After drowning in tangled thoughts, Adlof finally slipped into a heavy sleep—but his mind found no rest.
He stood in the middle of a dry, cracked field. Wind howled through the emptiness, stirring the dust.A man's voice—deep and strange—cut through the silence:"Prepare yourself..."Adlof looked around, confused. "What? Who are you?"The man didn't answer. He simply said with eerie calm:"You will soon learn the price of possessing it."
Adlof's instincts screamed for him to run.He tried.But before he could take a step, the gaping jaws of a monstrous hound opened before him—its fangs gleaming, its breath like fire—and everything vanished.
He woke with a start, gasping.The cabin was dark, wrapped in silence, yet the dream had felt like years.He glanced at the window; dawn was barely breaking.Adlof changed quickly and stepped outside into the cold morning, heading toward the school.
By the time he arrived, the gates were just beginning to open.He slipped in quietly to avoid drawing attention and wandered the halls, looking for any sign of the old man.Finally, he spotted a half-open door and called out:
"Old man..."
The elder turned slowly, his expression unreadable."Ah... the quiet boy. Adlof, was it? Follow me."
Without another word, the old man led him down a quiet corridor to a secluded training yard—vast, empty, unlike the others.
Suddenly, Adlof heard something flying toward him.A wooden sword.
He caught it instinctively.It was wooden—but absurdly heavy.The weight drove him to his knees as he struggled to keep hold.
The old man watched him with a dry expression."If my guess was wrong, then you don't have it yet."He took back the sword and placed it on the rack.
Adlof didn't understand what he meant, but something in his gut stirred.There was something about him he had yet to uncover.
This time, the elder tossed him a regular sword."Attack me."
Adlof hesitated—then charged, striking with all his might.The old man dodged every blow, effortless and fluid, as though reading Adlof's movements before they happened.
But then…
Something flickered beneath Adlof's feet.Soft glowing marks—like footprints—appeared on the ground.
"What… is this?" he whispered.
He began to follow them unconsciously, shifting his weight, aligning his balance with the pattern beneath.Each movement came naturally, fluid and precise.
One strike.Clean, sharp, and unpredictable.
The old man couldn't dodge it. He caught the blade with his bare hand.
He stood still… then burst into laughter.
"I expected as much! Who taught you this?"
Adlof, panting, said:"No one. I just followed my instincts."
The old man's eyes narrowed, serious now."That thing inside you… it's dangerous. You're not ready to understand it yet."A pause."You will be my student."
Adlof furrowed his brows."Why would you train me?"
The old man turned, voice calm but heavy:"Because I'm old. My days are numbered. I need someone to inherit what I've built."
Then, more quietly, he added:"Don't you want a real sword? Don't you want your family to live in comfort—without begging, without breaking their backs to eat?"
A spark flared in Adlof's memory.The fractured empire, ruled not by its name but by the cunning hounds and hybrids that lurked in the shadows.They were the true power—beyond the nobles, beyond the throne.
He could never accept living beneath a noble.That truth he kept to himself.
But the old man's offer...It wasn't about loyalty.
Not now.
Adlof was still weak.And the weak had to learn before they could break free.
He lifted his eyes.
"I accept."
But deep within, he made a silent vow:
He would never bow to anyone.