The afternoon light spilled across the stone courtyard of the Arden estate, burning off the lingering mountain mist.
Cassian stood near the covered archway of the training grounds, wrapped in a comfortable fur-lined coat. The crisp morning air revived him, though his body still carried a dull ache from his long slumber.
Beside him, Lucien leaned against a stone pillar, holding two steaming mugs of herbal tea.
In the center of the courtyard, two steel blades clashed with a sharp
*CLANG!*
Aurelian moved with fluid, deadly precision. His elven heritage gifted him with incredible speed and agility, allowing him to dance around his opponent with swift thrusts and sweeping arcs.
Tristan met every strike head-on. Heavily built like his father, the seventeen-year-old possessed brute strength and aggressive footwork, parrying Aurelian's rapid strikes with powerful, heavy counter-swings.
"They've been at this for the whole afternoon," Lucien murmured, passing a mug to Cassian. "Aurelian favors speed and technical accuracy, while Tristan relies on leverage and overwhelming force. Neither likes to lose."
Cassian took a sip of the warm tea, his eyes fixed on the two young men.
"They work well together."
"They tolerate each other," Lucien corrected with a faint smirk. "Though Tristan has idolized Aurelian's sword technique for years, even if he'd never admit it out loud."
On the cobbles, Aurelian executed a sharp pivot, feinting a high guard before sweeping low toward Tristan's ankle. Tristan anticipated the move, planting his back foot and blocking the wooden practice blade with a heavy downward parry. The force of the impact rattled both their arms.
"On Monday was Tristan's birthday, what did you do for him?"
Cassian asked taking a small sip from his cup and Lucien sighed doing the same.
"His sisters tried to get him out of the house but his mother locked him up with her the entire day. In the end I couldn't even gift him the dagger that I customized for him. It is failure on my part that I still feel awkward to approach him. Perhaps it is the fear of rejection that I feel. I wronged the boy so much that I can't even have the right to call him my son."
"But unlike Aurelian, Tristan is not one to express his feelings. Especially to me."
"So how long are you planning to hoard that dagger to yourself?"
Lucien shrugged turning to look back at the courtyard.
"I want to give him a little more time, at least now he is slowly opening up I don't want to rush him. Seeing him like this is enough."
"Then just give the dagger to me and I will pass it over to him. I just so need an excuse to get closer to him."
Lucien chuckled pecking the side of Cassian's temple and then nodded.
"Fine."
With that, they trailed their eyes back to the sparring.
"Your stance is too wide, Tristan!" Aurelian called out, stepping back to reset his guard.
"If I used live steel, you'd leave your left side exposed on the recovery."
Tristan wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, glaring back with a competitive grin.
"And if this were a real fight, my parry would have shattered your guard before you could reach my side."
"Shall we test that theory?" Aurelian asked, a rare, competitive glint in his eyes.
Before Tristan could spring forward again, Cassian stepped out from beneath the shaded archway into the sunlight.
"Your footwork is exceptional, Aurelian," Cassian called out, his voice clear and warm.
"But Tristan is right about your recovery—you're leaning too far into your feints."
Both young men froze instantly.
Tristan lowered his sword, looking startled, while Aurelian straightened up, adjusting his tunic.
"Father," Tristan said, a bright, eager smile breaking across his face as he turned to look at Cassian. He caught himself, glancing nervously at Cassian, then toward Lucien.
Cassian's heart swelled. He walked closer to the ring, offering Tristan a soft, encouraging nod before looking at Aurelian.
"Show me that high-guard transition again," Cassian said gently, stopping at the edge of the dirt ring.
"If you adjust the angle of your wrist, you won't lose momentum when transitioning to a low block."
Aurelian held his training sword, looking at Cassian with a mix of hesitation and quiet curiosity.
"You can tell just from watching?"
"I spent a lifetime learning how to survive against opponents stronger than me," Cassian smiled faintly.
"You inherited your father's grace, but your blade work carries my foundation. I know where the openings are."
Aurelian slowly raised his sword, demonstrating the high guard. Cassian stepped up beside him, gently reaching out to adjust the angle of Aurelian's elbow and wrist.
"Here," Cassian murmured softly, his hand resting warm against his son's arm. "Keep your balance centered. Now try the low sweep."
Aurelian executed the movement. The blade sliced through the air twice as fast, with far less strain on his shoulder.
Aurelian stared at his own hand in quiet surprise, then looked up at Cassian. "It's... lighter."
"And efficient," Cassian replied, smiling warmly at him.
Tristan stepped forward, holding out his own blade with a broad, hopeful grin. "What about me? Where am I making mistakes?"
Cassian chuckled, stepping over to adjust Tristan's broad stance.
