The fortress was silent.

  Renar walked through the oldest wing of the stronghold, where torches burned dimmer and the walls were scarred by time. No one stopped him. No one questioned him. His presence alone opened doors… even the ones that had remained closed for years.

  He pushed open a dark wooden door reinforced with iron.

  Inside, the air smelled of dust, old parchment, and secrets that did not want to be found.

  The military archives.

  He wasn’t looking for recent reports.

  He was searching further back. Deeper.

  Incidents.

  Anomalies.

  Events that had “officially” never happened.

  He flipped pages. Broke wax seals. Unrolled incomplete records.

  And then he saw it.

  “Containment Event.”

  No details.

  Another file.

  “Sealing Protocol Activated.”

  No names.

  No signatures.

  No explanation.

  Only dates.

  Dates that matched exactly with the years of the expulsion.

  Renar’s jaw tightened.

  He searched further.

  But the closer the documents got to that period, the emptier they became.

  Pages torn out.

  Sections blacked over.

  Reports replaced with generic summaries.

  It wasn’t negligence.

  It was deliberate erasure.

  And that angered him more than any truth could have.

  He slammed the file shut. The sound echoed in the empty chamber.

  “So they buried it…” he muttered, voice low and hard. “As if erasing ink erased what happened.”

  He stood still for a moment, breathing slowly.

  Dangerous.

  Risk to the kingdom.

  Preventive measure.

  That was all they had been told.

  And now Lucan was here.

  Training.

  Living.

  Breathing within the same walls.

  Renar closed his eyes for a second.

  When he opened them, it was no longer just suspicion in his gaze.

  It was resolve.

  “If they won’t tell me…” he said, turning toward the door, “I’ll find out myself.”

  And for the first time since the tournament, Renar stopped waiting for answers.

  He was going to start searching for them.

  Later, at the training grounds

  The air smelled of cut grass and metal.

  Lucan moved fluidly, his breathing controlled, his steps firm over soil worn down by years of practice. Across from him, Kael spun his wooden weapon with a challenging grin.

  Selene watched from the side, arms crossed, noticing everything.

  Lucan had fought before.

  He had trained to exhaustion.

  But fighting in front of others…

  That was still new.

  And to his surprise, he had liked it.

  The memory of the tournament lingered in his mind. The adrenaline. The noise. The feeling of being alive in front of everyone.

  That was what truly unsettled him.

  Not the mark.

  Not the power.

  But the part of him that had enjoyed the fight.

  Kael clicked his tongue.

  “You’re holding back again.”

  Lucan blinked.

  “No, I—”

  Kael lunged. Fast exchange. Controlled strikes.

  “Yes, you are,” Kael insisted, blocking a hit. “You always slow down before finishing the motion.”

  Selene said nothing, but she didn’t look away from Lucan.

  Kael stepped back and lowered his weapon for a second.

  “Fight for real, or don’t fight.”

  It wasn’t mockery.

  It was a sincere challenge.

  Lucan hesitated.

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  Then he gave a small nod.

  He moved again.

  Faster.

  More direct.

  The next exchange was different.

  Kael struck high.

  Lucan deflected—and countered on instinct.

  Too hard.

  The blow never touched Kael.

  But the air exploded between them.

  A sharp crack split across the field.

  The ground beneath Lucan’s feet fractured in a thin line.

  The atmosphere grew heavy, as if the pressure itself had shifted.

  Selene took half a step back.

  Kael froze.

  So did Lucan.

  His eyes slowly lowered to his own hand.

  The mark, hidden beneath his clothes, burned like a live ember.

  Lucan dropped his weapon as if it had burned him.

  He wasn’t hurt.

  He was afraid.

  Not of the power.

  But of how easily it had come out.

  Silence stretched between the three of them.

  “I…” Lucan started, but his voice failed him.

  Kael looked surprised, yes—but not afraid.

  Selene looked at him differently now.

  Not like someone who had seen a monster.

  But like someone who had just understood something important.

  Lucan didn’t fear losing.

  He feared the moment he might not be able to stop.

  Selene glanced at the cracked ground… then back at him.

  And instead of stepping away, she stepped closer.

  “It was just a moment,” she said gently. “You stopped it.”

  Lucan didn’t answer.

  But for the first time since the tournament, someone wasn’t looking at his strength…

  They were seeing his effort to control it.

  Night had fallen by the time Renar returned home.

  He didn’t remove all his armor. Only the heavier pieces, which he set down on the wooden table with a dull metallic thud.

  Maelis watched him from the doorway.

  “You’re quieter than usual,” she said softly.

  Renar didn’t answer right away. He poured water. Drank. His shoulders remained tense.

  “When something feels like the moments before a war… your body knows,” he muttered at last.

  Maelis frowned slightly.

  “War? We’re at peace.”

  “So we thought, other times too.”

  He sat, forearms resting on his knees.

  “This boy.”

  Maelis blinked, surprised.

  “Lucan?”

  Renar nodded.

  “Alaric brought him back.”

  She took a second to process that.

  “Back…? I thought that had been left in the past.”

  Most people had moved on.

  They had learned not to speak about it.

  “They said the last one was dangerous,” Renar continued. “That we couldn’t risk it. That it was for everyone’s safety.”

  “And now we have another one like him inside the walls.”

  Maelis looked at him calmly, without fear.

  “Do you know that for certain?”

  Renar’s jaw tightened.

  “I know it’s not a coincidence.”

  She sat in front of him.

  “Watching is not the same as condemning.”

  The words hung between them.

  It wasn’t blind defense.

  It was a reminder.

