The battlefield was still.
Shattered stone and scorched earth bore witness to the devastating clash that had just transpired. The lingering mist, once a veil concealing Gramps, had begun to clear, revealing the aftermath. Cracks webbed across the ruined ground, and the twisted remnants of the golems slowly reformed, their elemental bodies trembling yet persistent.
Vaelor's smirk faltered.
He had been certain. Certain that the combined might of the five golems would crush his old mentor. Yet now, as the mist unraveled like ribbons, his certainty crumbled.
And there stood Gramps.
Bloodied. Torn. But still standing.
Crimson smeared his face, dripping from his forehead down to his jaw. His coat, once elegant, now hung in tatters, the blackened fabric burnt and shredded. Cuts and bruises lined his arms, his knuckles raw and trembling. And yet — he smiled. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, his shoulders heaving slightly with amusement.
"That," Gramps muttered, dragging a hand across his face to wipe the blood from his brow, "wasn't bad."
Vaelor's lips curled into a grin. "Still think I'm that stubborn kid, huh, Sensei?"
Gramps returned the grin, though the sharp ache in his ribs protested with every breath. "Nah," he smirked. "You're worse."
Before Vaelor could respond—
Flick.
Gramps' finger struck his forehead like a whip-crack.
It was the same motion, the same flick that had once sent Vaelor stumbling as a boy. Back then, the sharp sting had brought him to his knees. But this time—
Nothing.
Vaelor didn't even flinch.
Gramps raised a brow. "Huh." He flexed his fingers, shaking them slightly. "I didn't hold back, you know."
"Didn't feel a thing." Vaelor's grin widened. "Guess I'm not that stubborn kid anymore."
"Bold words." Gramps gave a half-hearted scoff, but there was a gleam of pride beneath it.
Then, without warning—
Gramps reached out, his large hand landing heavily on Vaelor's head. His rough fingers tousled the young warrior's hair, ruffling it like he used to during their training. Vaelor stiffened, but before he could protest, the words came.
"Congrats, kid."
Vaelor blinked.
"You're standing where you said you would." Gramps' voice lowered, the weight of his words sinking deep. "You didn't just fight. You endured. You've grown into something I'm damn proud of."
A lump caught in Vaelor's throat. His hands curled into fists at his sides, not from anger — but from the raw swell of emotion threatening to break through. The fierce, burning resolve that had carried him through the battle now gave way to something far more fragile.
He wasn't supposed to feel this. Not now.
But the tears welled anyway.
Gramps didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. The gentle pat on Vaelor's head was enough — a gesture not of a master congratulating his student, but of a man who had watched a boy grow into something far greater.
And yet—
Gramps couldn't resist one last jab.
"Still," he grinned, his voice playful. "You've grown up, sure. But emotionally?" He gestured to Vaelor's face, where tears now trailed down his cheeks. "You're still a crybaby."
Vaelor stiffened. "I-I'm not crying!"
"Uh-huh."
"Shut up, Sensei!"
Vaelor quickly wiped his eyes, scowling. "I'm not pathetic, and I'm definitely not crying."
Gramps shook his head, a low laugh rumbling from his chest. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid."
The laughter faded, but the warmth lingered.
And then—
The golems, still tethered to Vaelor's will, slowly began to dissolve. Flames dimmed, water trickled away, stone crumbled, wind scattered, and ice melted into the scorched earth. One by one, they returned to Vaeloris — the sword's gleam flickering as the power retreated within.
The battlefield, once filled with chaos, was now silent.
But Vaelor's resolve was not.
---
A Vow Unbroken
Gramps stepped back, watching as Vaelor sheathed his sword. There was pride in his gaze, but also caution.
"You're stubborn," Gramps said. "And I know that look."
Vaelor's expression darkened. "I'm not done, Sensei."
Gramps raised a brow. "Oh?"
"You know what I mean."
Vaelor's jaw clenched. "You think I'll forget? You think I'll turn away from this?" His voice was unwavering, but there was a storm beneath it. "No. I don't care what it takes — I'll find him myself. I'll do whatever's necessary. Whatever it takes to stop what's coming."
Gramps remained silent.
"And that boy…" Vaelor's voice dropped lower. "You think I'll just leave him?"
The old man tilted his head slightly, as if gauging the depth of Vaelor's resolve. His next words were steady, deliberate.
"You talk about him like he's just a boy," Gramps said, his tone lowering. "But Layron is not someone you can chase down like a fleeting shadow. Not anymore."
Vaelor's brows furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You think you're ready to face him because you've grown stronger," Gramps continued. "But strength isn't everything. Layron's strength doesn't just come from how hard he can swing a blade. It's the kind that lingers. The kind that even now—"
He gestured to the ground beneath them.
"—makes the world remember his presence."
Vaelor frowned, but before he could retort, he felt it.
An unsettling stillness.
The very air seemed heavier. It wasn't Gramps. It wasn't the remnants of Scarlet's power. It was something else. Something distant, yet disturbingly near.
Vaelor's breath caught. It was faint, but undeniable.
Layron.
The echoes of his presence.
"That boy has begun to move," Gramps said, his voice like distant thunder. "And every step he takes leaves a mark. You can't see it. You can't hear it. But the world remembers him. The people he saves. The ones he defies. Even the enemies who curse his name — they carry a trace of him."
Vaelor's hands curled into fists. He hated how true it sounded.
"He's no ruler," Gramps went on. "No lord. No king. But his presence spreads like wildfire. People are drawn to him. They follow him not out of fear, but because he reminds them of something they thought they'd forgotten."
Gramps' eyes sharpened.
"Hope."
Vaelor grit his teeth. "I'm not afraid of him."
Gramps didn't answer immediately. Instead, he smirked — though the amusement didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Maybe not," he said. "But you should be."
The weight of the words settled like stone.
"Layron isn't just surviving," Gramps continued. "He's growing. And when the day comes that you stand in front of him again — you'll understand."
Vaelor held his gaze. "And what if I beat him?"
Gramps chuckled, though the sound held little joy.
"Then you'll have done something even I couldn't."
Silence.
"But don't get ahead of yourself," Gramps added. "He still has a long way to go. Just like you."
The tension in the air began to lift, but the feeling lingered. Even with Layron nowhere near, his name alone had left its mark.
Vaelor shook off the weight, though it stubbornly clung to him. "I don't care how much he's grown. When the time comes, I'll deal with him. You'll see."
Gramps smirked. "Oh, I'm sure I will."
And with that, the battlefield stood silent once more.
---
To Be Continued...
---