True to his father's words, the very next morning marked the beginning of Eryon's path.
Mariel fussed over him, adjusting the simple tunic he wore and braiding his unruly crimson hair as best she could. Daren, still bandaged from his wounds, leaned heavily on a cane but refused to miss this moment.
The Solna Training Hall stood at the center of the village, a sturdy structure of sun-baked stone and timber. It wasn't grand by the standards of the great cities, but for Solna, it was a place of pride. Here, every child of the village began their journey toward strength.
Inside, a dozen children around Eryon's age milled about, most of them familiar faces from the village streets. Laughing, pushing, shouting—full of nervous energy. Eryon spotted friends he had raced across the sands with, but today felt different. Today, they would begin something serious.
The instructor, Master Rylas, was a stern man with sharp eyes and a frame hardened by decades of life by the sea. His presence alone was enough to silence the chatter.
"Form a line," Rylas barked. "Today, you take your first steps on the path of strength. There will be no hand-holding. Those who cannot endure will not advance."
The first task was deceptively simple: physical endurance.
They were ordered to run laps around the training hall under the unrelenting midday sun. Most children groaned or lagged behind quickly, unused to such exertion. Eryon's legs burned, his chest tightened, and sweat poured down his face.
But each time he faltered, each time the thought of stopping whispered in his mind, he remembered his father's blood staining the sand. He remembered the helplessness he had felt.
So he gritted his teeth and pushed forward.
Beside him ran a boy even thinner than himself, with messy black hair and a determined gaze. His name was Kael, Eryon's childhood friend, a boy known more for his cleverness than physical strength. Yet today, Kael refused to yield, matching Eryon step for step, even as his legs shook with effort.
Ahead of them, another figure moved with fierce tenacity—Ryn, the son of Captain Veylor, leader of Solna's defense squadron. Ryn had a sturdier build, his movements sharper and more disciplined, but even he showed signs of strain as the laps dragged on.
After running came basic strength training—lifting heavy stones, holding difficult stances, practicing balance on thin beams. Every muscle in Eryon's small body screamed in protest, and more than once he stumbled and fell.
Some children cried. A few gave up entirely, sitting sullenly by the walls.
But Eryon endured.
Kael endured, grimacing but pushing himself up each time he fell.
Ryn endured, silent and focused, his pride as Captain Veylor's son burning as fiercely as Eryon's vow.
Master Rylas noticed. Though he said nothing, a brief flicker of approval crossed his weathered face.
The sun climbed higher, merciless and scorching. By the end of the day, Eryon's limbs trembled with exhaustion, and his vision blurred from the heat. Beside him, Kael collapsed onto the dirt, laughing breathlessly, while Ryn sat cross-legged, his eyes closed in silent meditation.
When Mariel came to collect him, Eryon could barely lift his arms.
Still, as she scooped him into her embrace, Eryon smiled weakly.
"I didn't stop, Mama," he whispered.
Mariel held him tighter, her heart swelling with pride and worry.
That night, as the stars blanketed the heavens, Eryon lay on his simple straw bed, every part of him aching. Yet in the midst of his pain, he felt something else growing within him—something fierce and unbreakable.
The first true roots of perseverance had taken hold.
And somewhere not far away, under the same sky, Kael dreamed of becoming someone who could protect the weak with his wits, and Ryn vowed silently that he would one day surpass even his father's legendary strength.