Four years… For exactly four years, before every dawn, this silence and darkness had become Aurelion's personal arena.
He began with slow, controlled stretches. He turned his neck, threw his shoulders back. The movement of each joint, the stretch of each muscle was now more familiar, more fluid. Then he took his stance.
And the shadow dance began.
The images in his mind were clear. Those sharp, fast punches he remembered. Muay Thai's bone breaking knee and kick angles. The crude but effective blocks and attacks of the Northerners he watched in the courtyard... He blended them all, adapted them to his small body, repeating each one countless times. A left jab, immediately followed by a right straight, a fluid sidestep, evading an imaginary blow, a low kick... The movements weren't perfect, no. This body could still betray him, it still wasn't fast enough, strong enough. But there was fluidity. There was rhythm. And most importantly, there was intent.
"Harder," he whispered inwardly, his breath quickening after the imaginary elbow strike he threw.
"Faster! This isn't enough!" That familiar, gnawing impatience showed itself again. His body was progressing, yes. His mind gave the commands, and the body responded much better than before. But it wasn't enough. That absolute control his soul desired, that crushing power, was still so far away.
This slowness, this necessity of step by step progress, made him want to punch the walls. In a momentary loss of control, an sudden impulse born from his patience wearing thin, he attempted a sudden turn and high kick, pushing his muscles a little more than they could handle.
That feeling of being trapped inside had momentarily overridden his logic. He felt a sharp pang in his groin, his balance slightly faltered.
He stopped, his face contorted not with pain, but more with anger at himself. "Fool!" he hissed internally. "Haste... That's what will drag you back to that helplessness." He closed his eyes, forced a deep breath. Calm down. Discipline. That was the plan. Control had to be his.
But calming down was difficult. With each passing day, the pressure of the approaching turning point the seven year old trainings increased. In that courtyard, he would no longer be in the shadows, but facing real opponents. And just staying on his feet wouldn't be enough. He had to crush them. He had to to erase that humiliating beginning.
He returned to his movements, this time more controlled, more focused. But in a corner of his mind, that thought was always there: "Slow... Too slow... How can I endure another year?" As sweat trickled down his forehead, not only his muscles but also his patience were pushing their limits.
This body could do more now, he was sure of it. But still, he had to wait. Finally, when the sweet ache in his muscles began to turn into a distinct fatigue, he stopped.
The first faint lights of day had begun to seep through the window. He hadn't exhausted himself. He had stuck to his plan. But the taut spring within him was wound tighter than ever. He silently returned to his bed, slipped under the covers. Even when he closed his eyes, the fight continued in his mind. One year... The countdown was ongoing, and the stone of patience was cracking more and more.
The study corner of the orphanage had reached a relative calm in the later hours of the morning.
Aurelion saw this place as his personal fortress. On a low wooden table, the parchment spread before him this time contained more detailed information about Luminor's history and culture.
Linnea had noticed Aurelion's strange interest in political and strategic matters and,keep him in this "safe" area, had begun to give him texts specifically related to the world of the Elves.
Aurelion's golden eyes caught a depiction on the parchment. The Crystal Towers in Luminor's capital, elegant structures shimmering in the sunlight... The text spoke of the High Elves' mastery in architecture, their refined tastes, and their devotion to their "noble arts."
"Noble Arts"... This phrase was grander than previous ones but just as vague. Aurelion frowned. Northerners were associated with iron and war, Forest Elves with bows and the forest. What was the distinguishing feature of this arrogant race he was told he belonged to? Just shining towers and philosophy?
He looked up. "Mistress Linnea."
Mistress Linnea looked up from her work. "I'm listening, Aurelion."
"This Luminor text," Aurelion said, "It speaks of the High Elves' "noble arts." The depictions of the Crystal Towers... are impressive. But what exactly do these arts encompass? The strengths of other races seem more distinct... like war, nature. What makes High Elves special? How can these towers... be so different?"
He had carefully formulated his question. Avoiding the word "magic" directly. He was mimicking the innocent inquiry of a curious child to lower Linnea's defenses.
