Chapter 157: The One Who Raised me
>>Ariston (Past)
I still remember the way the cold bit at my fingertips, the way my breath fogged in the air as I tried to keep the blade steady. My arms ached. My shoulders were on fire. And Rael just stood there, arms folded, watching me like a hawk circling something wounded.
"You’re gripping too tight again," he said, voice calm but edged like the sword I was holding. "Loosen up or your wrist’ll give out before your opponent does."
I let out a shaky breath and adjusted my hold on the hilt.
We were deep in the forest then, days away from any village, sleeping in half-rotted shelters and hunting whatever we could find. I was maybe ten, maybe eleven. I’d stopped keeping track by then. But Rael—he was solid. Older, sharp-eyed, always knowing where to step, what to say, what not to say.
I didn’t trust people. Not after everything. But Rael... Rael didn’t ask questions I didn’t want to answer. He just handed me a blade one morning and said, "If you’re going to survive, you need to learn how to use this."
So I learned.
The mornings always started with drills. Repetition, sweat, bruises. The sword was too big for me at first. Rael had shaved it down, ground the edges dull so I wouldn’t slice my own hand off. Later he gave me a dagger too, one that fit in my palm like it belonged there. We’d train with both—cut, block, pivot.
Again. Again. Again.
He’d correct my stance with a tap to the leg or a quick barked command.
"Keep your knees bent. You’re not a tree—don’t plant your feet like one." He would circle around me
"Eyes up. The blade’s not the only thing trying to kill you." Watch me with sharp eyes