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Duststirredbeneathmyfeet, grains of sand dancing and sparkling in the noonday sun. The desert stretched far beyond the horizon, vast and relentless. A fitting training ground for what lay ahead. Xadrian watched me closely, his black eyes reflecting the sun’s rays. That, coupled with his bronze skin, made him look almost like an Inferi Remnant.
“Focus, Kael,” he instructed, his voice stern.
Drawing a deep breath, I closed my eyes and tried to harness the magic that roiled within me. I reached for the essence of the celestial metal—iridium—through my core, its energy pulsating, waiting to be summoned. Concentrating, I directed my power toward a nearby boulder. The effort was exhausting, and more difficult than moving stone or even molding it. I pushed harder, determined to succeed this time. Sweat gathered on my neck, rolling down my collarbone, but I ignored it. Something felt different, but only barely. I let out a sigh, disappointed until I opened my eyes and saw the rugged stone had transformed into a shimmering mass of solid gold.
The rest of my exhale left me in a whoosh, and I froze, staring at the lump of metal. Gathering that much gold would have taken us months, if not years, in the mines. I squeezed my fists tight, my nails digging into my palms, and I fought the urge to hurl the boulder deep into the desert.
“Well done. I knew you could do it.” Xadrian beamed at me. I didn’t respond, and his smile fell. “What’s wrong?”
“I was thinking about how long it would take me to mine this much ore.” I touched the boulder, feeling the smooth texture of the metal under my hands. This wasn’t how it came out of the mines. Usually, it was narrow veins we had to chisel out to be melted and purified later. “The Svartál were short-sighted. If they hadn’t killed the Sálfar, they wouldn’t have needed to have slaves mine for them. All this shit could have been avoided.”
Xadrian tilted his head, strands of his silver hair catching the light. “You think it was only about resources?”
“If they weren’t Lightcursed, there wouldn’t be a need to invade Adraedor. They’d have their own metals.”
He laughed; the sound contrasting starkly against my growing anger. “Elves have always sought to dominate. In the past, our competitive spirit drove us to craft and build. But without boundaries, our nature turned... dark. We love to take, to conquer.” He lifted a hand, rolling a rock over his knuckles. “We call it ‘Atar’s curse.’”
“That’s not true for everyone. You aren’t like that,” I countered, realizing too late the intimacy of my statement.
“That’s kind of you to say. But you’re wrong. I always want what others have.” Xadrian’s cheek creased, flirtation in his gaze. A flutter of discomfort went through me, and I redirected the conversation.
“How can I use iridium in the war?” I gestured to the golden boulder.
“Fortifications, barriers, weapons,” Xadrian explained. “Your magic could craft defenses, barricades. Strengthen everything for the battles to come.”
“Oh.”
Xadrian didn’t respond, the stillness punctuated only by our rhythmic breathing and the distant call of desert birds.
“I wish I knew more about my heritage. About the Sálfar,” I began, trying to keep our conversation light. “Everyone seems to know more about me than I do.”
A shadow of a smile touched Xadrian’s face. “The Sálfar, especially the Helekians, have an illustrious history, full of intrigue and power.” He paused, casting a sidelong glance at me. “Kind of like you.”
I rolled my eyes, hopping on top of the boulder and crossing my legs. “Keep going.”
“Very well.” He grinned at me. “The Helekians have always been unique, even among the Sálfar. Their bond with the wyrms was unparalleled.” He saw the flicker of confusion in my gaze and chuckled. “The Axidors may claim the wyrm as their sigil, but it belonged to the Helekians first. They used to ride them. Magnificent creatures, giant serpents with breath that could melt stone and forge metal.”
“Incredible,” I breathed.
“Wait till you hear your House words.” Xadrian smirked, “‘Call the Wyrm.”
I laughed, a bark escaping me. “No.”
He chuckled too. “It’s true. Your sigil is an ivory wyrm with its wings outstretched and a star on its chest.” He moved closer, lowering his voice as if he were revealing a great secret. “There’s a tale of a Helekian who was summoned by Atar himself. Atar’s flames had dimmed, and he needed the heat of a wyrm to reignite them.”
My eyes widened in wonder, hanging on his every word.
“The Helekian, braving the dangers, ventured deep into the mountain lairs and called upon the mightiest wyrm. Together, they flew to Atar’s anvil, and with its fiery breath, the forge blazed brighter than ever before.”
For a moment, I lost myself in the tale, imagining my ancestor riding a magnificent wyrm, soaring high above the lands. But Xadrian’s next words pulled me back to the present.
“Your line is said to be beloved of Atar,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on me just a tad too long.
I slipped off the rock and took a step away, trying to maintain some distance. “Thanks, Xadrian, for sharing the story.”
He tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You’re welcome. It’s always a pleasure to... enlighten.”
Clearing my throat, I redirected our focus. “We should continue with our training.”
