Two years pass. Valen is now twenty.
The morning light filters through the window as he wakes, his routine unchanged. He dresses in silence, the motions automatic. But when he steps out of his room, there is no one waiting for him.
The house is quiet.
He moves to the kitchen and begins to prepare his breakfast, the familiar motions offering no comfort, only function. The meal is eaten in silence, each bite taken without urgency, without distraction.
Once finished, he sets his plate aside, pushes back his chair, and steps out of the house.
The sun barely shows its face to the city, the sky painted in soft hues of early morning. Valen takes a deep breath, steadying himself for the day ahead.
His path is familiar as he makes his way to the training grounds. The air is still, the streets empty, the neighborhood not yet awake.
Upon arrival, he wastes no time. He moves through his exercises—push-ups, stretches, footwork drills. His body moves without thought, muscle memory guiding every motion. He draws his blade, working through practiced forms, each swing controlled, each strike fluid.
For a time, he is alone.
Then, others begin to arrive.
Trainees and knights file in, some still shaking off sleep, others already alert. They gather in formation, their eyes moving toward him before they settle into place. He doesn't call them—he doesn't have to.
Valen turns to them, his expression unchanged, his voice calm, steady. "We begin now."
They obey immediately.
His instructions are brief, direct. He moves through them, correcting footwork, adjusting stances, pushing them to be better.
His presence is not loud, not forceful, yet none hesitate when he speaks. Some straighten instinctively under his gaze, others push themselves harder as if afraid to disappoint.
A few show something else—fear.
It's subtle. The way some avoid holding his gaze for too long. The way their shoulders tense when he steps beside them. The way their movements stiffen when he speaks directly to them.
He doesn't acknowledge it. He doesn't need to.
His expression never changes, always calm, always steady.
As the trainees settle into their own routines, Valen watches for a few moments longer, his red eyes scanning their movements. Their forms improve, their focus sharpens.
Satisfied, he turns away, leaving them to their training.
He strides through the city streets. The morning has fully taken hold now, the roads filling with life.
Merchants set up their stalls, commoners bustle about their daily routines, and knights in uniform patrol the streets, their disciplined movements contrasting the city's more casual energy.
The cathedral soon comes into view, towering over the surrounding structures. Massive in scale, it stands as the heart of the city, a monument of devotion and authority.
Rows of carefully planted trees line the path leading up to it, their branches stretching outward in symmetrical formation. Flower beds, meticulously arranged in the shape of a half-sun, bloom vibrantly beneath them.
The sheer scale of the area is staggering—so vast it could likely fit half the city within its bounds, a testament to its importance and the power it represents.
Six colossal entrances, each framed by intricate carvings, remain open at all times. No one is turned away here.
The doors stand as symbols of welcome, allowing all—knights, commoners, the weary, the devout—to step inside.
Beyond the threshold, the vast interior spreads before him.
Thousands of seats form a near-endless array around the central pedestal, where sermons are given, where proclamations are made.
The carpeted floor muffles footsteps, the rich fabric stretching across the vast interior. Paths from each of the six entrances lead directly to the center, separating the countless rows of seats that surround the pedestal.
Prayers are murmured in quiet corners, their voices blending into the steady hum of life within these walls.
Many sit in silent contemplation, some deep in prayer, others simply finding solace in the space.
Children run between the aisles, their laughter cutting through the solemn atmosphere. No one scolds them. No one quiets them.
Their presence is as much a part of this place as the towering six pillars that stand in unwavering formation, supporting the cathedral's sky-high ceiling.
Valen moves through it all without slowing, his presence acknowledged but never obstructed.
He makes his way toward one of the six towering pillars, its massive form blending seamlessly into the cathedral's grand design. An opening at its base faces the central pedestal, discreet yet deliberate.
Valen steps inside.
The moment he reaches the center, the floor beneath him shifts. A low, mechanical hum resonates through the stone as the platform begins to descend, carrying him downward into the unseen depths beneath the cathedral.
As the platform descends, the dim lighting of the underground passages comes into view. The air grows cooler, the hum of the mechanism fading into silence as the descent slows.
Stepping off, Valen moves through a series of halls—wide corridors lined with stonework far older than the cathedral above. Flickering lanterns cast long shadows as he passes closed doors, some marked with symbols, others unmarked entirely.
The deeper he goes, the quieter it becomes, the distant murmur of life above replaced by an unsettling stillness.
Soon, he reaches a particular door. He lifts his hand and knocks, the sound dull against the heavy wood.
A moment of silence passes before a voice from within speaks, steady and deliberate.
"Come in."
Valen then pushes the door open and steps inside.
The room is simple, yet unmistakably deliberate in its design. At its center sits a single man, aged but composed, wearing pristine robes that seem untouched by dust or time.
His presence is different. There is something unique about him, not in stature, but in the quiet weight of his existence.
A staff rests beside him, its craftsmanship intricate yet unassuming. Behind him, a short bookcase stretches from wall to wall, though curiously, it holds only a sparse collection of books.
The man does not immediately acknowledge Valen's entrance, yet there is no doubt that he is aware of his presence.
Valen steps forward, stopping in front of the desk where the old man sits.
"You wanted to see me today, Speaker?"
The man looks up, his expression warm—familiar. The kind of look a grandfather might give a grandson, full of quiet affection.
"Valen! I always want to see my paladins, son," he says with a slow, labored laugh.
Valen allows the faintest smile to form, but just as quickly, it vanishes.
Something shifts behind the Speaker.
His eyes flick toward the bookcase. Something is off. A barely perceptible change—too subtle to place, too quick to confirm. A movement? A shift in the arrangement of the books? A trick of the dim light? His mind tries to grasp it, but before he can focus, the Speaker's voice pulls him back.
"Valen, I am very proud of you," the old man says, resting his chin on both fists, elbows propped against the desk.
Valen straightens slightly, listening.
"I wanted to assign you an important mission. I've seen the reports on the Thaxil. It seems we keep seeing more and more scouts. I am afraid a siege will be unavoidable at this point. I need you to investigate an area north of here."
He clears his throat before continuing.
Valen's chest tightens. His throat feels thick, like something unseen presses against it. The Thaxil.
Even hearing their name sits uncomfortably in his gut, the weight of past encounters stirring in the back of his mind. He had known the reports were growing worse, but to hear the Speaker confirm it so plainly—the inevitability of a siege—settles into his bones.
"I don't want you to take knights for this, Valen. Gather a few hunters. And if you find even a single Thaxil, do not engage. Simply make your way back as fast as you can to report. That is all I need for now."
Valen nods, his expression calm despite the weight settling in his chest. "Understood, Speaker. I will handle it." His voice is steady, respectful.
The old man smiles, reaching to the side of his desk. He picks up a folded sheet of parchment and slides it across the surface toward Valen. "Everything you need to know is in here. Be thorough, son."
Valen steps forward, taking the paper without hesitation. He gives the Speaker a slight bow. "I will return with my report."
Without another word, he turns and makes his way toward the exit. The heavy door closes behind him as he steps back into the dim corridors of the cathedral's lower halls.