Linnea paused for a moment, knowing full well what Aurelion was trying to get at. She wouldn't take the bait directly. "High Elves, Aurelion with the wisdom and discipline that comes from their long lives, tend to understand some... flows and orders at the foundation of the world more deeply than others. This understanding manifests itself not only in their philosophy or diplomacy, but also in their crafts and even their interactions with their environment."
This answer was both true and intentionally vague. "Flows" and "orders"... Aurelion didn't give up. "Flows?" he repeated, tilting his head slightly with pure curiosity. "What kind of flows? Like the wind? Or... like that "river" Elara's mother felt?"
Mistress Linnea's eyes narrowed slightly. "Everything has an energy, a vibration, Aurelion. Some are more gifted at sensing these vibrations and... working in harmony with them. This could be like a blacksmith feeling the metal, or a warrior directing the power in his own body... Or yes, like those masters in Luminor, building structures that reflect light or sound in different ways using specific materials..."
Aurelion understood that Linnea was masterfully giving evasive answers. These didn't explain a concrete mechanism but confirmed something important. Yes, High Elves had such a "sensitivity," and it was related not just to craft, but to something more fundamental. Perhaps that "river" was real and could be "flowed" in different ways. Even this crumb of information was valuable.
"I think I understand. So High Elves... master things not just by thinking, but also by feeling. Well then, Mistress Linnea, why can't such a race, so capable of "feeling" and "working in harmony" solve that simple pirate problem in the Golden Bay? That still seems illogical to me."
Mistress Linnea smiled faintly. This child never gave up. "I told you, Aurelion, the world isn't as simple as you think. Sometimes even the most "feeling" ones can be slaves to their own pride or old fears. Or maybe... they have bigger problems than pirates?"
Her last sentence hung in the air "Now continue your reading."
Aurelion mentally filed away Mistress Linnea's last insinuation. Bigger problems? That was another topic to investigate. He might not have gotten as much as he wanted for now, but he had found a new way to breach Mistress Linnea's defenses. İndirect questions and combining his observations. The game continued, and the pieces were slowly falling into place.
The afternoon sun now struck lower in the sky. The shouting hadn't diminished.
Aurelion was again at that familiar spot by the wall. But he was no longer just an observer. The simmering impatience within him was turning watching this scene into torture. Every clumsy move, every missed opportunity, every unnecessarily taken blow frayed his nerves. Because he knew, next year he would be there too, and this level of inadequacy was unacceptable.
His eyes scanned Elara. The Wood Elf girl was still trying to maintain her distance from Theron opposite her. It was clear she was trying to apply the simple defensive moves Aurelion had shown her in the past few days. But there was hesitation in every move, a delay in every block. Her nature, which disliked violence, was a constant hindrance to her in this brutal courtyard.
Theron constantly applied pressure, forcing her to retreat with feints, then suddenly changing direction. Elara was always a step behind.
Aurelion's fists clenched again. "Don't do that!" he wanted to scream inwardly. "Stop retreating! Look your opponent in the eye! Don't lose focus!" Every stumble Elara made cracked the stone of patience within him a little more.
This girl was betraying her potential. And the expected happened. Theron suddenly ducked low and lunged for Elara's feet. Elara panicked, completely lost her balance, and again fell hard on her back. This time a small "ah" sound was heard, as if her breath had been knocked out.
One of the instructors shouted again, "Get up, Elf!" but his tone now held despair. For Aurelion, this sight was the last straw. That fall, that helplessness, that surrender... Enough! Watching from the sidelines, witnessing this inadequacy, this waste of potential... He couldn't stand it.
He had to use all his willpower to restrain himself. His eyes were locked not on Elara lying on the ground, but on Theron looking down on her contemptuously. One year... Just one more year and this courtyard would be his battlefield too. And then... then he would show no mercy to anyone. This waiting, this agony of watching from the sidelines had to end. And immediately.
While the training was still ongoing and Aurelion's nerves were thoroughly frayed by Elara's fall, he was startled by taunting voices from the side. "What's wrong, pointy ears? Scared a little?"
