Aster finished the last of his stew, setting the spoon down with a satisfied sigh. Sylas grinned, standing up from the table and dusting off his hands.
"Alright, tour time," Sylas said, gesturing for Aster to follow. "Let's show you where the real work happens."
The scene shifted as they left the dining hall, walking down a long stone corridor that opened up into a massive, bustling training courtyard. The air here vibrated with energy—the ring of clashing metal, the sharp thwack of arrows hitting targets, and the crackle of raw magic.
Aster stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide. The place was packed with Vanguard mages, and everything about it looked incredibly cool.
Along the stone walls were massive racks holding every kind of weapon imaginable: gleaming broadswords, elegant rapiers, heavy battleaxes, and intricately carved bows. But what really caught Aster's attention was how the weapons interacted with the people using them.
Over in the archery range, a young woman drew back a heavy bowstring. Perched on her shoulder was a glowing, translucent green falcon. As she released the string, the falcon vanished into light, coating the arrow in a fierce wind vortex that pierced straight through a solid wooden target.
On the main floor, two warriors were sparring. One wielded a massive claymore that pulsed with a heavy earth aura, a large stone tortoise pacing beside him. His opponent dodged nimbly, wielding twin daggers that crackled with blue lightning, a sleek panther pacing the perimeter of the ring, perfectly synchronized with its partner's movements.
"Every weapon you see being coated in magic is a materialized heart-animal," Sylas explained, walking alongside Aster as they took in the sight. "Some prefer heavy armor and slow, devastating strikes. Others focus on speed, or ranged attacks like the archers over there. It all depends on what your soul summons."
Aster watched a mage swing a spear, a trail of living fire following the blade as a red fox sprinted alongside him. The sheer variety of animals and weapons was dizzying, making Aster's heart race with anticipation for what tomorrow would bring.
Aster was so busy staring at the sparring mages that he didn't notice the rustling in the large, ancient tree overhanging the edge of the courtyard.
Thud.
Without warning, a fluffy bundle of white feathers dropped straight out of the branches, colliding squarely with the top of Aster's head.
"Ow!" Aster stumbled forward, blinking in shock and rubbing his head as the culprit tumbled off him.
It was a white owl. But it didn't look majestic or royal like Sylas's wolf; it looked completely dazed. It sat on the stone floor, its big amber eyes spinning in circles, shaking its head as if it was just as surprised by the crash as Aster was. Its feathers were completely ruffled, giving it a messy, round appearance.
Sylas stopped walking and stared at the bird, then let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed across the training grounds.
"Well, speaking of animals," Sylas managed to say through his laughter, leaning down to look at the clumsy bird. "Looks like you've just been ambushed by one of the sanctuary's messengers. Clearly, this one forgot how to fly today."
The white owl finally stopped shaking its head, puffed up its chest indignantly at Sylas, and let out a soft, embarrassed "Hoot," trying to pretend like it had meant to do that all along.
Sylas stopped walking and stared at the bird, his laughter cutting off as a look of instant recognition crossed his face.
"Oh, for crying out loud," Sylas sighed, shaking his head. "I should've known."
He reached down and scooped up the fluffy, unbothered bird. "Aster, meet Zephyr. He belongs to Alaric—you know, the swordsman who helped save you yesterday."
Aster rubbed his head, looking at the bird. "Alaric's? But you said these animals are supposed to be like fierce weapons."
"They are, but Zephyr here is hands-down the laziest owl in the entire kingdom," Sylas said, poking the bird's round belly. Zephyr just let out a soft, sleepy hoot and closed his eyes, completely content to be held. "Alaric is probably off training like a maniac somewhere, sweating through his armor, while his soul-animal is literally hiding up in a tree taking a nap."
Sylas tossed the owl lightly into the air. Zephyr gave a couple of slow, unenthusiastic flaps before landing on a nearby weapon rack, immediately tucking his head back into his feathers to go right back to sleep.
Aster looked over at the white owl, which was already nodding off again on top of the weapon rack.
"Hey, Sylas?" Aster said, turning to him. "Do you know where Alaric actually is right now? I really want to find him. I didn't get a chance to properly thank him for saving my life yesterday."
Sylas paused, looking at Aster's serious expression, and his smirk softened into a warm smile. "That's a good idea. Alaric acts tough, but he's a good guy. He'd appreciate it."
Sylas turned back to the weapon rack and scooped the sleepy bird right back up into his hands. Zephyr let out a faint, disgruntled hoot at being disturbed yet again, but Sylas just ignored him, cradling the fluffy owl like a feathery football.
"Well, since this lazy guy is tied directly to Alaric's soul, we can use him to track him down," Sylas said, gently tapping the owl's beak. "Come on, Zephyr, wake up for five minutes. Take us to your partner."
Zephyr opened one heavy amber eye, blinked at Sylas, and then reluctantly pointed his beak toward the far eastern side of the training grounds, where a private, fenced-off dueling arena stood.
"There we go," Sylas said, gesturing for Aster to follow. "He's usually in the advanced rings. Let's go find our swordsman."
Instead of leading them to the training rings, Zephyr gave a heavy flap of his wings and flew toward the dense forest bordering the edge of the sanctuary.
"Going to his quiet spot, huh?" Sylas muttered, gesturing for Aster to follow.
As they stepped into the cool shade of the trees, the usual noise of the training grounds faded, replaced by a rhythmic, metallic echo. CLANG. CLANG. It was the unmistakable sound of steel striking something incredibly solid.
Following the sound deeper into the woods, they saw Zephyr lazily drifting through the canopy. The owl finally descended, letting out a sleepy hoot as he plopped himself down and laid right on top of Alaric's head, ruffling his feathers as if it were the most natural pillow in the world.
Through the trees, Aster and Sylas finally saw him.
Alaric was drenched in sweat, his shirt sticking to his back, breathing heavily. In his hands, he held a long, gleaming steel sword that pulsed with a faint, sharp white aura. He took a deep breath, adjusted his stance, and with a blindingly fast swing, brought the blade down.
SHHHLT.
With a clean, resonant ring, a massive boulder in front of him split completely in half, the smooth cut sides sliding apart and crashing into the dirt.
Alaric exhaled, sheathing the sword in one fluid motion, completely unbothered by the heavy, fluffy owl sitting squarely on top of his messy hair. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm and turned his sharp eyes toward the bushes.
"I told you to go find a quiet branch, Zephyr," Alaric muttered, his voice raspy from the workout. Then, noticing the footsteps, he looked up. "Sylas? And... the kid from yesterday?"