiro narrowed his eyes.

— Did you want me to lose control?

Alvim stared at the sky.

— I wanted to see what you would do when you lost him.

There was silence.

Then Alvim's voice dropped deeper. More personal.

— Because I… was also like you.

Shiro stood still. Alvim looked at him—and this time, without the master's mask. Just an old man carrying an ancient burden.

— When I was young, my power was also born of fury. I was raw. Chaotic.
My father was, my master. Strict. Fair. A leader.

— He wanted me to succeed him as protector of the village.

Alvim looked at his hands.

—But I... I was stubborn. Proud. And during training... I lost control. I transformed. When I came to... my father was dead. And two brothers who tried to restrain me, too.

The confession fell like a stone.

Shiro wasn't even breathing.

— Since then, I swore I would never let another follow the same path without guidance. When I saw you… I saw the same fire. And I swore I would guide you.

Shiro muttered:

— I almost hurt you today.

Alvim laughed weakly.

— You couldn't.

Shiro laughed too, awkwardly.

—But what if it's someone else, one day? Someone who doesn't know how to defend themselves?

— So learn. Train. Grow.
Be the warrior your father believed you could be. And the guardian the world will need.

Shiro closed his eyes.

The words didn't hurt.
They stayed.

He slowly stood up and looked at the dark sky once more.

— Thank you, Alvim. I won't forget.

The old man nodded.

— I hope not. Because what you feel now... is the first step towards true strength.

Shiro turned to go back. He was already taking the first step when he heard the master's voice once more:

"Get a good rest.
Tomorrow morning, we'll head down the trail. I want to introduce you to someone important... in a nearby town."

Shiro stopped. The wind blew through the trees, carrying promises.

He didn't answer.

He just smiled.

And walked back to the house.

The first ray of sunlight had barely touched the roof of the hut when the door creaked.
Shiro opened his eyes with a start; Helster, still half-drowned in the blankets, let out a confused snore.

Outside, Alvim was already waiting for them, imposing like a rock covered in mist, arms crossed and the patience of someone who doesn't let time slow him down.

"Get up, you lazybones. Today we won't be training with swords or shields," he warned, his voice grave. "But we will walk to the village of Bloodtrails . There, you will meet someone important. And you will arrive ready or dead tired, it's up to you."

Helster rubbed his face.
“So it’s just… walking?”

"Brow raised, boar." Alvim pointed with his claw. "You'll be channeling energy the entire way. If you let go, we'll be back to square one."

Shiro felt his stomach sink: channeling while walking was like running while holding a glass of water—any hesitation and everything would boil over in fury or exhaustion.

The trail plunged into a corridor of moss-covered pines. The air smelled of melting ice.

Shiro drew in a breath, focusing the white flame in the center of his chest.
Helster did the same, but his energy was an earthy murmur —a slow pulse that rose from his feet to the imaginary shield at his heart.

"Short steps, mountain pace," Alvim instructed as he took the lead. "If your pulse races faster than your mind, you'll stumble."

The first three hundred meters: easy.
Halfway up a hill: Shiro could already feel the anger bubbling between his ribs, begging to turn into a claw. Helster, sweating, had his shoulders trembling—the protective energy required firm muscles that insisted on burning.

Alvim didn't look back, but it was as if he saw every mistake.

"Shiro, your fire is rising to your neck. Bring it down to your heels!
" "Helster, your shield is too heavy. Breathe into your abdomen and release it into your shoulders, not your hands!"

They both adjusted. The air grew lighter… for thirty seconds, before the trail reared up again.

The forest narrowed, forcing them to navigate thick roots. With each misstep, energy jolted. Shiro nearly lost focus when a branch grazed his leg—anger boiled, but he remembered the night before: breathe, hold on, one more step . He channeled the fire into his hips, footing steady.

Helster slipped on some wet slime and hit his knee. Pain shook his defensive flow; for a second he was afraid he might break. Alvim crouched beside him, without pity or affection, only certainty:

— Does it hurt? Great. Pain is a bell that tells you where the wall is cracking. Close the crack with short, steady breaths.

Helster gritted his teeth, got up, and got back into the rhythm.

At noon, they reached a narrow gorge where the wind blew like cold blades. It was impossible to speak without the words turning to vapor.

Alvim stretched out his arm:

— Here the pressure changes. Focus on the slow heart . Each beat is a step.

Shiro felt his chest burn; the white flame flickered, almost extinguished. He pictured his father's face, his mother's advice; he let the flame recede until it became embers—less light, more constant heat. He continued.

Helster imagined his inner shield forming plates over his skin; each gust of wind hit them and shattered them. He advanced a meter, then two, then lost count.

As they emerged on the other side, the view of an emerald valley opened up—and in the distance, the first chimneys of Bloodtrails were sending out wisps of gray smoke.

Alvim finally stopped. He turned, sizing them up like a blacksmith sizing up a new blade.

"It's not perfect, but you didn't break it." He gave a half smile. "That's more than most people do."

Shiro fell to his knees, sweat mixed with the dust of the path, but the flame still burning in his chest—small, obedient. Helster flopped back onto the grass, laughing in relief; the inner shield pulsed, but no longer crushed him.

