Elara stared at his hands, turning them over and over as if they held the answer to the bewildering question that now consumed him. He felt no different, no sudden surge of magical energy or divine intervention. Yet, the memory of the bandit flying backward, untouched by his blade, replayed in his mind with unsettling clarity.
Borin and Lyra stood a few feet away, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and concern. The other mercenaries, their tasks of securing the caravan and tending to the wounded mostly complete, cast curious glances in Elara's direction, a low murmur of speculation rippling through their ranks.
"I honestly don't know what happened, sir," Elara repeated, his voice still laced with disbelief. "I just… I felt this… pressure. Like something pushed him."
Borin scratched his beard, his brow still furrowed. "Pressure, you say? Like wind? There was no wind in that pass, lad. And you were closer to him than any of the rest of us."
Lyra circled Elara slowly, her sharp eyes scrutinizing him from head to toe. "He's not lying, Borin. I saw it. There was no contact. It was like he struck the air and it hit the bandit harder than any fist."
A few of the other mercenaries exchanged nervous glances. Some muttered about curses or strange blessings. The world of sword and steel was often intertwined with superstition, and the inexplicable tended to breed fear and suspicion.
Borin held up a hand, silencing the murmurs. "Alright, alright. No need for wild talk. Maybe it was just the lad's adrenaline. He was in the thick of it, first real fight and all."
"It didn't feel like adrenaline," Elara insisted, the memory of that strange force still vivid. It had been more focused, more directed. He had felt a surge of something powerful within him, a wellspring he hadn't known existed.
"Well, whatever it was, it saved your skin and likely that merchant's goods," Borin conceded, clapping Elara on the shoulder again, this time with a slightly more measured force. "Just keep it to yourself for now, understand? No need to spook Theron or any of the others."
Elara nodded, a sense of unease settling in his stomach. Keeping such a bizarre event a secret felt wrong, but he understood Borin's caution. He himself couldn't explain it, so how could he expect anyone else to believe him?
Later that evening, as the caravan made camp in a sheltered valley, Elara found himself restless. The usual exhaustion that followed a day's march and a fierce skirmish was absent, replaced by a nervous energy and a burning curiosity. He moved away from the flickering firelight, seeking the solitude of the surrounding woods.
Under the pale glow of the moon, he tried to recreate the feeling, to summon that strange force he had felt in the pass. He raised his arm, focusing all his concentration, trying to remember the exact moment of the attack, the surge of power within him. Nothing happened. He tried again, clenching his fists, straining his muscles, but the only result was a growing ache in his limbs.
Frustration mounted. Was it a fluke? A one-time occurrence brought on by the heat of battle? He swung his arm through the air, imagining the bandit standing before him, willing that unseen force to manifest. Still nothing.
He sank to the ground, leaning against the rough bark of a pine tree, his mind racing. Lyra's words echoed in his head: "There was… something else there." What was it? Where had it come from?
He thought back to other moments, those fleeting instances where he had lifted weights that seemed too heavy, where his blows had landed with surprising force. Had this "unseen aura," as the thought began to form in his mind, been there all along, lying dormant until the moment of crisis?
He stood up again, a new idea taking root. Instead of trying to force it, he would try to feel for it, to sense that inner wellspring he had experienced during the fight. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, trying to quiet the frantic thoughts in his mind. He reached inward, searching for that familiar, subtle warmth he had felt when lifting the heavy cart, that fleeting surge of power during his sparring match.
Slowly, hesitantly, he began to feel something. A faint tingling sensation deep within his chest, like a dormant muscle beginning to awaken. He focused on it, nurturing it, trying to draw it out. The tingling intensified, spreading through his limbs, a subtle vibration humming beneath his skin.
He opened his eyes, a sense of anticipation building. He reached out his hand, focusing on a rock a few feet away, willing that unseen force to touch it. Nothing happened. Disappointment washed over him. It had just been his imagination.
But then, he noticed a small leaf near the rock, rustling slightly, as if caught in a gentle breeze. But there was no breeze. The air was still and silent. He tried again, focusing more intently on the rock. The tingling in his chest intensified, and he felt a faint pressure building in his outstretched hand. This time, the rock wobbled slightly, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement.
Elara's breath hitched in his throat. It had worked. It was real. He wasn't just imagining it. There was something within him, an unseen force that he could somehow influence with his will.
Over the next few days, as the caravan continued its journey, Elara practiced in secret whenever he had the chance. He learned that this "aura," as he now tentatively called it in his mind, was tied to his focus and his intent. When he truly concentrated, when he felt a strong desire to move something or to exert force, the feeling would intensify, and sometimes, just sometimes, something would happen. He managed to move small stones, to rustle leaves, even to create a faint pressure against larger objects.
The control was erratic and unreliable, but the potential was undeniable. He kept his discoveries to himself, sharing his secret with no one. He knew that if the other mercenaries, especially Borin, realized the extent of his abilities, it would lead to more questions than answers, and potentially to fear or mistrust.
The journey continued without further incident, though the landscape grew increasingly wild and rugged. They passed through dense forests where ancient trees towered overhead, their branches forming a dark canopy that filtered the sunlight. They crossed swift-flowing rivers, the icy water numbing his hands and feet. The threat of bandits remained, but the Iron Fists maintained a vigilant watch, their reputation likely preceding them.
One evening, as they camped near a rushing waterfall, Borin approached Elara, a more thoughtful expression on his face than usual. "Lad," he said, settling down beside him near the fire. "That business in the pass… I've been thinking about it."
Elara's heart skipped a beat. Had Borin figured something out?
"You've got a knack for fighting, that's for sure," Borin continued, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. "Stronger than anyone your age I've ever seen. But there was something else there too. Something… unnatural."
Elara held his breath, unsure of what to say.
Borin turned to look at him, his scarred face surprisingly gentle in the firelight. "I've seen things in my time, lad. Things that can't be explained by steel and muscle. Whispers of old magic, forgotten powers… This world is older and stranger than most folk realize."
He paused, his gaze piercing. "Whatever it is you've got, Elara, be careful with it. Some things are best left unseen, untouched. And some folk will fear what they don't understand."
Elara met his gaze, a sense of understanding passing between them. Borin might not know the full extent of his abilities, but he had sensed something was different, something beyond the ordinary.
"I understand, sir," Elara said quietly, the weight of his secret feeling a little less heavy knowing that Borin, in his own way, had acknowledged the truth of it.
The journey north continued, and with each passing day, Elara grew more aware of the power that resided within him, a power he was only just beginning to awaken. The whispers of the unseen had begun, and Elara knew that his life, the simple life of a serf from Willow Creek, would never be the same again. He still had much to learn, much to understand about this unseen aura, but the potential it held, the possibility of a life beyond the endless toil and poverty he had always known, burned within him like the embers of their campfire against the encroaching darkness.