Months After the Farewell.
The morning air at the Assaroth manor was thick with the rhythmic shouts of soldiers. In a quiet corner of the training grounds, six-year-old Rune sat in silent meditation, his breath synchronized with the pulsing ether of the world.
Suddenly, the air hissed.
A sharp, high-velocity sword gale tore through the silence, arcing directly toward his head.
Without opening his eyes, Rune unsheathed his blade in a blur of steel. He centered his gravity, becoming as Heavy as a Boulder, and caught the gale on the flat of his sword. With a precise twist of his wrist, he redirected the kinetic energy, sending the slash whistling back toward its source.
Rune surged to his feet, ether flaring in his limbs for a counter-strike—only to freeze. Standing at the edge of the grounds, leaning casually against a stone pillar, was a man clad in travel-worn armor.
"Nice counter, Son!"
"Father!" Rune's voice broke as his warrior's focus evaporated. He dropped his sword and sprinted across the yard, launching himself into Froyd's broad chest.
"When did you arrive? How?"
Rune scrambled for words, his eyes bright with overwhelming emotion.
Froyd let out a booming laugh, squeezing his son tight.
"I promised I'd return after the second year, didn't I? I wasn't about to miss your seventh birthday—or Rorry's first."
"I'm just glad to see you home safe, honey,"
Ravina said, stepping into the courtyard with a radiant smile.
Froyd's grin faltered. He knew that specific shade of "sweetness" in his wife's expression.
"But tell me,"
Ravina continued, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr.
"Is drawing your blade the first thing a husband should do when he returns to his family?"
"Ravina, wait! I can explain! It was a test! Aww—wait! OUCH!"
The Afternoon Reprieve.
After the "disciplining" was finished, the family gathered for tea.
Froyd sat by the hearth, cradling little Rorry for the first time with a look of pure, clumsy adoration.
"So, tell me truly,"
Froyd said, looking over at Rune.
"How is the training? Erik tells me you've been busy."
"It's going well, Father,"
Rune answered, sitting tall.
"I've finished the Refining of the Muscle. I'm actually just about to begin the Refining of the Sinew."
Froyd nearly choked on his tea. "You... what?"
"He isn't just ahead in his cultivation,"
Ravina added, a proud, sharp glint in her eyes.
"He's also studying advanced military tactics under Hastein. Our son is a strategist in the making."
Froyd's eyes shone with pride.
"Incredible. After we eat, let's head to the grounds. I want to see exactly where your limits are."
"Froyd, my love,"
Ravina interrupted, her smile growing wider and colder by the second.
"Are you perhaps forgetting that you've been gone for two years? You will spend the afternoon with your daughter. The sparring can wait."
Froyd felt the temperature in the room drop twenty degrees. He looked at Rune, who was already offering a silent prayer for his father's soul.
"Right. Yes. The sparring... can definitely wait."
The Sparring of the Assaroth.
The next morning, the training grounds were charged with electricity. Father and son stood twenty paces apart, the air shimmering as their ether signatures began to rise.
With a sudden, explosive burst, Rune used a Flash Step, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He unleashed six consecutive slashes, each one superimposing upon the last to create a wall of pressurized steel.
Froyd didn't move his feet. He swung his blade in a casual, sweeping arc, deflecting all six strikes with effortless grace. He countered with a flurry of his own slashes, testing Rune's reflexes.
Rune didn't flinch.
He grounded himself, using his defensive techniques to parry the blows back while adding his own counter-force into the redirection. The exchange was a blur of silver and gold, the clashing of their blades echoing like thunder against the manor walls.
Finally, Froyd stepped back, sheathing his sword with a satisfied click. He began to clap.
"A wonderful counter, Rune! Your form is impeccable."
"Thank you, Father! It's all thanks to Erik's and Mom's guidance."
"It is the Young Master's diligence that did the work, Sir,"
Erik added, stepping out from the sidelines.
"He listens, and he executes."
Froyd placed a heavy, warm hand on Rune's shoulder.
"In a few years, you might actually be ready to stand beside me on the front lines. But remember, Rune: do not rush. Strength is a tower; if the foundation is weak, the higher floors will collapse. Take your time. Build it right."
Rune saluted, his heart swelling.
"Sir! Yes, Sir!