Chapter 5 THE FIRST BLOOD

Chapter Five – The First Blood

The alarm bells of Ironhold rarely rang, and when they did, the sound rolled across the valleys like thunder, shaking sleepers from their beds.

Aric was eleven years old when he woke to that sound for the first time.

He sprang upright, heart hammering. Shadows quivered in the firelight of his chamber, his mismatched eyes reflecting gold and steel. In the corridor outside, shouts echoed - guards barking orders, boots pounding stone.

The door burst open. Darian filled the frame, two axes in his hands, eyes blazing.

"Aric," he snapped, "with me."

"What's happening?" Aric demanded, already pulling on his boots.

"Raiders. No..." Darian's lip curled. "Not men. Beasts. From the northern wastes. Something's driven them down from the high crags."

Aric's blood chilled. Beasts from the wastes were spoken of only in old soldiers' tales. Great shaggy creatures with fangs like swords, stronger than oxen, cunning as wolves. He had trained for years under his father's blade and his mother's fire - but this was no practice yard.

Still, he followed Darian without hesitation.

The courtyard was chaos when they reached it. Torches sputtered in the night wind. Guards rushed to the gates, arrows clattering in quivers, steel glinting. Above the walls came the roars - deep, guttural, savage. The sound made Aric's skin prickle.

Kaelor stood at the center, already armored, his massive sword in hand. His voice boomed over the tumult:

"Hold the line! They will break against us like waves on rock!"

The gates shuddered as something enormous slammed against them. Wood splintered. Men braced.

Aric felt his heart seize in his chest. Then a hand landed on his shoulder - firm, steady. He turned to see his mother, Selvara, her eyes glowing faintly in the torchlight.

"You do not fear, child," she murmured. "You face. Fire is not afraid of the dark. It burns it away."

She pressed a small dagger into his hand - her dagger, runes etched along the hilt. "Stay close to Darian. If the chance comes, do not falter. Do not let your blood freeze."

Aric nodded, gripping the dagger so tightly his knuckles whitened.

The gates broke.

The first beast surged through - a monstrous thing covered in matted fur, eyes red, maw lined with jagged teeth. An arrow pierced its shoulder, but it barely slowed. With a roar, it leapt among the guards, tearing one apart in a spray of blood.

More followed. The courtyard dissolved into carnage.

Darian roared back, axes flashing, hacking through fur and flesh. Kaelor's blade carved arcs of steel, cutting down three beasts at once. Mira stood on the steps, chanting words Aric did not understand, her voice a strange harmony that made the air vibrate.

And Aric - Aric stood frozen.

The beast's scream, the blood, the stench - it was nothing like training. This was real, and death was everywhere. His stomach twisted. His feet felt rooted.

Then one of the creatures, wounded but not slain, wheeled suddenly. Its blazing eyes locked on him.

Aric's breath caught. Time slowed. He saw the beast lunge. He saw its fangs bared for his throat.

And something inside him broke free.

With a shout, Aric threw himself aside, rolling across the cobbles. The beast whirled to strike again - but his dagger flashed, plunging into its flank. Heat surged through him, wild and fierce, and for an instant the runes on the blade blazed with flame.

The beast howled, staggered - and Darian's axe split its skull an instant later.

Panting, spattered with blood, Aric stared at the fallen monster. His hands shook. His chest heaved. But he was still standing.

"Not bad," Darian grinned, dragging him upright. "Not bad at all, little brother. Your first blood - and you didn't die. That's the first lesson."

Kaelor strode toward him, face grim but eyes blazing with a pride he rarely showed. "You stood. You fought. That is the mark of a warrior. Remember this night, Aric. You are not a child any longer."

Aric swallowed hard, forcing his trembling hands to still. He looked down at the dagger, its edge smoking faintly where fire had licked across it. His mother's runes. His mother's gift.

Selvara's voice whispered across the courtyard, almost too soft to hear: "Yes, my son. Fire and steel, together."

Aric lifted his mismatched eyes to the night sky, where smoke curled and stars burned faintly beyond. He had spilled blood. He had faced death. And though fear still coiled in his belly, something else stirred as well - a certainty, quiet but unyielding.

He would be more than this. More than even Kaelor.

Somewhere beyond the walls, in the shadows of the trees, another presence stirred - unseen, but watching. The shadow had noticed. And it whispered silently to the dark:

The boy awakens.

The courtyard stank of blood and smoke. By dawn, the beasts lay in heaps against the walls, blackened arrows and broken spears jutting from their corpses. Men limped, bandaged, muttered prayers for the fallen. The bells were silent now, but Ironhold had changed overnight.