  Renar exhaled slowly through his nose.

  Before he could answer—

  The door burst open.

  “Mother!”

  Darian entered first, tall, confident, carrying an energy that filled the room. His hair was wind-tousled, a quick smile already on his face.

  Behind him came Aeris, calmer, her observant eyes taking everything in as if absorbing the world itself.

  “We came back earlier than you thought,” Darian said, dropping his bag to the floor. “The master said he had nothing more to teach us… for now.”

  Aeris rolled her eyes with a faint smile.

  “He said you weren’t listening anymore.”

  Renar looked at them.

  And for a moment, the soldier disappeared.

  Only the father remained.

  “You’ve grown,” he murmured, almost to himself.

  Darian noticed the tension in the room.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Renar shook his head.

  “No. Just… fortress matters.”

  But as he watched them talk with Maelis, laugh, move around the house…

  The thought wouldn’t leave him.

  If something was awakening out there…

  If old mistakes were returning…

  Then the future wasn’t just uncertain for the kingdom.

  It was uncertain for his children.

  And that made his decision to investigate…

  No longer just political.

  But personal.

  The next afternoon

  The training field was quieter.

  The sun hung low, stretching long shadows across the earth still marked by recent cracks. No one mentioned the small “incident” from the day before, but no one had forgotten it either.

  Selene moved smoothly, focused.

  Kael attacked with his usual steady pressure, forcing his opponent back step by step.

  Lucan moved between them carefully.

  Too carefully.

  At a distance, leaning against the trunk of an old tree at the edge of the field, Eldric watched.

  No uniform.

  No visible weapon.

  He looked like just another veteran resting in the shade.

  But he missed nothing.

  Lucan was improving. That was obvious.

  Faster. Sharper. More aware of his body.

  And still, he held back.

  Good, Eldric thought. He’s still afraid to cross that line.

  That fear was what kept him safe.

  Then his eyes shifted to Selene.

  The way she turned her wrist before a block.

  A short sidestep instead of retreating.

  Using an opponent’s weight instead of clashing head-on.

  Eldric frowned slightly.

  I’ve seen that style before…

  Not identical. Lighter. Less rigid. But the foundation… the foundation was the same.

  Then he watched Kael.

  Tight defense. Strikes not meant to impress, but to push, wear down, dominate space.

  Different… but connected.

  Who taught them that?

  That style wasn’t taught in common academies.

  It wasn’t part of current military manuals.

  It was… old.

  And someone had passed it on to them.

  In the field, Kael attacked again.

  “Stop thinking so much,” he told Lucan. “Fight.”

  Lucan reacted late on purpose, deflecting instead of countering.

  Selene noticed. Again.

  “You trust your control more than your strength,” she said, breathing lightly. “That’s unusual.”

  Lucan lowered his gaze.

  “It’s necessary.”

  Eldric closed his eyes briefly.

  He could intervene.

  Correct stances. Fix mistakes. Guide Lucan like always.

  But he didn’t move.

  Because he knew something Lucan still didn’t fully understand:

  He couldn’t be strong only when someone was watching over him.

  He had to learn to stand among others.

  To choose.

  To hold back.

  Without Eldric’s shadow covering everything.

  So he stayed where he was.

  Watching.

  And for the first time in a long time… feeling that the past was closer than it should be.

  The council chamber

  The room was not built for comfort.

  Stone table. Hard chairs. Tall windows letting in cold evening light.

  Alaric stood with both hands on the table while leaders and officers listened in silence.

  Renar stood with arms crossed, face stern, not interrupting.

  A scout finished his report, voice dry.

  “Eastern settlements near the walls. Three small villages. Reports of disappearances over the past weeks. No bodies.”

  Alaric nodded for him to continue.

  “Symbols carved into wood and stone. Not official runes. They look… personal. Repeated.”

  A parchment was passed around. Rough drawings of curved lines, as if carved by blade or nail.

  “Energy traces?” a councilor asked.

  “Yes. Dark… but stable. As if whoever uses it knows exactly how much to release.”

  Tense silence.

  A marked one, Renar thought.

  Controlled.

  That did not comfort him.

  The second scout spoke.

  “Northern region. Much farther. Village of Darsen.”

  The tone of the room shifted immediately.

  “We arrived too late. There were bodies.”

  No one spoke.

  “Burn marks on the skin. Ancient runes, poorly formed, like someone trying to replicate them without understanding.”

  “Survivors?” Alaric asked.

  “One. Remembers nothing after ‘the black light.’”

  The scout swallowed.

  “The energy there was unstable. Violent. Nothing like the eastern zone.”

  Two reports.

  Two different patterns.

  Renar placed his hands on the table.

  “Do we think it’s the same person?”

  No one answered immediately.

  “They could be allies,” one councilor said. “Or imitators.”

  “Or two separate threats,” Alaric added quietly.

  The idea fell like a stone into still water.

  Two sources.

  Two forces moving in the dark.

  Both tied to symbols… marks… energy that should not be awakening.

  An elderly councilor finally spoke, his voice rough with age.

  “If this is connected to the ancient seals…”

  Everyone looked at him.

  “…then we are not witnessing the beginning.”

  He paused.

  “We are witnessing the continuation.”

  The words weighed heavier than any shout.

  Renar did not speak again during the meeting.

  But as he left the chamber, his mind was no longer focused only on Lucan.

  He still saw the boy as a risk.

  Yes.

  But the fear had changed shape.

  He no longer feared that Lucan was the problem.

  He feared that Lucan might be the spark…

  in a field already soaked in gunpowder.

  End of Chapter 5