A figure moved in the darkness. Silently, with fluid concentration. This was Aurelion, trapped in this body for exactly six years. Four years of conscious, disciplined, and secret effort had changed this small High Elf body. He was noticeably taller than most of his peers. That slender, tall elven build was already becoming apparent. His black hair, falling to his shoulders, was kept under control with a frequent flick of his head to keep sweat dampened strands from sticking to his forehead. But the real change was in his movements.
His bare feet made almost no sound as they shifted on the floor. First, he took the low, sturdy stance of the Northerner warriors he'd seen in the courtyard. Knees slightly bent, center of gravity low. He remained motionless for a few seconds, gauging his balance and the tension in his muscles.
Yes, he was still weak. Miles away from the power his soul desired. But it was incomparable to those clumsy, trembling attempts four years ago. Now there was control. Limited, yes, but it existed.
Then the stance suddenly changed. His body turned slightly sideways, his guard went up, his left fist shot forward sharply. A clean jab. Immediately after, his right hand instinctively moved closer to his chin for protection. This was nothing like the Northerners' rough, wide swings. This was a reflection of knowledge based on efficiency and speed.
He bounced lightly, pivoted on his feet, feigned dodging an imaginary opponent's attack, and then slightly lifted his knee, slowly throwing a low kick from a Muay Thai. "Better," he thought inwardly.
"This lump of flesh understands some commands now. My expectations... are still too high. This body develops pitifully slowly." That familiar impatience gnawed at a corner of his mind. Power was needed, now, immediately. But he knew the cost of haste.
Tearing these developing muscles, straining these thin bones incorrectly... It would be disastrous. Discipline. Patience. He was learning, both his body and his rebellious spirit.
"What the instructors teach... sturdy but crude. Their defenses are full of openings. They rely on this." He clenched his fist. "But this? They won't be prepared for this. This speed, these angles... they'll be surprised."
A cold smile flickered at the corner of his lips and vanished. The thought of defeating his future opponents, those brats boasting of their brute strength, with his superior technique and intelligence was perhaps the only real satisfaction he derived from his progress.
His movements were like a dance. Turning, ducking, striking in the shadows. Every contraction, every stretch tested the limits of his body, pushing those limits millimeter by millimeter. He was careful not to exhaust himself. There was fatigue, yes. A sweet ache had begun in his arms and legs. But this wasn't exhaustion. This was a controlled, purposeful effort.
"One year..." he whispered almost inaudibly, taking a final stance and exhaling. "Just one more year... I'll be in that courtyard. For real. This shadow play will end."
The morning breakfast rush in the common hall was over. The older children had already gone to the College, while the younger ones were directed to simple games under the caregivers' supervision or to the basic lessons Mistress Linnea organized by age group.
Aurelion was no longer the helpless baby force fed four years ago. The porridge was still disgusting, but he knew his body, especially those muscles he pushed to their limits every morning, needed fuel.
After breakfast, Aurelion had retreated to the orphanage's now more organized small study corner. Mistress Linnea had kept her promise. As long as he didn't delve into dangerous topics and didn't cause trouble in lessons, especially in reading, writing, and logic where he progressed at an incredibly fast pace, she provided him access to texts appropriate by her standards.
Now Aurelion was focused on the thin parchment between his fingers at a low wooden table. Mistress Linnea, at her own desk at the other end of the room, was buried in the endless tasks she related.
There was a silent agreement between them, a strange balance developed over the years. It was as if they were playing a constant battle of wits, a chess game.
Aurelion pushed the boundaries for scraps of information, while Mistress Linnea tried to both support his development and keep this sharp intellect.
The parchment was a simplified account of Everfrost's known history and its relations with neighboring regions. Aurelion's fingers traced the lines, his golden eyes rapidly scanning the words.
A section he read caused his eyebrows to furrow slightly. He thought silently for a few seconds, then raised his head and looked at Linnea. "Mistress Linnea," he said.
Linnea looked up, peering at him over her glasses. An expression that seemed to say "what mischief are you up to now?" flickered across her face. "Yes, Aurelion?"
"This text," Aurelion said, pointing to parchment, "mentions old trade agreements between Luminor and the North. However, it states that the kingdoms in the southern Golden Bay struggled to maintain sea trade with Luminor due to constant pirate attacks." He paused. "If Luminor's naval power is weak and the Golden Bay kingdoms suffer from this threat, why didn't they form a joint fleet and permanently eliminate these pirates? Doesn't pooling resources make more sense than struggling alone?"