"Get up," Alvim said, the shadow covering them both like an ancient tree. "The town is just a breath away, and fate doesn't like to wait. Inside... you'll meet the one who will push you beyond what you think is possible."

Shiro looked up at the distant houses.
Something inside him—perhaps the ember itself—throbbed with anticipation and fear.

Helster stood up, brushing the dirt off his clothes.

— Who is this important person?

Alvim walked without answering, he just said over his shoulder:

"Find out when we get there. Until then, keep channeling. If the power dies… we'll start over from the cabin."

And, in the golden afternoon light, the three of them walked down the hill—each step sealed by a silent oath: breathe… hold on… one more step .

The village appeared through the mist like an ancient whisper, hidden among mossy hills and thick-barked trees. Wooden walls protected the entrance, carved with ancient symbols that vibrated at a low frequency, almost like a humming in the chest.

Shiro and Helster paused for a moment in front of the gate.

— This here... — Helster looked around — looks like it was made long before we were born.

"Long before almost anyone else," Alvim murmured, and pushed the gate open with his claw. "Come in. But do so with respect."

Inside, the living village.

Beings of different races—all demihuman—walked among houses of stone and wood. There were men with spiraling horns, women with mossy skin, children with feline eyes and elongated limbs.
But no one stopped. Everyone stared. As if they knew.

Shiro felt the weight of the stares, but didn't back down.
Helster, despite feeling uncomfortable, steadied his pace.

"Where have you brought us, Alvim?" he whispered.

— To the place where I was saved.

They walked through narrow alleys, trails between old houses covered in moss, leaves, and hand-painted symbols. Until they stopped in front of a curved hut , where living branches entwined the roof, as if the forest embraced it.

—Come in—said Alvim.

Shiro entered first. And stopped.

Inside, lit by amber crystals hanging from the ceiling, sat a figure in a chair near a cauldron.
His hair was like moonstone, his silver hair braided with leaves and ancient beads. His eyes, a dull gold, seemed to see through flesh.

But what caught our attention the most…
was how much she looked like Malias .

Shiro blinked in confusion. Helster stood still, swallowing hard.

— Do you see…?

— I am.

Lupina stood up slowly, as if time was bending along with her.

“So these… are the two you brought,” she said, looking at Alvim with a half smile.

The voice was soft and deep. Like water running over stone.

Alvim cleared his throat.

— Lysara . Their names are Shiro and Helster. They came on… recommendation.

She narrowed her eyes.

— Recommendation… from whom?

Alvim hesitated. He swallowed hard.

— From… Farlan.

Her smile grew, amused, almost mocking.

—Farlan… the one guided by Makar?

Shiro frowned. He didn't understand the reference, but the name sounded ancient. Important.

Lysara then walked over to Alvim—and poked him in the chest with her thin, firm index finger.

"And look... the old bear still bows when he sees me.
You've grown up, Alvim. But you still walk with your back bent with guilt."

Alvim looked down, visibly uncomfortable.

"These two… aren't just kids. They need guidance. I brought them here because of what you did for me. Years ago. After… everything."

— After the events.

The cabin froze for a moment.

Helster moved, but Shiro placed a hand on his arm.

Lysara then sighed.

"I didn't mention it to hurt. Just to remind you where your path comes from.
These two"—she turned to Shiro and Helster—"carry the same fuse within them. Anger, fear, unresolved strength. And if they don't learn to shape it... they will be swallowed up, like so many others."

She walked around Shiro.

"You... have felt it, haven't you? The beast inside you. The claws. The blood that's too hot.
And you, shield..." he turned to Helster, "carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Even when no one asked you to."

The two remained silent.

Lysara turned around.

— Good. They don't hide.

She walked to the corner of the hut, picked up a small bowl of green crystals, and dropped it into the cauldron. Steam rose, and a sweet, herbaceous scent wafted out.

— Go rest. Today, I just watched you.

Shiro, before leaving, couldn't resist.

—Madam… can I ask you something?

She looked over her shoulder.

- Say.

— You… are the same race as… Malias?

Lysara smirked. But her gaze hardened.

— Malias, daughter of Malvina.

She turned her face to the cauldron.

— More than race. She is… of my lineage.

Shiro shivered.
Helster looked at him—something important was unfolding there. More than they could understand.

Alvim broke the moment.

—That's enough for today. Tomorrow you'll learn what real training means.

"And until then," said Lysara , already seated again, "don't waste time asking questions without the courage to hear the answers."

Night fell over the cabin. And within it, the weight of past and future began to align.

When the two young people fell asleep, Alvim remained by the fire. Lysara sat beside him, staring into the fire with distant eyes.

— My time is slipping away, Alvim... like a breeze at the end of winter.

He fell silent. He knew.

"These two... are chosen," she continued. "But the third is missing. The one who carries Makar's glove. I still need to deliver something to him. And to the descendant who walks beside him. The new times have already begun. And these... will be stronger than the old."

Alvim tilted his head.

— I can send a message to Farlan. Ask him to send the last one.

Lysara shook her head with a sigh.

— Not yet. He will come... when the time knows. And not before.