Chapter 65:
Chapter 65: The Weight They Carry
The Sovereign Ascendant
Wolfengarde was quieter at night.
Not silent—never truly silent—but hushed in the way of a city that knew how to sleep with one eye open. The wind whispered through palace courtyards, rustling ivy across high stone walls. And here I stood, again, in the old training yard—where I’d once watched knights spar before I’d ever lifted a blade with clarity of purpose.
Now, I walked its silvery tiles quietly, my hand on the hilt of my sword.
The funeral at Faulmont had ended three days ago. The banners still clung to my thoughts. The masked smiles. The veiled ambitions.
And the boy.
*Darein Faulmont.*
They thought he was just a child mourning his father. But I saw it—something broken, yes, but not destroyed. Something reshaped. Hardened.
> "He won’t be a child for long.”
That’s what I whispered to myself the moment I saw the way he stood at the grave. Unflinching. Calculating. Focused.
Faulmont had lost a count.
But Avalon gained something stranger.
And I—standing here, gripping the steel I forged through grief—understood more than I wanted to.
Loss doesn’t just wound. It teaches. Coldly. Efficiently.
Grief carves weapons sharper than steel.
So I trained.
In silence. In focus. Again.
------
“Come at me,” Zephyrin said.
Moonlight bathed the training yard like velvet drawn tight across the sky. My brother stood calmly near the center ring, his blade lazily hanging at his side. He wore the half-smile of someone who had faced more enemies than he’d bothered to count.
I didn’t hesitate.
Steel rang out. Fast. Fluid. My attacks were clean—disciplined, even. Months ago, he would’ve parried lazily with a laugh, but this time—he moved.
He engaged.
Our swords crashed.
Zephyrin’s combat style was like smoke trailing behind a dagger—graceful, deliberate, inescapable. I landed two feints, a reversed cut he stepped into deliberately, and pushed him into a sidestep that nearly gave me an opening.
Nearly.
His footwork shifted.
My sword flew from my hand before I even realized he’d disarmed me.
The flat of his blade touched the side of my neck. A heartbeat passed in silence.
Then he lowered it.
> “You’ve improved in swordsmanship,” he said mildly, offering a hand to pull me back onto my feet.
> “But your aura and mana control? Still inefficient.”
I accepted the hand. I didn’t let the words wound—because they were true.
“That obvious?” I asked.
He smirked. “To someone who’s studied more than instinct? Yes.”
Zephyrin slid his sword back into its sheath and folded his arms.
> “I can recommend someone,” he continued. “A tutor skilled in both aura-based combat and elemental magic.”
> “You’re too talented to rely on instinct forever.”
I didn’t answer right away.
But I nodded. I could feel it too. I had reach. But reach without systems, discipline, refinement... was borrowed time.
My eyes drifted to the faint red patch on his upper sleeve. There was a dull rip in the fabric—small, but soaked through.
“You’re injured.”
He followed my glance, then gave a low exhale. “Ah, that.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Duel?”
Zephyrin cracked his neck. “Dungeon.”
I blinked. “You went back?”
He didn’t smile this time.
> “The Silver Depths. It’s like it... folds space around itself. Time shifts. Thought bleeds. And I still haven’t cleared it.”
> “I’ve spent a year trying. Never past that.”
A year. And Zephyrin hadn’t cleared it.
It struck me then: even the strongest lived with failure. Carried it like a blade across their back.
> “Why keep going?” I asked.
His answer came sharp and quiet.
> “Because sometimes the hardest challenges decide what kind of person you become.”
And he left it at that.
---------
Later that night, a shadow moved across the corridor beyond the garden stairwell. A steward approached with a subtle bow.
> “The Lord General requests you in his study.”
I wasn’t surprised.
The room was dark when I entered, walls lit by only a single lamp. The air smelled like parchment, firewood, and something heavier—thoughts that had sat untouched too long.
Father stood at the window, both hands behind his back, facing the world beyond the glass.
He didn’t turn.
> “Do you understand the weight of losing someone?”
The question cut deeper than it should have.
I stepped forward. Slowly. My voice followed.
> “I do. It doesn’t break you... it makes you aware. Of what needs to be done.”