Linnea paused for a moment. For a six year old child to ask such a strategic and political question based on a simple history text... But she wasn't surprised anymore. "That's a complex issue, Aurelion," she said. "Politics doesn't always follow the most logical path. The Golden Bay kingdoms also compete amongst themselves. Forming a joint fleet brings many problems like chain of command, cost sharing. Besides..." She narrowed her eyes. "Some might prefer living with pirates rather than cooperating with us Northerners or Elves like you. Distrust, old enmities... The world isn't as simple as you think."
Aurelion listened carefully to the answer, trying to understand the message beneath Mistress Linnea's veiled words. Politics... Distrust... Competition... He mentally noted them down.
"One year," he said suddenly. "In one year, I'll join the training in that courtyard too, right?"
Linnea nodded. "Yes. If you follow all the rules until then and don't get into enough trouble." She smiled slightly, obvious sarcasm in her voice. "Let's see if you can get out of situations with your sharp tongue and logical deductions when facing those tough instructors in the courtyard? Words don't work very well there"
A trace of the control that usually masked his emotions vanished from Aurelion's face. His lips involuntarily curled upwards, a pure, almost savage excitement shining in his golden eyes. This was a an expression of a long suppressed desire, the urge to fight. That courtyard... It was a place where power spoke, not words. And Aurelion couldn't wait to speak that language.
Mistress Linnea noticed the momentary, almost frightening transformation on the child's face. She sighed inwardly, the smile fading from her face. This child... There was a fire inside him that she couldn't comprehend, one difficult to control. She couldn't help but wonder where this fire would lead him, but she was also worried. "For now," she said sharply, closing the subject, "you have parchments to focus on. The courtyard can wait."
The afternoon in the orphanage courtyard. Shouts, grunts, and occasional pained groans echoed. The basic combat and endurance training for the seven year old group continued with all its brutality.
At the edge of the courtyard, away from the noisy games of the other younger children, Aurelion was crouched against a wall.
His eyes first scanned over two familiar Beastkin. There was no trace of their state from that first classroom four years ago. The girl with fox ears and orange hair, Lyra, was dodging the grappling attempts of a larger Northerner boy with agility, responding with sudden, sharp scratching and biting attempts whenever she got the chance. Instinctive, wild, but effective.
The boy with wolf ears and grey hair, Kael, was calmer. He mostly stayed on the defensive against his opponent, another Northerner, taking hits but showing no sign of fatigue. His endurance was prominent, and he watched for his opponent's mistake. "Instinct and agility in Lyra, patience and endurance in Kael... Different approaches, different weaknesses," he noted mentally.
Then his eyes drifted to the tan skinned Saharan girl who hadn't caught his attention much until now. She was small but moved like a sand snake. The match against the large Ork she faced seemed like an obvious disadvantage, but the girl slipped out of each of the Ork's clumsy attacks with fluid movement, responding with sudden, low kicks aimed at disrupting his balance. "Speed and balance against strength... Clever. But a single mistake is unforgivable."
His gaze turned to two large Orks. Grok and Nazgûl. Four years had made them bigger, more muscular, but their brute force focused fighting style hadn't changed much. Nazgûl had almost crushed Lyra's opponent. Grok was fighting a blue skinned Aquarion from that class. Although the Aquarion moved fluidly he struggled against Grok's strength, staggering back with each blow. "Crude, predictable... But that power can be overwhelming if you're caught unprepared. Weak points...? Lack of speed and quick to anger."
Then his eyes searched the crowd for someone. There she was. Elara. In four years, she too had grown noticeably, her timidity lessened, but she still looked fragile next to the other warrior spirited children in the courtyard. Facing her was an Eluvian brat with short brown hair. His name was Theron, he thought. Elara tried to stay defensive, avoiding Theron's pushes and grappling attempts. However, there was hesitation in her movements, a reluctance.
"Wood Elf... Should be agile by nature. But she doesn't want to fight. She's not even using her potential." Aurelion frowned. He had given up on seeing Elara as a source of information. The girl's naive, violence avoiding attitude annoyed him. Yet... strangely, he tolerated her. Maybe it was because they were both strangers in this harsh Northern land. Maybe, somewhere very deep down, he saw something familiar in her.
Just as he was thinking this, Elara hesitated for a moment. Theron didn't miss the opportunity. He lunged forward, grabbed Elara by the shoulder, and pushed her hard to the ground. Elara fell on her back with a small cry.
Theron didn't immediately pounce on her but stood over her with a triumphant air. One of the instructors shouted, "Get up, Elf! Fight back!" but instead of getting up, Elara stayed where she was, her eyes welling up.