He turned in the direction of the voice. A few steps away, three Northerner children, about his age, who were also just watching the training, stood. They would probably enter the 7 year old group next year and had already started to absorb the harsh atmosphere of the courtyard.
Aurelion said nothing at first. He was used to such provocations. He usually responded with his wit or ignored them. Although his current mood wasn't very conducive to ignoring, he pretended not to hear them by turning his attention back to the fights in the courtyard. He turned his back slightly to them.
One of the children took courage from this silence. He approached him. "Hey, I'm talking to you, Elf! Next year they'll crush you like this too, you know?" He let out a coarse laugh.
This touched Aurelion's already frayed nerves. This stupid brat's insolence...
The energy he was trying to keep under control within him felt like it broke its chains for a moment. For a moment, he forgot his plans, his patience, his discipline.
His back being turned was an advantage. His body reacted instinctively. With a sudden, unexpected speed, he turned around and simultaneously moved to throw that sharp kick he had practiced in the shadows.
His target was the blond child's stupid face. He had clenched his fist, put all his strength into his leg. The kick was almost about to reach its target...
"Ahem!" A light cough, coming from the second floor window of the orphanage building, cracked like a whip in the icy air. Aurelion froze stiff. His kick stopped inches from its target, suspended in mid air.
He slowly lowered his leg. When he looked up at the window, he saw Linnea's silhouette. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, looking directly at him.
The Northerner children had also heard the cough and, for a moment, didn't understand what was happening. Aurelion's sudden move followed by this freeze had surprised them.
The blond one, with no trace of his earlier insolence, looked worriedly at the window and then back at Aurelion.
It was then that Aurelion realized the truth. How could he not have noticed Linnea? Normally, he scanned every detail around him, accounted for every potential observer. But that moment... that moment of provocation...
His impatience, his accumulated ambition, that stupid child's words... They had clouded his logic and attention. He was about to make a mistake.
This carelessness... This loss of control... Unacceptable. This was the promise he made to himself. Never lose control. But he almost had. So, he still wasn't strong enough.
Without looking at the Northerner children, a numb expression on his face, he turned and silently walked away.
Aurelion walked on, still feeling Linnea's piercing gaze on his back.
Not much time had passed since that moment in the courtyard. Aurelion, trying to suppress the storm within him, had retreated to his corner in the library, staring at the open parchment before him but not actually reading anything. That moment was still in his mind.
As expected, Linnea came to him soon after. Her steps were silent, but her presence added a distinct weight to the room.
Aurelion didn't look up. He knew she was standing right in front of him. "Aurelion," Linnea said, her voice calmer than usual. "Can we talk for a bit?"
Aurelion slowly lifted his head. He saw no anger on Linnea's face, only a look of concern and inquiry. Behind her glasses, her blue eyes studied him carefully.
"What happened in the courtyard just now..." Linnea began. "You almost attacked that child."
Aurelion remained silent.
"I've noticed a change in you lately," Linnea continued "You seem more... tense. Impatient. Normally, you'd watch events from afar, analyze them. But now..." She paused "...you seem closer to losing control. What's the problem?"
For Aurelion, this was a direct confrontation. Normally, he would give evasive answers, change the subject. But right now, maybe a little honesty was better than this constant game. Or maybe this too was another part of the game.
"Problem?" Aurelion said. "What's the problem, you ask? The problem is this waiting, Mistress Linnea! The problem is being stuck within these four walls! The problem is watching others fight and grow stronger outside while I'm still forced to throw punches in the shadows!"
He fixed his eyes on Mistress Linnea. "I want to go out to that courtyard. I want to join those trainings. I'm tired of doing the same things every day, repeating the same basic information! When will it start? How much longer do I have to wait?" Mistress Linnea was surprised. This sudden outburst showed how much the pressure inside him had increased.
"I understand," Mistress Linnea said, her tone softening. "I understand your impatience, Aurelion. You want to grow stronger, you want to prove yourself. That's understandable, especially in this new world." She leaned forward. "But rushing isn't always the right way. You're only six years old. Your body is still developing. Your mind is learning. Those trainings are tough. They require not only physical but also mental endurance."
"I'm ready!" Aurelion interrupted.