So had Aric.

He sat on the low steps of the keep, the dagger still clutched in his hand. The blade was smeared with gore, the faintest glow of runes smoldering along its edge as though reluctant to dim. His breath came steady at last, but his heart still beat as if trying to match the rhythm of battle.

He had killed.

"Aric."

He looked up. His mother stood before him, her dark hair unbound, her robes torn at the sleeve. Yet her eyes shone, a calm flame burning in the embers of dawn.

"You live," she said softly. "You fought."

"I froze." His voice cracked. "I nearly died."

Her lips curved in something like a smile. "Then you learned the truth. Fear is no enemy, child. It is the forge. A man who claims no fear is already dead. A man who bends fear to his will is unbreakable."

She reached down and took his hand - the one holding the dagger. Her touch was warm, though his skin was chilled. She closed her fingers over his, pressing the blade flat between their palms.

"Come," she whispered.

They went alone to the old chamber beneath Ironhold, a place Aric had rarely been. It smelled of stone and ash, lined with braziers whose flames never seemed to burn out. Here, Selvara had once studied her arts in secret, away from Kaelor's disapproving gaze.

She lit the room with a gesture, flames leaping higher as if eager to serve her. Shadows danced along the walls, forming shapes Aric could not name.

"Sit," she commanded.

He obeyed, cross-legged upon the cold floor. She knelt opposite him, her eyes intent.

"You bear more than a sword-arm, Aric. You carry flame in your blood. Tonight it stirred when your life was threatened. If you do not learn to master it, it will master you."

Aric frowned. "But father-"

"Your father cannot teach this," she cut in sharply. "Kaelor is the greatest warrior who ever lived, but steel alone will not shield you from what hunts beyond the horizon. You are not only his son - you are mine."

Her hand hovered above the dagger, and once more the runes kindled. Aric felt the warmth hum through the hilt, through his palm, into his veins.

"Close your eyes," Selvara murmured.

He did.

"Now listen. Feel. The fire is not a weapon to be swung. It is breath. It is life. It is hunger, yes, but also light. Do not reach for it - invite it."

At first there was nothing. Just the echo of his own ragged breathing. But slowly, as if some hidden door opened, he felt it - a thrum beneath his skin, a pulse deeper than his heartbeat. It was hot and restless, flickering like a beast behind bars.

"Good," Selvara whispered. "Do not flinch. Let it touch you."

The heat grew, filling his chest, his arms, his mismatched eyes burning behind their lids. He gasped, every nerve alive. The dagger blazed. For an instant, he thought he would be consumed.

Then Selvara's voice cut through: steady, commanding. "Hold it. Do not fight it. Do not flee it. You are its master."

He clenched his jaw, sweat dripping down his brow. Slowly, painfully, the fire bent, coiled, settled. Not gone, but contained - as though kneeling before him.

His eyes flew open.

The dagger glowed red, but did not burn his skin. Flames danced along the edge, then retreated, leaving the steel unmarred.

Selvara exhaled, lowering her hand. Pride gleamed in her expression. "Yes. You can wield it."

Aric stared at his hands, trembling from the effort. "It... it wanted to devour me."

"And it will, if you are careless," she warned, her tone suddenly cold. "Never forget that, Aric. Fire does not love you. It obeys because you are strong enough to command it. Should you falter, it will consume you from within. That is the price of power."

He swallowed, the weight of her words heavy as stone.

Later, when he left the chamber, dawn was spilling over the valley. He found Darian leaning on one of his axes by the wall, watching him with a grin.

"You vanish for hours after a battle and come back looking like you've wrestled a storm," the warrior said. "Tell me, little brother, do you sleep at all, or are you forged of steel and secrets?"

Aric managed a faint smile, but said nothing of what he had learned. Not yet.

Kaelor appeared soon after, armor still spattered with beast-blood. His gaze lingered on his son, weighing him as though seeing something new. Finally he said only, "You stood your ground. That is all that matters. Tomorrow, we train harder."

Aric nodded.

But deep within, he knew tomorrow would never be the same. He had spilled his first blood. He had touched the fire in his veins. And though his father would hone his blade, his mother would temper his flame.

He was no longer just Kaelor's heir, nor just Selvara's child.

He was becoming something else - something greater, something dangerous.

In the quiet of his heart, he wondered if Mira's prophecy had already begun to unfold.

And somewhere beyond the keep, in the northern wastes where Kaelith brooded, the shadows stirred again, whispering of a boy who bore two eyes - one of fire, one of steel.

The boy who would one day decide the fate of kingdoms.