Aurelion's fists clenched. This sight... That fall, that helplessness... That familiar, cold discomfort surged within him again. This display of weakness was unacceptable. Not just for Elara, but for himself too. They were both Elves, even if different. This felt like his own humiliation somehow.
Theron's condescending look, the instructor's disappointed voice... He couldn't stand it. When the training day ended, Aurelion rose from against the wall. His eyes were still on Elara, who was sitting on the ground, sniffling. Normally, he would walk away in disgust from such weakness. But today... no. He walked purposefully towards the girl.
Elara looked up as the shadow fell over her. Her eyes were red, tear tracks dried on her cheeks. She flinched slightly upon seeing Aurelion approach her.
"Get up," Aurelion said, his voice cold and sharp. There was no room for sentimentality. Elara hesitantly tried to get up. Her arm and shoulder ached from the fall.
"What was that?" Aurelion continued. "Getting knocked down like a sack of grain in front of your opponent... And then just sitting there crying? Is that it?".
"I... I don't like violence, understand?" Elara whispered. "It hurt!"
Aurelion laughed. "You may not like violence, princess," he said through gritted teeth. "But you're subjected to it! And you do nothing! Is crawling on the ground, letting yourself get hurt better, you think? Did you enjoy it when that Eluvian brat laughed at you? Are you going to show us... Elves... as this pathetic?! You embarrass me! Defend yourself! At least throw a punch! Let us see you try, at least!"
Elara's eyes filled with tears again, Aurelion's cruel words hurt her. Just as she was about to reply, a coarse laugh sounded behind them. "Hahaha! Lookie here! Pointy ears teaching the other pointy ears!"
It was Nazgûl. He was approaching them with Grok, grinning. They had apparently received cleaning duty "punishment" again,
"So the little one annoyed you too, eh? Always doing that, isn't she, Grok. Always annoying someone."
Grok grunted in agreement. "Yeah. But next year we'll annoy him. It's your turn!" His gaze shifted from Elara to Aurelion.
Aurelion felt the discomfort inside him momentarily turn to wrath at the Orks' insolence, but he quickly brought it under control. Getting into a physical fight with these idiots was pointless. But he could still annoy them with his wit. One of those infuriating, cold smiles settled on his face again.
"Are we talking about you two?" he said, his tone filled with curiosity. "Those two brainless oafs who had to mop floors here all day? Yes, we are truly terrified of your tremendous fighting skills." He spoke deliberately, filling each syllable with contempt. "Maybe next year... you brain dead idiots can learn to tell the difference between a simple right cross and a left hook?"
Grok's face instantly contorted with rage. He knew he couldn't counter this sharp tongued Elf in a war of words. "You little..." he snarled and, giving in to his instincts, lunged forward. His green fist swung directly towards Aurelion's face.
Aurelion had seen the move coming. Even with the reflexes from his past, he could have completely dodged the blow. But he didn't. Only at the last moment did he slightly turn his head sideways and pull his body back a bit. His intention wasn't to evade the blow, but to ensure it landed where it would cause the least damage, just below his shoulder, on the upper part of his chest. A dull thud sounded as the fist met flesh. Aurelion staggered backward but didn't fall.
"MISTRESS LINNEA!" he shouted with all his might. As Grok prepared for a second punch, Nazgûl realized the situation and panicked. "Stop, Grok! You idiot! You'll get us in trouble again!" he tried to hold his friend back.
Hearing the noise and Aurelion's sharp cry, Mistress Linnea quickly emerged from the door of the nearby building. The scene she saw was enough for her to summarized the situation.
"What is going on here?!"
"He... he started it! He insulted us!" Nazgûl stammered, trying to defend himself.
Aurelion, however, said nothing. He just held his shoulder in pain.
Linnea's eyes went first to him, then to Grok still trembling with anger, then to Nazgûl, and finally to Elara, still in shock on the ground.
"To my office," she commanded clearly. "All of you. Now."
Aurelion followed the others towards the office, holding his shoulder. When the heavy wooden door of Linnea's office closed behind them, the air inside grew even tenser.
The small room was far too cramped for four children and one angry administrator. Linnea went behind her desk, her icy blue eyes swept over the children in turn. First on Elara, head bowed in shame on the floor, then on Grok and Nazgûl, still trembling with either anger and fear, and finally on Aurelion, standing in the corner holding his shoulder.
"Alright," Linnea said, her voice calm but steely. "One of you is going to tell me exactly what happened in the courtyard. Nazgûl, you start."
Nazgûl swallowed, his eyes wide with fear. "We... We were just passing by, Mistress Linnea! I swear! We were talking with Grok..." He hesitated, unsure how to continue. "And?" Linnea asked patiently, but the pressure in her eyes increased.
