Time passed in the blink of an eye, and soon his 13th birthday passed as well. With it came progress toward his goal of reaching Tier 2, albeit it was slight and saturated with a cold, relentless misery. He was finished with the muscles and skin of his right arm and stood halfway through the same grueling process with his left. The entire transformation was agonizingly slow; every day was defined by an unwavering pain that struck his body like a blacksmith’s hammer, relentlessly reforging the vessel of his being to withstand a greater pressure of mana. The only thing that kept him going was the cold necessity of the task and the undeniable benefits he could perceive. As his right arm had already been made anew with mana, Adam engaged in an arm-wrestling spar with his father, and the outcome was unbelievable. He won.
On the other hand, the necessity of him growing stronger was increasing with every day as the situation began to deteriorate. The size and strength of the patrols increased with each passing sunset, turning the streets into a stifling labyrinth of cold steel and unspoken suspicion. Leading them were now the heads of the great houses. The first time Adam crossed paths with such a being, it left a trail of cold sweat down his back. It was a heavy pressure that dwarfed everything he had ever felt, except for the cosmic echoes within his dreams; a presence of Tier 3 mages.
Even now, patrols would randomly appear at the front doors of unsuspecting houses to search for anything related to the Dark Mages. If they found the slightest suspicion, the inhabitants were momentarily dragged away in chains, the dry rattle of iron becoming the city’s new, grim rhythm. All trade had ground to a halt as passage between the cities was completely blocked off, effectively strangling the kingdom’s lifeblood. Because of this, the atmosphere permeating the city was as bleak as a tomb, heavy with the metallic scent of an approaching storm.
Many families that specialized in trade, just like his, yet lacked any reserves, would crumble and return to the filth of the slums. He felt a flicker of relief, not for their demise, but for his own security, knowing his father had secured a sufficient supply of money and food. Even if something were to happen to those reserves, they still had Berto, who had sworn he would help stabilize them financially. At least they did not have to worry about that burden for the time being.
His slight happiness vanished instantly as he remembered the latest rumors circling through the labyrinth the city had become, heightening the pressure and growing dissatisfaction even further. The orcs were beginning to repeat what was clearly written on the pages of history, truths that people had begun to forget with the passage of time. War was coming; Dark Mages and orcs. He had to get stronger. He closed his eyes and focused back on his training.
Days bled into weeks, and weeks withered into months. Time ticked with an unforgiving cadence for Adam and the crumbling state of the world. The stalemate between the Dark Mages and the Kingdom persisted, a cold tension that seemed to suffocate the city. Though the military had been successful in catching a few cultists, every lead dissolved into nothingness; it was as if they were swinging at shadows in the dark.
Driven by necessity, the authorities were forced to reopen trade, albeit barely and under the weight of countless protocols that made every transaction feel like a battlefield. As for Adam, he was turning 15 exactly tomorrow. Yet, much work remained before he could claim Tier 2. He had finished reinforcing every part of his being except for his torso. He estimated it would take around a year more to complete, yet he knew that nothing would wait for him just so he could be ready. As for the orcs, the kingdoms had already dispatched heavy garrisons to the suffocating depths of the Eastern Forests, where the trees whispered of blood, ancient grudges, and things that should have remained buried.
He opened his eyes, taking in the sights of the comfortable garden that had served as his oasis for the past few years. Today was likely the last such day for quite some time. He sighed, looking at his Master, who met his gaze with a heavy, unblinking intensity. They needed no words; they knew exactly what was coming, for they had shared conversations regarding the approaching storm many times already. The silence between them was thick, a stagnant pool of shared secrets and the cold, metallic weight of an inevitable departure.
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As the evening passed and the everbright sun signaled the morning, a call to wake for all underneath it, Adam remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, knowing that the day was finally there. As the sun called for life to wake up, he would be called to military service. He didn't have any dream that would give him barely understandable answers or create even more questions that came with it. His last time when the voices reached for him in slumber was on the day they came to test his potential. The whispers had made their significance known later with the ring and were his tormentors during all the meditation. But outside of it, there was nothing. He wasn't sure if it was a good signal or the next silence before a brewing storm. As for the obsidian ring, he still didn't have any answers.
Adam stood up and took clothes from his wardrobe that smelled of cedar. A familiar scent, which he would soon have to leave behind. He put on a simple shirt that was matched with trousers of the same raven-black hue. He remembered as he dressed in exactly this outfit, albeit much smaller, as those were new clothes. The day when he first met his Mentor. The memory put a slight smile on his face. He looked upon the reflection to see a now much more grown boy, the childishness leaving his face and build. He was now standing at around 175 cm by his estimation, of a slightly muscular build. His blonde curls, looking as if they were liquid gold in the sun, reached his shoulders. He was looking upon a young man that would soon have to face enemies at the frontline or search for shadows in the slums.
His slight smile vanished at that thought and he clutched his shirt. He would have to kill. Kill to survive. Lie. Lie to survive yet again. All for his family and for himself, as he was set on reaching Tier 3. And foremost, to find answers about his not-so-silent companion. Was it a God? Some kind of Demon? Did Albert truly go mad? His curiosity and thirst for knowledge had grown significantly over the years, even more than he had. It was like a shadow that in full sun would stretch far beyond the person that cast it, a dark weight pulling him toward the unknown. He took one last look in the mirror and set his path downwards to enjoy his last peaceful breakfast with his family.
His heavy steps echoed through the house as he was walking down the stairs. He could already smell the exquisite scent of food made by his mother and hear the clamor in the kitchen, a domestic warmth that felt increasingly like a fading dream. As Adam got down, he saw how his father and Berto were already seated at the table. He joined them. A heavy silence stretched between them that was only interrupted by his mother putting the final touches on the breakfast, the rhythmic clink of porcelain sounding like a countdown. From one side, he could tell that his father wanted to say something but wasn't quite sure what; his face was as heavy as the atmosphere itself. The last few years of constant stress regarding the family's well-being had taken a toll, making him look much older. It was as if instead of 5 years, 10 had passed.
Suddenly, a loud, heavy knock on the front door interrupted all actions and thoughts in the house. The sound was flat and final, echoing through the hallway like a gavel. They were already here. He couldn't even share one last peaceful meal with his family. For fuck's sake.
Caitlyn's steps were now the only sound accompanying the knocking, hesitant and light. The thud of the door opening was audible through the whole kitchen, and with it came a prideful, demanding voice that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of Adam’s bones.
"King’s orders. Lord Berto Ander and his student Adam Lightbleed must come with me right now."
He met the gaze of his Master and they both stood up. Before their eyes stood a gigantic man. He was at least 2 meters tall, wearing heavy dark robes that seemed to swallow the dim light of the corridor, adorned with two sigils. One signified his family, and the second a military rank. A General.
But what shocked him more was the oppressive, heavy aura that dwarfed everything around him; it was a physical weight, thick and suffocating, as if the air itself had turned into lead. Adam felt as if he could choke on it. This man was a Tier 3 Mage. He met the gaze of his Mentor, and beneath a mask of calm, Adam could see that Berto was shocked as well. They didn't expect someone so high to come with the King’s orders, and certainly not this early in the day.
As they moved toward the door, Adam caught a glimpse of his mother standing paralyzed by the entrance, her hands trembling against her apron. His father remained at the table, his silhouette slumped and defeated against the morning light. There were no parting words, only the dry rattle of the General’s sigils as he turned to lead them out. They nodded and left the house, stepping into the cold uncertainty of the street.
