The day after the attack, the village was in uproar. Some of the villagers wanted to organize a militia, others demanded the intervention of the royal knights. But for Kael, one thing was clear: he could no longer remain weak.
He went to see old Master Orin, a former adventurer who lived on the outskirts of the village.
"You want to learn how to fight?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes. I'm weak, and I want to change that."
Orin watched him for a moment before sighing.
"All right. But I warn you: it won't be easy."
Kael clenched his fists.
"I'm ready."
And so his training began.
Day after day, he practiced. His muscles protested, his body screamed in pain, but he never gave up. Lyra would sometimes come to visit, encouraging him in his efforts.
A month passed. Then two.
One morning, as he was training, something changed.
He struck a tree trunk—and a bluish glow enveloped his fist. The wood splintered under the impact.
Kael staggered back, astonished.
Orin smiled.
"It seems you do have a hidden talent after all."
A shiver ran through Kael's body. He had just crossed his first threshold toward greatness.
To be continued…