"Then he... the elf," Nazgûl said, pointing at Aurelion. "He started insulting us! He insulted us! Called us "brainless"! Then said something about learning to fight! Grok... Grok got really angry."
Mistress Linnea turned her gaze to Grok. The large Ork seemed somewhat subdued under her stare. "So he started it?".
Grok nodded angrily. "Yes! He always does it! Always mocking! Filthy pointy ears!"
"Hold your tongue, Grok," Mistress Linnea said sharply. Then she turned to Elara. The girl was still trembling. "Elara? What did you see?"
Elara stammered. "I... Theron pushed me... I was crying... Then Aurelion came... He was angry with me..." She sobbed. "Then the Orks came... They... said something to Aurelion, I think... Then Aurelion said something to them... Then... Then Grok hit him." Her account was fragmented and fear filled, but she had honestly relayed what happened.
Mistress Linnea took a deep breath. The stories largely matched. There had been a verbal altercation, tensions rose, and Grok resorted to physical violence. Her gaze finally returned to Aurelion. The child still stood silently, holding his shoulder.
"Aurelion?" Mistress Linnea said. "Do you have anything to add? Are you claiming they provoked you?" Her eyes carefully gauged the child's reaction. A voice inside her whispered that there was a game behind this innocent posture again.
Aurelion slowly raised his head. He didn't say a word. Instead, he slowly removed the hand holding his shoulder and slightly pulled down the collar of his tunic. On his pale skin, just below the collarbone, a redness and slight bruising were becoming visible.
He raised his gaze back to Linnea. He didn't open his mouth, but his eyes said everything. This silent but effective move increased Linnea's suspicion, but faced with concrete evidence, her hands were tied.
Grok had clearly used physical violence. While who started the verbal sparring mattered, the party who resorted to violence first had to be punished.
"Grok," Linnea said. "I have told you countless times not to lose control! Resorting to physical violence is strictly forbidden! Nazgûl, you stood by while your friend was provoked and didn't prevent the situation!". "But he started it!" Grok interjected desperately.
"Maybe," Mistress Linnea said. Her eyes flickered back to Aurelion for a brief moment. "...maybe you're right. We can't know that for sure." Her gaze returned to the Orks. "But who started it doesn't change the fact of who threw the punch! This behavior will not go unpunished. Both of you! Starting tomorrow, for three days, you will do EXTRA three hours of reading and writing practice in the library after dinner!".
"NOOOOOO!" Grok shouted. Nazgûl's face had turned white as chalk. No worse punishment could be imagined for Orks.
"I want no objections!" Mistress Linnea snapped. "Now get out! And if such an incident happens again, the consequences will be much more severe!". The Orks left the office, grumbling angrily but forced to obey.
Mistress Linnea spoke to Elara in a gentler voice, "You can go too, Elara, get some rest." The girl quickly slipped out. Only Linnea and Aurelion remained in the room.
Linnea sat down at her desk. The suspicion was still there, perhaps even stronger. This child... was too clever. Too calm. And he always managed to slip out of situations somehow.
"You," she said slowly. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Aurelion just nodded, still not speaking.
Linnea sighed. "Alright. You may go too. But don't forget, Aurelion... I'm watching you."
Aurelion left the office with slow steps. The moment he stepped into the corridor, his face replaced again by that cold smile. Reading punishment for the Orks... There couldn't be a better revenge. But Linnea's last look... Yes, the woman suspected. He had to be more careful. But the game was still under his control. For now.
The next few days passed while the Orks suffered torture in the library in the evenings. He continued his training and information gathering efforts.
One afternoon, after lessons and training were over, he found himself at the edge of the courtyard again. But this time he wasn't an observer. Elara, as usual somewhat timid but now less frightened, was sitting near a wall. Aurelion went over to her. "Get up," he said again with that short, clear command.
Elara looked at him in surprise. "W-what are we going to do?"
"I'm going to show you a few basic things," Aurelion said, impatience in his voice. "I don't want to see you collapse like a sack in that courtyard again."
"But I don't want to fight!"
"Nobody's telling you to fight," Aurelion said, rolling his eyes.
"You'll just learn how to defend yourself, at least how to stay on your feet. Now listen."
For the next half hour, Aurelion, pushing the limits of his patience, tried to show Elara the most basic balanced stance, a simple backward step, and most importantly, how to raise her arms to protect at least her face and head when a blow came.
Elara was clumsy and reluctant. She kept stumbling while trying to mimic the movements Aurelion showed, whining "I can't do it," and "This is too hard."
