George stood once more in the tent of Zephyros, the smell of herbs and magic hanging heavy in the air. There were just two of them this time. Zephyros's keen eyes softened as he gazed at George, knowing that the time was almost upon them.
"I know you can't fight Trevor in the state that you're in, boy," declared Zephyros, his tone firm but kind. "That is why you must train, son."
George swallowed hard, his bobbing head as he listened, despite doubt in his chest. "Training?"
Zephyros rose to his feet and signaled out the flap of the tent, pointing with his hand to a clearing only a few paces from the village. "There's a camp, not far away—a camp where other young people, like you, are taught to protect this village. It's not a rigorous military camp, but it will make you a guardian. You'll be able to come and go."
The Supreme Sorcerer walked around the table, then knelt to take George's level, his face now warm and sympathetic.
"I know it's all too much," Zephyros said gently, laying a hand on George's shoulder. "But you're stronger than you think. You've been chosen for something, and though this road might feel impossible at this moment, never stop remembering this: Courage is not the absence of fear—it's the willingness to stand up even when you are."
George locked eyes with the sorcerer, feeling the vibration of hope and bravery there, even as he was shaking with fear.
"You are not alone here, George," Zephyros continued. "There are people here, friends that you have not yet met, and they will help you. I will help you. But you need to trust yourself. Trust your heart. You have been brought here because you have a mission, and I have faith in you."
Zephyros stood up, the paternal smile never departing his gaze as he added one final piece of wisdom. "This is just the start, and every step you take from now on will bring you one step closer to being the person you are meant to be."
George nodded, a feeling that something within him was stirring—something more than just fear. A glimmer of determination. He had no notion what the future held, but the words of Zephyros calmed him, gave him something to hold on to.
Outside, the sun was shining hot over the village, and the training camp was visible on the horizon, not too far away. George followed behind Zephyros as he exited the tent, a little relieved at having learned that the camp was close by.
Zephyros remained standing as George was about to proceed towards the camp, his last words a final boost, "Remember, son, you are braver than you know."
George took a deep breath and set out toward the camp, ready for whatever it was, knowing that he could always dash back in a hurry if need be.
Perched quietly on a branch near the camp, a tiny wren watched the activity below with a sharp, knowing gaze. Its dark, tawny brown-hued feathers blended so well with the tree bark that it was all but invisible to anyone passing by. Down in the camp, the camp was filled with silent movement, the sounds of youths and the ring of practice swords muted in the distance. This bird, however, cared not a whit about any of them.
In a swift flapping of its wings, the wren took to the air, flying effortlessly up and away from the camp. It flew far over the village, the training grounds, and the open wilderness beyond. Higher and more distant it soared, a fleeting shadow crossing the lands of AlbëToryl. The landscape shifted beneath as the wren flew over peaceful woods and sunlit glades, traveling south, distant from the earth known to the villagers. Its flight slowed as it flew into territories where the light seemed to fade, and a chill, otherworldly stillness filled the air.
And then, finally, it arrived. The clouds grew dark as the wren flew into a desolate stretch of twisted trees and dead ground—a landscape in which life itself seemed to revolt and refuse to grow. Here, shrouded beneath shadow cast by the mountainside, was the hidden lair of Trevor. The air grew thick, pulsating with a concealed, deadly energy. The bird circled once, then flew low, as if to deposit a secret message before vanishing into darkness.
Trevor's fortress had been reached.
Outside the gate, a couple of gigantic ogres stood guard, their crudely-jawed faces lacerated from hundreds of battles. The wren, undaunted, settled calmly before one of the sentries, who raised a club in trepidation. "We bear message for Lord Trevor," the wren chirped, voice resolute.
A moment later, Trevor himself emerged from the dark maw of his cave, his silver fur shining in the sunlight as he stepped out into the light. His eyes were piercing, carrying the ominous weight of his history of rebellion, a past tied to the once-unbreakable union of the Apex Five—until he shattered that union and struck out on his own.
"Talk," Trevor commanded, his voice carrying a deep, unnerving authority.
My lord," the wren began, bowing its head respectfully, "the human child you were warned against—him, he has come. AlbëToryl has found its Champion."
Trevor's eyes grew colder. "How certain are you?" His voice had a deadly edge.
"I have seen him, my lord," replied the wren. "The Supreme Sorcerer himself is taking him to a training ground near the village. There, he will begin his training. And when he is ready…" The wren trailed off, assuming the rest was self-explanatory.
A cold smile crept onto Trevor's face. "If he is this Champion, then let him train. I will not shame myself by engaging a child. Let him improve in skill, in power—so that our battle will be worthy."
At his side, an ogre, one of Trevor's most trusted subordinates—a giant, brutal-eyed beast—moved forward. His name was Eadric, a wise and ancient counselor. "How long do you plan to wait, my lord?" he snarled.
"Five years," Trevor replied, his tone dismissive but resolute. "Long enough for the boy to grow up. A true test of his worth.".
My lord, five years is forever," Eadric growled. "Order me, and I will gather a force. We can put an end to this madness before he ever becomes a threat."
Trevor raised a hand, stopping him. "No. This Champion, if selected by AlbëToryl, will arrive alone. I am immortal, Eadric. A god. Five years are but an instant.".
He nodded his fierce gaze once more toward the wren. "Go. Keep him closely observed. Bring me word of his progress."
"Yes, my lord," the wren replied, bobbing its little head before flight again, vanishing beyond the horizon.
------------------------
George made his way through training with an unyielding ferocity that separated him from the start. He began his mornings with physical conditioning, where throwing big rocks, running through fields, and working through tough footwork drills became second nature to him. His natural quickness and acuteness of reflexes amazed the trainers, as he developed a sturdy physique and excelled at weaving and pivoting with a speed that amazed his comrades.
Transferring into weapon use, George was so skillful with sword, spear, and bow, excelling at striking and blocking, as well as striking clumsy targets with some precision. His technique shortly became innovative and precise and he began to pass even the senior trainees in his expertise. In armor, he mastered moving around with dexterity and drilled blocks and parries regularly against completely armored foes. He developed his own unique style, light on his feet but solid in defense.
Hand-to-hand combat training came next, where George's quick reflexes and heavy blows were ideal. Grappling and close-quarters techniques became second nature as he trained relentlessly, using his speed to disarm and overwhelm. His ability to navigate formations with sharp sensitivity soon dazzled his instructors; he was able to read out his opponents' minds, protecting his comrades and gaining strategic terrain to provide himself with the advantage. With each exercise, George's tactical mind matured, showing a maturity far above his age.
His physical abilities in battle were complemented by growing mental resilience, as meditation exercises and training prepared him to stay calm under pressure. His classmates soon looked up to him, seeing him as a leader whose instincts would guide them. Survival skills were not long behind; George learned how to track animals, find useful plants, and build makeshift shelters, showing that he could fend for himself in the wild if necessary.
Finally, George faced the ultimate test—a test of all that he had acquired. With each test, he met with courage and determination, showing every skill in a grand finale to his training. Victorious, he earned not only the respect of his teachers but the love of his peer classmates, who welcomed him as a prodigy among them. During his trek through the camp, George had become a ray of hope for AlbëToryl, drawing nearer to his fate as the man who
would be ready to fight his homeland from the impending shadow.