"You're fighting like your father—relying entirely on raw strength. That works against most, but against someone fast..." He glanced at Aurelian. "...you'll exhaust yourself."
Lucien watched from the sidelines, taking a slow sip of his tea. A profound, quiet peace washed over him as he watched Cassian stand between their two sons, teaching them side-by-side in the soft afternoon sun.
For fifteen years, this courtyard had been a place of silent, solitary training. But today, it was filled with life.
*****
After the short spar Aurelian wiped his brow with a towel and headed toward the main estate to prepare for the afternoon meal, Cassian gestured for Tristan to linger behind.
"Tristan,"
Cassian called gently.
"Walk with me for a moment?"
Tristan's eyes widened slightly, a sudden wave of nervous energy stiffening his posture. He quickly sheathed his practice blade and hurried to Cassian's side.
"Of course."
Cassian led the way past the sunlit courtyard, turning down a quiet, shaded stone path lined with blue hydrangeas and white rose bushes that wound toward a secluded stone gazebo overlooking the valley. The afternoon breeze carried the crisp scent of damp pine and blooming flora.
For a few moments, they walked in comfortable silence, their footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path.
When they reached the gazebo, Cassian turned to face the seventeen-year-old. And up close, Tristan's features were a striking blend of strength and youthful vulnerability.
Cassian reached into the inner pocket of his fur-lined coat and withdrew a long, narrow velvet pouch tied with a braided leather cord.
"I didn't arrive here with much," Cassian said softly, holding out the pouch.
"So Lucien gave this to me."
Tristan looked from Cassian's face down to the pouch, his fingers trembling slightly as he accepted it.
"What is it?"
"Open it, it is a gift your father Lucien has been hoarding in his study for your birthday. He didn't know when to give it to you so I just took the initiative and stole his moment to gift this to you so that we can get closer."
"But it's the thought that counts isn't it?"
Cassian chuckled as Tristan carefully unlaced the cord and tipped the velvet casing. Into his palm slid a sleek, dark steel dagger. The hilt was wrapped in supple charcoal leather, and set into the pommel was a brilliant, raw blue sapphire that caught the sunlight, glowing with an inner luminescence. The blade itself was inscribed with intricate, glowing silver runes along the spine.
Tristan's breath caught in his throat. "Father... this is..."
"It's forged from star-iron," Cassian explained, his eyes warm. "The runes carved into the spine absorb and channel mana, making the blade nearly unbreakable while reducing the physical weight for the wielder. It was crafted by a master blacksmith he encountered during his travels."
Cassian explained while Tristan ran a reverent thumb over the polished leather wrap, his eyes wide.
"It's incredible. But... why give this to me?"
Cassian reached out and placed a warm, firm hand on Tristan's shoulder, looking directly into the boy's clear blue eyes.
"Just like I said it is your birthday gift. And because for seventeen years, you were made to feel as though you had to prove your right to exist in this house," Cassian said quietly, his voice heavy with deep sincerity.
"I'm sure he wanted you to have something that belongs entirely to you. Not a heirloom passed down through obligations, and not something you had to fight for. Just a gift from him to you. But your father is so hesitant in approaching you. So make sure to thank him properly when you get the chance okay?"
A lump formed in Tristan's throat. He stared down at the dagger, his knuckles whitening as he held it tight against his chest.
"I spent so long believing..." Tristan's voice broke, and he swallowed hard before trying again. "I thought if you ever came back, you'd look at me and only see a mistake. Or an obstacle."
"You are neither," Cassian replied firmly, stepping closer and using his free hand to gently cup the side of Tristan's face. "You are a gifted, headstrong young man with a good heart. You are Lucien's son, and you are family to me. Never let anyone—including your mother—convince you otherwise."
A tear slipped past Tristan's lashes, but a radiant, genuine smile broke across his face. Without thinking, he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Cassian in a tight, awkward embrace, careful not to press the sheathed dagger into his back.
Cassian laughed softly, wrapping his arms around the boy and patting his back with warm affection.
"Thank you," Tristan whispered, his voice muffled against Cassian's coat.
"Thank you and father. If it weren't for you he wouldn't have given me this for another hundred years. Father really doesn't know how to express his feelings properly to me."
Cassian chuckled.
'Like father, like son huh?"
"You're very welcome, Tristan," Cassian murmured, squeezing him gently before pulling back. "Now, strap that to your belt. I believe if we keep your father and the rest of the family waiting for lunch much longer, Lucien will send a squad of guards to find us."
Tristan wiped his face with his sleeve, grinning brightly as he secured the leather sheath to his training belt. The heavy weight at his side felt like an anchor—a constant reminder that he finally belonged.
Side by side, the two turned back toward the main estate, ready to join the rest of their family.
*****