"It's not hard, you're not even trying!" Aurelion finally snapped, his nerves frayed. "Focus! Distribute your weight evenly on both feet! Raise your arms like this, keep your elbows tucked in!"
"But my arms are tired..."
"Of course they'll get tired! Do you think getting stronger is easy?!" Just as Aurelion was about to deliver a harsher reprimand, they were startled by a deep, familiar voice from behind them.
"Well, well... Has the little elf started playing instructor?"
They turned. Captain Roric stood at the entrance of the courtyard, arms crossed over his chest, watching them. His face held its usual impassivity, but a faint glimmer of amusement could be read in his eyes.
In four years, the Captain had also changed; his posture was more solid, his shoulders broader, and the intense aura he radiated was almost tangible. Even beneath his simple tunic, his developed muscles could be discerned.
Elara bowed her head in embarrassment. Aurelion, after a moment of surprise, quickly composed himself. Roric being here was an unexpected opportunity.
Roric walked towards them with heavy steps. He looked at Elara first. "Your stance is wrong, Forest Elf," he said calmly. "Your weight is too far forward, you'll lose balance easily. And your arms... As long as those elbows stay open, you're inviting every blow aimed at your face."
He simply showed Elara the correct stance. The girl, surprised by the Captain's unexpected attention, listened to him carefully. "Remember, the first rule is to protect yourself. Attacking without learning to defend is foolishness."
Then his gaze turned to Aurelion. "You don't seem to have much patience either," he said with slight amusement. "Instructing isn't just about showing, it's also about understanding."
His eyes drifted to Aurelion's still slightly reddened shoulder. "I heard you got into trouble again recently. Though it seems the victim role worked better for you this time." Aurelion grimaced. "They started it."
"Maybe," Roric said. "But you were the one who took the punch. You were lucky Grok didn't hit that hard. Otherwise, you'd be in the infirmary now." He paused, then his tone became serious. "Still, it was a clever move, I must admit. Reading punishment for the Orks... Clever and cruel. A typical... elf move." There was a slight emphasis on the last words.
Aurelion ignored the implication. Opportunity had come knocking. "Since you saw that I behaved and even tried to help others, Captain," he said in an innocent tone. "I think I deserve a reward. You were going to tell me a story."
Roric raised an eyebrow. It was impossible to predict what this child would ask for next. "Did I say that?"
"Yes," Aurelion insisted. "And I'm particularly curious about one. Its name was mentioned in the books... Fenrir. The Great Wolf. Will you tell me his story?". Roric's expression changed momentarily. A brief flash of surprise appeared in his eyes, then quickly vanished. "Fenrir, huh?" he said slowly. "Where did you hear about him?"
"In the old legends parchment in the library," Aurelion said, telling the lie without hesitation. Linnea hadn't given him such old or specific texts yet.
Roric looked at him carefully, then shrugged. "Alright. Since you're curious." He sat down on a nearby stone bench, and Elara and Aurelion eagerly sat beside him.
"Fenrir..." he began. "He is no ordinary wolf. Some say he is almost as old as this world itself. It's whispered that he lives in the deepest, most inaccessible valleys of the North, lands ruled by eternal winter. His fur is said to be black as midnight, his eyes glowing like molten lava. His size... it's told he's massive enough to overshadow a mountain." Aurelion and Elara listened with bated breath.
"His strength is unimaginable. His claws are sharp as obsidian, his teeth strong enough to shatter even the thickest mountain shield. But what's truly terrifying is his speed and cunning. He appears suddenly like a blizzard, stalks his prey silently like a shadow. With a single howl, he could trigger avalanches, scatter armies. They say, during the Great War, he single handedly tore apart a few invaders massive warships. But then, just as he came, he suddenly disappeared." Roric fell silent, his gaze lost in the distance.
After a few seconds of silence, Aurelion asked, his voice trembling with curiosity. "So... is this story true, Captain? Does Fenrir... really exist?"
Roric turned to him. That unreadable expression was back on his face. The corner of his lip curled up slightly. "Who knows ?" he said mysteriously. "Maybe it's just a tale told to keep cowards in their beds. Or maybe... he's still out there in those snowy valleys, waiting for his next hunt, or for the time the world calls upon him again." He stood up. "That's enough for now. Back to your lessons."
As Roric turned and walked away, Aurelion and Elara remained seated. Aurelion's mind was filled with what Roric had told him. The Great Wolf Fenrir... Could such a powerful being truly exist? Roric's uncertainty in his final words... Could there be truth to it? These thoughts fueled his hunger for knowledge even more. This world was much larger, much more dangerous, and much more... epic than he had thought.