When Gaël finally found the man, he was sitting with his back pressed against the rough bark of a tree, his face turned upward toward the starlit sky, eyes closed as if deep in meditation. An aura of calm, subtly tinged with menace, surrounded him, palpable despite his immobility.
Gaël slowed his approach, his steps faltering as he drew closer. His throat tightened painfully; the words he'd rehearsed countless times in his mind stubbornly refused to leave his mouth, trapped by an oppressive nervousness. The sensation was all too familiar, almost painfully so: it was the same feeling he'd experienced before Astraéa, when he'd followed her path without really knowing why. Once again, he felt vulnerable, almost... foolish.
Without even opening his eyes, the man broke the silence with a low, weary voice, rough as the edge of his sword:
"Go away, kid." His sigh was heavy, filled with exhaustion. "Go back to your friend. You've got no business here."
The words fell hard and final. Yet Gaël shook his head, fists clenching tightly. His heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't retreat. Not after coming all this way.
"You're a Swordbrother," he blurted out, voice hesitant but resolute. "Teach me the Way of the Severance!"
A silence stretched out. The man studied Gaël, assessing his determination, his youth, and his obvious inexperience, yet also noting the inner fire that begged either to be nourished or extinguished.
Slowly, the man lifted a calloused hand, rubbing it across his face. His shoulders shook lightly. A laugh, low, raspy, like the distant rumble of an approaching storm.
"You don't know what you're asking, kid," he muttered. His eyes, finally opening and fixing on Gaël, were cold, sharp as the blade resting beside him. "The Way of the Severance... it's no children's tale. It demands everything. Your past, your doubts, even your future. You want to walk this path? Do you even know what it costs?"
Gaël held his gaze, swallowing hard. Each word cut into him, but he couldn't turn away now.
"I do."
The man shook his head. He gestured toward the sword buried in the earth.
"This blade... it's taken more than blood. It's taken brothers. Memories.
You think I'm gonna throw you into that mess just 'cause you've got fire in your eyes?
Fire burns out fast, kid."
Gaël took a deep breath, then stepped forward.
"I don't want to feel useless anymore!" His voice cracked the air, vibrant with anger. "I saw what a Brother can do!"
His fists clenched tighter, knuckles white.
"I took his blade... but I don't know how to wield it. So teach me!"
The man didn't move. Only his steady breathing broke the stillness. His gaze remained fixed on the boy, unreadable... but behind that stone façade, something shifted.
"You touched the blade?"
He didn't sound surprised. No. It was the look of someone confirming a fear long held. His fingers wiped his face, brushing away sweat and weariness in a single, tired motion.
Gaël nodded, his resolve clashing against the warrior's icy demeanor.
"Go back to the Academy," the man finally growled, voice like stone grinding stone. "Before I change my mind..."
"I want to be strong like you. It's the only way..."
"No one is strong on this earth, kid. There's just people trying to be."
Gaël felt his courage falter under the weight of those words. He took a step back, his heels sinking into the soft earth. A part of him screamed to run, to flee this confrontation that was so far beyond him.
But… no. Not now. Not after coming all this way.
He planted his feet in the mud, lifted his chin, eyes burning.
"My town..." His voice trembled, but he forced the words out. "My town was destroyed by a Monarch."
The wind picked up again, whistling through the branches as if to echo the gravity of his words.
"But a Brother of the Blade saved it… I saw him. With my own eyes. He fought. He cut through that horror's tentacle like it was nothing… But he died."
His throat tightened. The memories came rushing in, hot, raw.
"And if another Monarch comes… the town will have no one left. So I have to take his place. I have to learn."
Silence followed.
Then came laughter. Harsh. Unforgiving. The man laughed, a bitter, ragged sound that cracked through the forest like dry wood snapping in the fire. He ran a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with mirth that held no joy.
When he spoke again, his voice was a blend of scorn… and something deeper. A sorrow barely hidden.
"He didn't save you, kid." His eyes turned razor-sharp. "He was fixing his mistake."
Gaël's stomach knotted.
'His mistake…?' The words twisted in his mind, trying to make sense. 'What is he talking about?'
But the man pressed on, his words slicing the air like drawn blades:
"That's a secret we Brothers keep buried. But…" He paused, watching Gaël closely, weighing the weight of what he was about to share. "…since you're so desperate to join us…"
His gaze hardened.
"…you might as well know what you're walking into."
He locked eyes with Gaël and continued:
"Unlike the Blessed of the Lumen, we don't draw the Moon's wrath the same way." Each syllable was deliberate, heavy with meaning. "It's not lightning she sends after us…"
His gaze turned cold as steel.
"It's her fiercest warriors."
Gaël felt his breath catch. A bead of sweat slipped down his temple. Warriors…? He understood. Too slowly. Too late.
"Because a Brother…" The man reached for his sword and raised it, blade pointed skyward, "…doesn't fear the lightning."
His smile returned. Cold. Unyielding.
"He cuts through it like straw."
The words crashed into Gaël like a falling mountain. His heart pounded against his ribs. So that was it… Those who walked this path didn't just gain strength. They drew in enemies. Monsters. Monarchs.
His throat tightened even more.
The man stood abruptly, sheathing his blade in one swift motion. Then turned his back.
"Now that you know…" His voice was like ice. Sharp and final. "Don't follow me."
Gaël stood there, frozen, the echo of those words rattling through his skull.
The man vanished into the trees, leaving behind more questions than answers.