Chapter 32: Six Years of Silence
The Sylmare Forest was always different at night.
The sun-dappled greenery of the evening was gone, replaced by an endless sprawl of deep shadows and silver moonlight. The trees, with their massive trunks that were twisting toward the heavens, swayed gently in the cool evening breeze. The rhythmic sounds of nocturnal life filled the air—the distant call of an owl, and the rustling of leaves as unseen creatures moved within the undergrowth.
And within this quiet air, three figures walk side by side.
Velren walked slightly ahead, resting his hands behind his head as he looked up at the sky. The thick canopy above only allowed fragments of moonlight to peek through, casting a faint glow along the forest path. Behind him, Fenrir and Skoll moved soundlessly, blending their forms into the darkness with practiced ease.
Six years.
It had been six years since he first started training his sword under the old man. Back then, he was a ten-year-old boy who could barely swing a blade properly. Now, at sixteen, his movements had become sharper, and his senses were keener. He had adapted to the wild—no longer just a visitor, but a true part of the forest itself.
But things had changed.
After his initial training, Gramps had begun to leave the hut more frequently. At first, it was just for a few days at a time. Then it became weeks. And now? Velren was lucky if he saw the old man once or twice a month.
He had asked him about it once. But Gramps, who had simply taken a swig of his ever-present bottle back then had given him a vague response, telling him that he had some important matters to attend to.
And that was it. No further explanation, no details. Just that single, dismissive remark.
Velren frowned slightly as he recalled that day.