I saw his head tilt slightly.
> “Then make sure that weight drives you forward,” he said, his voice gravel against oak.
That was praise—in his own way.
A lesson carved with silence.
And I accepted it like an heirloom blade.
-------
The door clicked shut behind me with a familiar finality. The halls were warmly lit—lanternlight spilling across portraits and polished stone.
She was already there.
Waiting.
Selene Wolfhart , she greeted me with a soft smile.
> “You’ve been training too hard again,” she said, brushing a hand through my dark hair.
I didn’t stop her.
> “Come,” she added. “Walk with me.”
Outside, the garden glowed.
Lanterns floated on gossamer strings above moon-touched lilies. Fireflies danced in corners, oblivious to palace matters. And the wind was kind—one of the few things in this world that didn't demand anything from me.
We said little at first.
Selene glanced sideways at me, still carrying her pale smile.
> “You’re growing quickly,” she said. “In strength... and in burden.”
“Did Zephyrin tell you?”
> “He didn’t need to.”
She stopped beside the marble fountain and placed one hand on the rim.
> “You’ll need someone who can manage your pace. I’ll see to it. A real teacher—one who understands both aura and magic. Not scraps of style passed between soldiers.”
I blinked. “Let me guess—this was Zephyrin’s idea?”
She gave a faint, knowing laugh. “He might’ve said something. I made the decision.”
I nodded, slowly. Part of me wanted to speak, the other part knew she already saw everything.
That wasn’t just a mother’s intuition.
It was precision.
Like all the Wolfharts—hers just came in warmth instead of steel.
I returned to my chamber near midnight, the echoes of the day still stitched into the corners of my thoughts.
I lit a single candle, opened the window, and sat in the dark.
Everything around me—power, duty, death, ambition—it moved like pieces on a long board, where every action was shadowed by unseen rules. But none of that mattered right now.
Not yet.
Tonight, I sharpened my blade.
Refined my mana circuit.
Mapped the flow of aura through my breath until it pulsed steadily like a second heartbeat.
And I waited.
Watched.
The path ahead was still shrouded.
But I no longer feared it.
I would meet it blade-first.
To be continued
Not silent—never truly silent—but hushed in the way of a city that knew how to sleep with one eye open. The wind whispered through palace courtyards, rustling ivy across high stone walls. And here I stood, again, in the old training yard—where I’d once watched knights spar before I’d ever lifted a blade with clarity of purpose.
Now, I walked its silvery tiles quietly, my hand on the hilt of my sword.
The funeral at Faulmont had ended three days ago. The banners still clung to my thoughts. The masked smiles. The veiled ambitions.
And the boy.
*Darein Faulmont.*
They thought he was just a child mourning his father. But I saw it—something broken, yes, but not destroyed. Something reshaped. Hardened.
> "He won’t be a child for long.”
That’s what I whispered to myself the moment I saw the way he stood at the grave. Unflinching. Calculating. Focused.
Faulmont had lost a count.
But Avalon gained something stranger.
And I—standing here, gripping the steel I forged through grief—understood more than I wanted to.
Loss doesn’t just wound. It teaches. Coldly. Efficiently.
Grief carves weapons sharper than steel.
So I trained.
In silence. In focus. Again.
------
“Come at me,” Zephyrin said.
Moonlight bathed the training yard like velvet drawn tight across the sky. My brother stood calmly near the center ring, his blade lazily hanging at his side. He wore the half-smile of someone who had faced more enemies than he’d bothered to count.
I didn’t hesitate.
Steel rang out. Fast. Fluid. My attacks were clean—disciplined, even. Months ago, he would’ve parried lazily with a laugh, but this time—he moved.
He engaged.
Our swords crashed.
Zephyrin’s combat style was like smoke trailing behind a dagger—graceful, deliberate, inescapable. I landed two feints, a reversed cut he stepped into deliberately, and pushed him into a sidestep that nearly gave me an opening.
Nearly.
His footwork shifted.
My sword flew from my hand before I even realized he’d disarmed me.
The flat of his blade touched the side of my neck. A heartbeat passed in silence.
Then he lowered it.
