A fair distance from Victoria's training grounds, deep within the forest's dense silence, Aiden trained without respite.
Stone golems advanced upon him from every direction, their heavy limbs cracking through the undergrowth. One after another, he met them head-on, shattering their forms with nothing but his bare fists. The spellcraft behind their creation belonged to Eltrish, who stood watch over the battlefield like a silent overseer. Each time one of her rocky constructs collapsed, she drew upon her mana to reconstruct it anew, sending it once more against her guild master without hesitation.
The principle of their training was simple.
Behind Eltrish stood a single stake driven into the earth, from which a red flag fluttered faintly between the trees. Emblazoned upon it was the insignia of the Comet Guild.
Aiden was forbidden from using any form of magic—neither afforae nor expellis, not even the most basic invocation of mana. He was to rely solely on his raw strenght. Eltrish, in turn, was tasked with one duty: to prevent him from reaching the flag.
To each, their burden.
Eltrish felt her mana reserves thinning with every cycle of destruction and reconstruction, her repeated use of Estorath slowly draining her mana reserves. Aiden, on the other hand, could feel his stamina eroding as the relentless clash stretched on, each breath heavier than the last.
Who would yield first to exhaustion?
The answer, in truth, seemed obvious. And yet neither of them allowed themselves the luxury of assumption. They understood too well that certainty in battle was an illusion—only the next movement mattered.
And so, with that unspoken resolve binding them both, they surged forward once more—each answering the other's pressure with an equal and unyielding strike.
A swift flourish of Eltrish's wand was all it took for the remaining golems to surge forward, their movements snapping into a precise formation as they bore down on Aiden.
Yet Aiden had already resolved to end the session.
With explosive force, he broke into a full dash, meeting each construct head-on. One after another, the stone bodies crumbled beneath his fists as he carved a path through them, steadily closing the distance toward the flag.
Realizing how quickly he was advancing, Eltrish raised her wand once more.
"Amalgor!"
The shattered remnants of her fallen golems responded at once, dragging themselves together in a desperate convergence before erupting into a solid earthen wall meant to halt his advance.
"That won't stop me, Eltrish!" Aiden roared.
He drove his fist straight into the barrier.
The impact split the formation apart in a violent rupture of stone and dust.
"Globulus!"
Eltrish reacted instantly, conjuring a spherical barrier that enveloped her just as shards of rock scattered through the air. The debris struck against the translucent shield and scattered harmlessly around her.
When the dust began to settle, she remained standing—but only barely. Her breath came in uneven gasps, her body slick with sweat, exhaustion weighing heavily upon her frame.
Only then, after drawing in a fragile breath, did her thoughts catch up to the present.
"The flag…!" Her head snapped toward it. But it was already too late.
Aiden stood where it had been, the emblem of the Comet Guild firmly in his grasp.
"You lose," he declared, chest rising and falling beneath the strain of exertion.
Eltrish did not respond.
Words failed her entirely as exhaustion took hold. Her strength gave way, and she sank into a crouch, shoulders drawn inward, body folding in on itself beneath the weight of defeat. Her barrier faded into nothingness, and with it, the last traces of her summoned golems dissolved back into inert stone across the forest floor.
To Aiden, it had long become something of a ritual to tease those who lost to him—especially his fellow guild members. Not out of malice, but as a rough-edged attempt to push them forward, to force growth through irritation and pride.
Yet this time, he refrained.
Instead, he planted the reclaimed flag back into the soil and lowered himself beside Eltrish without a word.
She struggled at first to hold everything within herself, as she always did. But in the stillness that followed the battle, the weight of it finally broke through.
"Master… why do you believe in me?" she asked, her head bowed low.
"Why not?" Aiden replied simply, making her flinch. "Do I need a reason?"
"Of course you do!" she snapped, though her voice trembled.
Aiden did not react.
Her breath shook as she continued, words spilling out like a dam collapsing.
"People call me the Mirage Witch… but I'm just a little girl who has been hiding all this time behind your broad back. How am I supposed to step into your place as guild master? How am I supposed to carry that weight? What do you even see in me to entrust me with something so great?" Her voice cracked.
