The poison had left Ethan’s body, but not his mind. For days, he woke screaming, clawing at phantom blades in the dark. Varyn’s antidote had saved his life, but the wound on his ribs—a jagged, blackened scar—throbbed like a second heartbeat.

  “The poison was Varsak’s signature,” Lira said, sharpening her arrows by the fire. “Meant to cripple, not kill. He wants you weak. *Afraid*.”

  Ethan clenched his fists. “I’m not afraid.”

  Varyn snorted. “Liar. Fear’s your fuel. Use it.”

  Training began at dawn.

  Varyn led Ethan to a clearing deep in the Ironwood, where the trees formed a natural arena. At its center stood a moss-covered stone etched with runes—an ancient aura conduit, Varyn claimed, from the time of the Eldertrees.

  “Aura isn’t strength,” Varyn said, pacing like a wolf. “It’s *resonance*. The Eldertrees channeled it from the earth, gave it to Roudnam’s swordmasters. Now?” He spat. “We’re leeches, sucking at dried-up veins. But you…” He pointed at Ethan’s scar. “You’re a spark in the dark. Let’s see if you can burn.”

  **The Lesson**:

  - **One-Star Aura (Novice)**: Basic stamina, heightened reflexes. Ethan could swing a sword longer, dodge faster.

  - **Three-Star Aura (Adept)**: Channel energy into strikes, shattering wood or denting steel.

  - **Five-Star Aura (Elite)**: Project aura as a shield or blade. Varyn demonstrated by slicing a boulder in half.

  - **Seven-Star and Beyond (Masters)**: Bend elements, heal wounds, or commune with the land. “Only Eryndor reached Nine Stars,” Varyn said. “They say he could *speak* to the Eldertrees.”

  Ethan’s aura flickered weakly, a candle against Varyn’s bonfire.

  “Pathetic,” Varyn growled. “Again.”

  At night, Lira explained the hierarchy.

  “Swordmasters are ranked by stars, but so are knights, assassins, even blacksmiths,” she said, sketching symbols in the dirt.

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  - **One-Star**: Common soldiers, guards.

  - **Three-Star**: Captains, elite mercenaries.

  - **Five-Star**: Nobles’ champions, royal guards.

  - **Seven-Star**: Legends like Eryndor, or monsters like Varsak.

  “Stars aren’t just skill,” she added. “They’re *power*. A Five-Star knight commands a battalion. A Five-Star swordmaster could slaughter them alone.”

  Ethan stared at his trembling hands. “What am I?”

  “A spark,” Varyn said from the shadows. “But sparks start fires.”

  Varyn’s training was brutal.

  - **The Stone**: Ethan hauled a boulder up a hill daily, his aura flaring to numb the pain.

  - **The Blade**: He sparred with Lira, her arrows forcing him to dodge, parry, and *think*.

  - **The Flame**: Varyn made him meditate at the rune-stone, chasing the “echo” of the Eldertrees.

  One evening, as Ethan meditated, the world shifted.

  *He stood in a forest of towering Eldertrees, their bark glowing gold. A figure—Eryndor?—stood before him, holding a sword of pure light.*

  *“The trees are not dead,” the figure said. “They sleep. Wake them, and Roudnam lives. Fail, and all becomes ash.”*

  Ethan woke gasping, his hands ablaze with golden aura.

  After weeks, Varyn tested him.

  They dueled in the clearing, Ethan’s rusted sword against Varyn’s aura-infused blade. Ethan lasted three strikes before disarmed.

  “Again.”

  Ten strikes. Twenty.

  On the thirtieth, Ethan’s aura flared—a burst of heat that staggered Varyn.

  The old swordmaster grinned. “One-Star. Finally.”

  Lira tossed Ethan an apple. “Don’t get cocky. Varsak’s a Seven.”

  A raven arrived at dusk, a scroll tied to its leg. Princess Elara’s seal—a phoenix clutching a sword.

  *“Ethan Ardent—Win the tournament in three days’ time. Cedric plans to disqualify you as a ‘commoner.’ Prove him wrong. Earn your stars. Or die forgotten.”*

  Varyn burned the scroll. “She’s right. The tournament’s your stage. But first…” He tossed Ethan a black cloak. “We visit the Ash Plains.”

  They rode for hours, the land crumbling into cracked earth and skeletal trees. In a hidden canyon, Varyn revealed a shrine—a withered Eldertree sapling, its roots clutching a pool of black water.

  “The last living tree in Roudnam,” Varyn said. “Guarded by Cedric’s men. Touch it.”

  Ethan pressed his palm to the bark. The tree shuddered, and a surge of aura—ancient, desperate—flooded his veins. His scar glowed gold.

  “It’s… alive,” Ethan gasped.

  “Barely,” Varyn said. “Cedric drains its aura to fuel his Blackthorns. This is why the kingdom starves.”

  That night, Ethan knelt before the sapling, its aura humming in his blood.

  “I’ll protect you,” he whispered. “I’ll find the others.”

  The tree’s leaves rustled, though there was no wind.

  As they returned to camp, Lira spotted smoke on the horizon—Valenhold burning?

  No. *Armies*.

  Cedric’s Blackthorns marched toward the city, their banners black as sin.

  Varyn cursed. “The tournament’s moved up. War’s here.”

  Ethan gripped his sword, its edge faintly glowing. “Then I’ll win it tomorrow.”