> “You’ve improved in swordsmanship,” he said mildly, offering a hand to pull me back onto my feet.
> “But your aura and mana control? Still inefficient.”
I accepted the hand. I didn’t let the words wound—because they were true.
“That obvious?” I asked.
He smirked. “To someone who’s studied more than instinct? Yes.”
Zephyrin slid his sword back into its sheath and folded his arms.
> “I can recommend someone,” he continued. “A tutor skilled in both aura-based combat and elemental magic.”
> “You’re too talented to rely on instinct forever.”
I didn’t answer right away.
But I nodded. I could feel it too. I had reach. But reach without systems, discipline, refinement... was borrowed time.
My eyes drifted to the faint red patch on his upper sleeve. There was a dull rip in the fabric—small, but soaked through.
“You’re injured.”
He followed my glance, then gave a low exhale. “Ah, that.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Duel?”
Zephyrin cracked his neck. “Dungeon.”
I blinked. “You went back?”
He didn’t smile this time.
> “The Silver Depths. It’s like it... folds space around itself. Time shifts. Thought bleeds. And I still haven’t cleared it.”
> “I’ve spent a year trying. Never past that.”
A year. And Zephyrin hadn’t cleared it.
It struck me then: even the strongest lived with failure. Carried it like a blade across their back.
> “Why keep going?” I asked.
His answer came sharp and quiet.
> “Because sometimes the hardest challenges decide what kind of person you become.”
And he left it at that.
---------
Later that night, a shadow moved across the corridor beyond the garden stairwell. A steward approached with a subtle bow.
> “The Lord General requests you in his study.”
I wasn’t surprised.
The room was dark when I entered, walls lit by only a single lamp. The air smelled like parchment, firewood, and something heavier—thoughts that had sat untouched too long.
Father stood at the window, both hands behind his back, facing the world beyond the glass.
He didn’t turn.
> “Do you understand the weight of losing someone?”
The question cut deeper than it should have.
I stepped forward. Slowly. My voice followed.
> “I do. It doesn’t break you... it makes you aware. Of what needs to be done.”
I saw his head tilt slightly.
> “Then make sure that weight drives you forward,” he said, his voice gravel against oak.
That was praise—in his own way.
A lesson carved with silence.
And I accepted it like an heirloom blade.
-------
The door clicked shut behind me with a familiar finality. The halls were warmly lit—lanternlight spilling across portraits and polished stone.
She was already there.
Waiting.
Selene Wolfhart , she greeted me with a soft smile.
> “You’ve been training too hard again,” she said, brushing a hand through my dark hair.
I didn’t stop her.
> “Come,” she added. “Walk with me.”
Outside, the garden glowed.
Lanterns floated on gossamer strings above moon-touched lilies. Fireflies danced in corners, oblivious to palace matters. And the wind was kind—one of the few things in this world that didn't demand anything from me.
We said little at first.
Selene glanced sideways at me, still carrying her pale smile.
> “You’re growing quickly,” she said. “In strength... and in burden.”
“Did Zephyrin tell you?”
> “He didn’t need to.”
She stopped beside the marble fountain and placed one hand on the rim.
> “You’ll need someone who can manage your pace. I’ll see to it. A real teacher—one who understands both aura and magic. Not scraps of style passed between soldiers.”
I blinked. “Let me guess—this was Zephyrin’s idea?”
She gave a faint, knowing laugh. “He might’ve said something. I made the decision.”
I nodded, slowly. Part of me wanted to speak, the other part knew she already saw everything.
That wasn’t just a mother’s intuition.
It was precision.
Like all the Wolfharts—hers just came in warmth instead of steel.
I returned to my chamber near midnight, the echoes of the day still stitched into the corners of my thoughts.
I lit a single candle, opened the window, and sat in the dark.
Everything around me—power, duty, death, ambition—it moved like pieces on a long board, where every action was shadowed by unseen rules. But none of that mattered right now.
Not yet.
Tonight, I sharpened my blade.
Refined my mana circuit.
Mapped the flow of aura through my breath until it pulsed steadily like a second heartbeat.
And I waited.
Watched.
The path ahead was still shrouded.
But I no longer feared it.
I would meet it blade-first.
To be continued
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