The others don't seem to notice. They keep cheering, crowding around me, praising me like I just saved them from a real monster.
"I'm not a hero," I mutter under my breath. "What?" Nella asks, tilting her head.
"I said I'm not a hero," I say louder. "I'm not cut out for that stuff."
They all laugh.
"You are a hero!" one of the kids says.
"None of us would've stood up to them!"
"Yeah! You scared them so bad they ran off crying!" I rub my face with both hands, half from embarrassment and half to hide the heat in my cheeks.
"I just didn't want them to hurt anyone," I mumble.
"Exactly," Nella says, smiling. "That's what heroes do."
I don't respond. Because I don't know what to say. Because deep down... I'm still not sure they're right.
The sun's already beginning to dip when I finally make my way back home. The heat from earlier has cooled, and the wind smells like pine. I can still feel the sting in my knuckles and the dull ache in my shoulders.
When I open the door, I expect it to creak like usual. But instead... It swings open quickly.
Lina's standing there. Her expression shifts the moment she sees me. Relief, then concern. Then something firmer. She pulls me inside.
Rennan is already at the table. His arms are crossed. His brow is furrowed. I close the door slowly behind me. "…You heard."
"We did," Lina says gently. I lower my gaze. "They were bullying the others. Saying stuff they shouldn't have. I tried to walk away."
"But you didn't," Rennan says. His voice isn't cold. But it isn't warm, either.
I don't reply. I feel something building in my chest again. A familiar tightness. That creeping feeling like I need to run—hide—because this is where the punishment comes.
"I didn't mean to hurt them that bad," I whisper.
Lina steps closer. She kneels in front of me and puts her hands gently on my shoulders. "We're not angry, Albus," she says, her eyes soft. I glance at her, confused. "You're not?"
"No," she says. "We're worried. That's different." Rennan sighs and stands, walking over. "You're not in trouble. You defended yourself. You defended your friends. We understand that."
"But you can't lose control like that again," Lina adds. "You could've been seriously hurt. Or done something you'd regret."
I bite my lip. My eyes start to sting. I don't know why. But they just do.
"I… I didn't know what else to do," I say, voice small. "I just didn't want them to hurt the others. Or say those things." Lina pulls me into a hug, warm and steady. "We know, sweetheart."
"You've been hurt too much already," Rennan says. "You don't have to fight every battle by yourself."
Tears slip from the corners of my eyes. I don't wipe them away. Because Lina already is. She brushes my cheek gently. "Next time… find us. Or another adult. Violence should be the last resort. Not the first."
I nod against her shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"You're learning," she whispers. "That's all we ever ask."
Rennan pats my head. "We just want to keep you safe."
I wrap my arms around both of them, eyes closed, heart pounding. And I realize...
This is what it means to be protected. To not carry everything alone.
. . .
The next morning, the world feels still again. No raised voices. No fists. Just wind rustling through the trees outside my window and the quiet murmur of birds greeting the sun.
I rise slowly this time. My body isn't sore from training—but my chest still feels tight. Like my ribs are still holding yesterday's emotions, unsure whether to let them go or keep them safe a little longer.
I splash water on my face and dress quietly. Downstairs, Lina gives me a soft smile as I pass through the kitchen. There's a plate waiting—toast, eggs, a little sliced fruit—but I just nod and whisper, "Later."
She doesn't press me. Rennan gives a quiet wave from the garden bench. I nod back. Then I head toward the training fields.
Varric is already waiting, of course. He always is. He stands with arms folded, leaning against the same worn post by the tree line, his long gray hair tied back neatly, his eyes unreadable as always.
I stop a few paces away, planting my feet in the packed dirt like I've done a hundred times before.
He studies me for a moment. Then he speaks. "I heard what happened." I nod once. "It got out of hand."
"You fought?"
I nod again. "Yes." He raises an eyebrow. "Why?"
"They were hurting others. Saying things. I tried to walk away." He gives a small grunt. "And then?"
"They pushed too far." Another silence.
He uncrosses his arms and steps forward. "It's not wrong to fight when you're cornered," he says. "But it's dangerous to let your anger choose how you fight."
I look up at him. "I thought I was better than that. I thought I had control."
"You're not better than your pain," Varric says, not unkindly. "You've just learned to aim it."
He walks past me, drawing a wooden training sword from the post rack. Then he pauses, holding it loosely in one hand.
"I've known soldiers who killed with calm hearts and children who struck with fury. The difference between a warrior and a brawler isn't strength—it's intention."