"You think you're ready," Mistress Linnea corrected. "But what did that incident just now show? Your impatience almost led to a big mistake. In a real fight in that courtyard, what do you think the result of such a loss of control would be?" Her words were like a slap.
"Power isn't just about muscles or speed, Aurelion." Aurelion fell silent.Linnea was right. But hearing this truth didn't lessen his impatience. "So what happens to those who fail?"
"In training... those who aren't good enough? Are they eliminated?" Perhaps the answer he'd get from Linnea would help him understand why this waiting was necessary.
Linnea sighed. She wasn't want to get into this topic. "Everyone's path is different, Aurelion," she said carefully. "Some shine in those trainings, others are talented in other areas. The system may seem cruel, but the goal isn't to force everyone into the same mold, but to find their potential. What you call "failure" sometimes just means being redirected to a different path. But yes," her voice became serious, "for someone who isn't ready, that courtyard can be dangerous. You can be broken. Both physically and spiritually."
She paused, looking into Aurelion's eyes. "Or... are you afraid of failing, Aurelion? Is that what lies beneath all this ambition?"
When Aurelion heard this question, his eyebrows instantly furrowed. Afraid? Him? Even the implication made his blood boil. He thought Mistress Linnea didn't understand him, that she still underestimated him. He quickly raised his head, his golden eyes meeting hers defiantly.
"Afraid?" he said. "No, Mistress Linnea. I'm not afraid of failure. It's not fear, it's... Impatience. And maybe a little... boredom." He had chosen his words carefully, expressing his feelings with disdain. He had cleverly masked the explosive desire and frustration he truly felt with other words.
Mistress Linnea was surprised by this arrogant answer. "Disturbance" and "boredom" instead of fear... This suited Aurelion more. He was just... dangerously ambitious.
Mistress Linnea sighed. Arguing with this child was pointless. "I understand," she said simply. "But as I said... You will join that training when the time comes. And until then, what you learn here, what you read, what you think... All of this will be your greatest weapon. Anyone can have muscle strength, but intelligence and control... Those are what make the difference."
Aurelion remained silent. Mistress Linnea's words sounded logical, even aligned with his own strategy to some extent. Intelligence and control... Those were already his most trusted weapons. But still, this didn't quench his desire to act, his hunger for physical power. It only... postponed it.
She stood up. "Now," she said clearly. "Go get some rest. Or continue reading. But I want you to stay away from the courtyard and those provocative brats for a while. Understood?"
Aurelion nodded slowly. There was no point in arguing further with Linnea right now. She was right, he had lost control, and that was weakness. For now, he had to retreat. But this obedience was only temporary.
As Linnea turned and headed for her desk, Aurelion slowly rose from his seat. As he left the office, he knew her eyes were still on him. But this time, there was no feeling of victory within him. Only... a cold acceptance and a deferred ambition. He had lost this round of the game, at least within himself. But the war was just beginning. And learning to be patient, no matter how hard, was another lesson needed to win. He would learn this lesson too. And immediately.
Night had fallen, and that deceptive veil of silence had once again descended upon the dormitory. For Aurelion, sitting with his back against the cold stone in his bed, there was no trace of silence. His mind was churning with replays of the day's events. Weakness... The thing he hated most. And today, he had narrowly escaped falling into its clutches.
This realization, while it should have calmed him, had the opposite effect. That feeling of being trapped, that accumulated energy, that desire to act, intensified even more. This waiting, this constant self restraint, was consuming him. He was glad his ambition and excitement pushed him forward, yes. This fire kept him alive. But he had also seen that this fire could burn him. He must not make this mistake again. He must never lose control.
But there was only one solution to this. Only one way to calm this storm, to channel this energy in the right direction: To begin. The time had come. This preparatory period had to end.
He looked at the moonlight seeping through the window. He closed his eyes, clenched his fists.
"Enough..." he whispered to himself "This waiting... This observation... This preparation... ENOUGH! The time must come! Those tests... That training..." He opened his eyes. His breath caught in his throat, and the silent scream that tore from within him enveloped his entire being:
"DAMN IT, LET IT BEGIN ALREADY!"