"If I can't even take care of myself… how am I supposed to take care of them all?"
Hot tears traced down her cheeks.
Aiden said nothing at first.
His gaze drifted instead to a small bird in a nearby nest, tending quietly to its little one somewhere beyond their reach. The forest seemed to breathe around that fragile moment of life. He exhaled slowly, then let a faint, gentle smile form on his lips.
"If I had a reason to believe in you," he said at last, "it would be the greatest sin I could commit." He glanced toward her. "All I know… is that I simply do."
Eltrish lifted her head slightly, eyes widening in disbelief.
"It's like love," Aiden continued softly. "If you need a reason to love someone, then it becomes conditional. And when the conditions break, so does the feeling. It shouldn't be partial. It's either there, or it isn't. You either believe… or you don't."
A faint smile remained on his lips as he turned his gaze toward the forest beyond.
"And I have chosen to believe in you."
Eltrish's voice broke as she finally whispered, "I don't deserve this…"
"Neither did I deserve to be your guild master," he replied with a light laugh. "And yet you all still chose to follow a broken arm like me."
A soft, hollow chuckle escaped him.
"Don't speak of yourself like that!" Eltrish cried through her tears. "You are a great man!"
Aiden's smile faded into something calmer, steadier.
"Then let me put it this way," he said gently. "Believe in yourself as much as you believe in me. Trust me… you will make a fine guild master. One greater than I could ever be."
Eltrish's breath trembled.
"What if I fail you? What if I… don't live up to your expectations?"
Aiden reached out, carefully wiping the tears from her cheeks. With quiet patience, he straightened a few strands of her hair, his movements almost delicate against the heaviness of the moment.
"Then at least I will know you gave everything you had," he said softly, a bright, reassuring smile returning to his face. "So do your best, Eltrish."
That was all it took.
Overwhelmed, she collapsed into his arms, sobbing without restraint, all composure finally breaking apart.
"Master… I promise to do my best not to disappoint you!"
Aiden said nothing more.
He simply drew her into a firm embrace, resting a hand gently over her head as he held her close—silent, steady, and warm, offering what words no longer needed to carry.
***
Within the same forest, beneath a roaring waterfall, Godric hovered in quiet meditation.
Bare-chested and motionless, his eyes remained closed as the cold mist washed over him. This had become his routine—an unbroken discipline he repeated each day. A practice devoted entirely to understanding the flow of his mana, and refining his control over it until it answered him like a second breath.
Not far from him, deeper within the woods, Gron trained like a storm given form.
With twin war axes in hand, he tore through the forest floor, reshaping the land into a crude clearing. Trees fell, earth split, and stone yielded beneath his relentless force. When the clearing no longer satisfied him, his attention shifted to a nearby hill. He struck it repeatedly with raw aggression, as though it were an old enemy he had sworn to erase from existence.
The sound of each impact echoed across the forest, loud enough to intrude upon even Godric's detached stillness.
Yet beyond the noise, something else stirred in Godric's perception.
Frustration.
Not from nature, nor from himself—but from Gron.
A faint sigh escaped him as he finally let his meditation break. His eyes opened slowly beneath the waterfall's mist.
"You are not yourself, Gron," Godric said calmly. "If something weighs on your heart, speak it. You will find relief in doing so."
Gron halted his assault on the earth and made his way toward the waterfall, panting heavily, sweat tracing paths across his arms and brow.
"Master…" he began between breaths. "If I may ask… what does it mean to be you? You are always so calm… so serene."
Godric regarded him quietly.
"When you see a bird in flight," he replied, "do you question how it is able to do so? Of course not. You accept it as its nature. It flies because it was born to fly."
He closed his eyes briefly, water streaming down his face.
"I am the way I am because this is what I am. Nothing more. To each their own nature."
Gron frowned slightly, still unsettled.
"And yet… do you never feel moved by anything?"
Godric exhaled, slower this time.