I stay quiet. His voice softens, just slightly. "Your control will be tested again. Many times. What you choose in those moments… that is who you are."
I let the words settle. Then I nod slowly. "I understand."
He tosses me my own wooden blade. I catch it with both hands.
We fall into rhythm. Stance. Swing. Block. Reset. His voice cuts through between drills, low and firm.
"Lower your elbow."
"Step into the pivot."
"Loosen your grip. You're not strangling it."
We move together, strike and counter, until my breath comes faster and my legs begin to ache again. But my thoughts are clearer now.
I'm not swinging out of desperation. Not out of anger. Just purpose.
The wind shifts around us, and I feel my body moving more naturally—each motion flowing from the next.
Varric's eyes flick once, approving. But he says nothing.
That's enough.
As the sun begins to dip behind the trees and the light softens, Varric finally steps back and lowers his stance.
He exhales once, slow. "Tomorrow," he says, "we begin the final lesson."
I blink. Final?
"You've built your body," he says. "You've learned to fight. To endure. To stand." He turns, looking off toward the horizon.
"Now it's time to light the fire that burns beneath it all."
I feel my chest tighten with sudden anticipation.
Magic.
Varric glances over his shoulder, one hand resting loosely on the hilt of his own sword. "Rest tonight. You'll need it." Then he walks away.
I stand alone in the empty field. The last of the light casts long shadows behind me. Tomorrow… begins something new.
The stars are just starting to blink into the sky by the time I return home.
The village glows with scattered lanterns, windows flickering with candlelight. Laughter drifts from one of the homes near the baker's shop—someone telling a story too loud, someone else snorting through a sip of cider.
I walk slower than usual. Not because I'm tired. Just… thoughtful. So much has changed in one year.
I was just a skinny boy with nothing but instincts and scars. Now I carry calluses, strength, weight. My movements don't feel awkward anymore. They feel mine.
And still—there's more. A part of me feels like I'm standing at the edge of something. Like I've climbed a mountain only to see another one rising just ahead.
When I step through the door, Lina's in the middle of hanging herbs above the fireplace. Rennan's near the back, organizing a few tools by the shelf. They both turn when they hear me come in.
"You're late," Rennan says, raising an eyebrow. "Training," I say simply. Lina smiles gently and sets her work aside. "You must be exhausted. We saved you some soup. It's still warm."
I move to sit at the table and they join me without a word. We eat together, not saying much at first. Just sharing space.
And then I glance up between spoonfuls. "…He said tomorrow we start the last part." Rennan sets his spoon down. "The last part?"
I nod. "Magic." They both freeze for a moment. Lina leans in a little. "Are you nervous?"
I think about it. Then I shake my head. "I'm ready."
Rennan chuckles. "Of course you are. You've always been ahead of where we thought you'd be."
"But," I add, "I also know it'll be different. This isn't just running or swinging a sword."
"It's deeper," Lina says, nodding. "It asks more of the heart than the body." I glance at her. She's right. It feels like that. I can already feel the flame in me shifting, like it knows what's coming.
Later that night, I sit by the window again. The moon is high. The swing outside is still. But it doesn't feel lonely.
The streets are empty now. The village sleeps. My hand rests on the hilt of the training sword I left propped by my bed. It's worn smooth now. Familiar. Like it knows me too.
I think about what those kids said today. Hero. Knight. Protector. I'm not sure I believe in those words. Not yet. But for the first time… I don't immediately push them away either.
I think of the monster I fought in the woods. The blood I spilled with my bare hands.
And then I think of the people I protected. The ones who smiled at me after.
Maybe I'm somewhere between the two. Still figuring it out. Still shaping who I'll be. I close my eyes and press two fingers to my chest. The flame inside is brighter now.
Still small. But it burns. Not from pain. Not from fear. But from something else. Determination.
. . .
[Current Status]
Name: Albus
Age: 4
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Class: Slave(Former)
Occupation: None
Location: Willowmere
Strength:10/Toughness: 10/Stamina: 13/Dexterity: 8/Perception: 14/Charisma: 5
Titles: Soul Migrator(Corrupted)/ Blood Moon Curse/Pupil of Varric/
Skills/Traits: Minor Healing(Lvl. 2)/ Poison Resistance(Lvl. 2)/ Combat Instinct - Basic(Lvl. 5)/ One Handed Weapon(s)(Lvl. 5)/Hand to Hand(Lvl. 3)