"I am human, Gron," he said at last. "I do feel. But I do not have the luxury of showing it. A leader must be like stone—unshaken, unyielding, and unbroken."
"Is that what it truly means to be a guild master?"
Gron lowered himself onto the ground, setting his twin axes carefully at his side.
"If it were only that simple," Godric replied, "guild masters would appear everywhere like dandelions in spring."
A brief silence followed.
The two men stared at each other in an awkward stillness—Gron clearly waiting for something, and Godric beginning to feel the weight of it.
"Why is he staring at me like that?" Godric thought with faint, comic confusion.
"Sorry, Master… was that supposed to be a joke?" Gron asked, equally uncertain.
"Tch… just forget it already," Godric muttered, a trace of irritation cutting through his calm.
"Apologies, Master," Gron said quickly, lowering his head.
Godric exhaled inwardly. "Are we really doing this? This is exhausting."
Then, more seriously, he asked, "Why are you angry?"
Gron fell silent for a moment, then spoke with quiet honesty.
"I have long wished to become a guild master. Not just any, but one like you. Someone who can remain firm and unshaken no matter the storm ahead."
His fists tightened slightly.
"But now that I've been given the chance to make that dream real… I find myself doubting. I don't believe I'm ready. I'm angry—because I'm not living up to my own expectations."
Godric regarded him for a long moment.
"I see," he said at last. "Then answer me this—what does it truly mean to be ready?"
Gron opened his mouth, then closed it again. No answer came.
Godric nodded slightly.
"Exactly. It means nothing. Our nature is insatiable. We are never truly ready, because we never believe we have enough. So, readiness is not something you reach—it is something you choose." His gaze sharpened.
"Tell me now, here and now—do you choose to become the one who will lead our guild to greater heights?"
Gron rose slowly to his feet. Godric did not look away.
"Do you choose to starve before your men, to sacrifice before them, to sleep last and endure all without complaint until your final breath—for the sake of your brothers and sisters?"
His voice lowered, heavy with weight. "Do you promise me that, Gron?"
Gron stood as though he had been born within the ranks of an army, a man instinctively shaped for discipline and command. Facing his master, he assumed the posture of oath—left hand drawn firmly behind his back, right fist pressed over his heart.
A silent pledge made flesh.
"I, Gron Middleton," he declared, voice steady yet heavy with conviction, "swear upon my honour, integrity, and justice to lead the Comet Guild as faithfully as you, my master, have done. And thus… without looking back."
Godric descended slowly from his hovering meditation until his feet met solid ground once more. He stepped to Gron's side.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, with a quiet motion, he placed a hand upon Gron's shoulder.
His voice dropped into something softer—rarer.
"Gron… I am sorry to burden you with responsibilities I was never able to fulfil," he said. "I only wish for you to become the great guild master I could not be."
Without another word, he walked past him.
Gron froze.
The words struck deeper than he expected—he had never once heard Godric speak with such openness since the day they met. For a moment, he stood in disbelief, as though the forest itself had gone still around him.
Desperate to confirm what he had heard, he turned—
But his master was already gone.
Only the whisper of the waterfall remained, and the weight of leadership settling upon his shoulders.
***
High above the forest, upon a cliff overlooking the vast canopy, Aristovelli sat with the wind threading through her silver hair.
Below, the world stretched in layers of green and shadow, the distant echoes of training still faintly carried on the breeze. She and Victoria had ended their session earlier, after the fallen princess finally managed a noticeable improvement in her mana control.
Yet Aristovelli had remained.
The legendary witch had been there for some time now, observing her former apprentices from afar. The sight of them stirred something long buried within her—memories softened by age, yet never truly forgotten.
Aiden and Godric… children once, no more than ten years old at the time.
They had fought constantly back then—arguing, competing, clashing over the smallest things—until separating them and disciplining them had become part of her daily routine.
At the recollection, a faint laugh escaped her lips before dissolving into a quiet, nostalgic smile that curved gently across her expression.
"Men are foolish, without a doubt," she murmured with amused fondness. "And yet… they age like fine wine."