thief of fate-Chapter 56: The fires do not go out

Morning crept into Valerian’s room with a quietness akin to the flutter of a shy bird’s wing. The golden light carved its way through the white linen curtains, casting a soft gleam on the cold stone floor. A faint warmth settled over his face, but he did not move.

He remained lying down, his eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling adorned with dark wooden beams, breathing slowly as if trying to decide whether this day was worth living. His body was still exhausted, not only from physical fatigue but from the weight that settled in his chest like an immovable rock.

A moment passed before he heard a light knock on the door, followed by a familiar voice:

"Sir, I’ve brought breakfast. May I come in?"

Valerian didn’t answer immediately. He wanted to remain in that void, between sleep and wakefulness, where pain wasn’t yet clear and where regret hadn’t begun to scream after full awakening. But eventually, he sighed and said in a hoarse voice:

"Come in, Carlos."

The door opened quietly, and Carlos entered carrying a silver tray with a simple but tidy dish: toasted bread slices, boiled eggs, pieces of cheese, and a pot of warm tea.

"I thought a light meal would be suitable for this morning," Carlos said with a faint smile as he placed the tray on the table near the bed.

Valerian didn’t respond. He sat up slowly, as if every muscle in his body protested the movement. He rubbed his eyes, then said in a husky voice:

"Thank you, Carlos... I didn’t realize I was hungry until now."

Carlos watched silently as his master began to eat. The servant knew when to speak and when to remain silent. He had noticed the heavy shadow in Valerian’s eyes since his return from the academy. Something in him had changed. Not just his body, but that gaze, like someone who had returned from a grave and buried a part of his soul there.

"Kyle asked to see you after breakfast," Carlos said quietly.

Valerian’s hand paused for a moment, the spoon half-raised. He looked at the servant with eyes devoid of surprise, as if he had expected this.

"Did he say why?"

Carlos shook his head. "No, but his tone was... serious."

Valerian returned the spoon to the plate and sighed. Then calmly said:

"He doesn’t joke anyway."

Carlos smiled faintly, but Valerian didn’t return it. His stomach had begun to feel heavy, not from the food, but from the tension that awakened inside him at the mention of Kyle’s name. The man was his mentor, his executioner...

"Is the arena ready?"

"As requested, yes. The weather is nice today."

Valerian rose slowly and headed to the washbasin to wash his face. The cold water hit his face like a slap, awakening something inside him, that part which never sleeps, the part that does not forget what happened at the academy, what he did, and what he couldn’t do.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face was pale, his eyes sunken, and his hair messy.

"Shall I prepare your training attire, sir?"

"No need. I’ll wear what’s comfortable. It won’t be a picnic anyway."

The arena was as he remembered it. A wide circle surrounded by stone pillars, the ground covered with soft sand, and in the middle... Kyle.

He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed, dissecting a person as if with a surgeon’s scalpel. When Valerian approached, the trainer did not move an inch.

"You’re late."

"There wasn’t a clock at breakfast."

Valerian didn’t mean to be sarcastic, but he also wasn’t afraid. He knew that what would happen today wasn’t something that could be postponed or avoided. He had returned, and his return meant only one thing: he had to prove once more that he was still worthy of being part of this world.

"Do you know why we’re here?" Kyle asked in a tone devoid of any warmth.

"To break me?"

Kyle raised an eyebrow, stepped forward once, and his voice became like a sharpened blade:

"No, to see what’s left of you after you were broken."

The training began without introductions. Kyle didn’t give him time to reflect or complain. The attacks were successive, precise, calculated. Each strike carried a message, and every dodge required utmost focus.

Sweat dripped from Valerian’s forehead, his breath quickened, his body groaned, but his eyes remained fixed.

"Why didn’t you save them?"

Kyle’s voice cut through the air as he launched a low strike that forced Valerian to retreat.

"Where were you when the towers fell?"

A kick to the side, hurting him to the bone.

"Did you think mercy would protect you?"

A strike to his injured shoulder made him scream in pain.

"Stop..." Valerian muttered, but Kyle didn’t stop.

"Stop? The world doesn’t stop for those who fall, Valerian! Either you rise and face it, or remain a victim!"

Valerian knelt, gasping, drenched in sweat, his hands trembling.

"Do you think I didn’t want to save them?" he screamed, eyes filled with tears. "Do you think I didn’t try?! I... I saw them die... and I couldn’t..."

Kyle approached, looked down at him, then knelt opposite him.

"That’s why we’re here, boy. To teach you how not to be helpless next time. No one blames you for not saving them... but everyone will be watching what you do next."

Valerian sat on the ground, his breath calming, his body shaking under the sun’s rays. He looked at Kyle, who now sat beside him, for the first time not seeming like an executioner.

"Do you think I can... be stronger?"

The trainer was silent for a moment, then said:

"No, I don’t think... I know. But that won’t happen if you keep trying to run from the pain."

Valerian shook his head and smiled faintly, sadly:

"I still feel like I carry the burden of everyone who died."

"Then carry it. Don’t get rid of it. But don’t let it paralyze you. Make it your fire, not your grave."

The two remained seated in the arena, the sand warm around them, and the breeze carried a faint scent from the palace gardens. And Valerian, despite the pain, felt for the first time in a long while that his fragments might begin to gather again not to return to what he was, but to become what he was meant to be.

The silence that hung over the arena was not one of rest, but like the stillness before a storm. The sun had risen a little higher in the sky, and the pillars’ shadows began to tilt. But Kyle showed no intention of stopping.

"Get up." He said it without raising his voice, but it struck Valerian’s ears like an unrefusable command.

"Kyle..."

"I said get up."

Valerian exhaled heavily, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve, and stood slowly. His legs complained of fatigue, and his left arm trembled from pain, but his eyes... those golden eyes were still burning. There was an ember that had not died.

"Show me what you’ve learned. Don’t repeat what I did, don’t mimic my strikes, but bring out something from you... something that is yours alone."

Valerian didn’t answer, but simply drew two daggers from their side sheaths. Their grips felt familiar under his fingers.

He took a deep breath. One step forward. His heart pounded in his chest as if preparing to leap into an abyss.

Then, he charged.

He surged toward Kyle, his steps swift, his body disappearing, then reappearing, then vanishing again. He didn’t attack directly but circled, evaded, manipulated distance. Kyle stood firm, watching, his eyes not leaving him for a moment.

Then, suddenly... he disappeared.

It wasn’t true invisibility, but a visual trick too subtle to catch. That moment, that slight tilt of the body, that deceptive step creating a mirrored image, then... "The Mirage Stab."

He appeared behind Kyle as if he’d materialized from thin air, the dagger aimed at the side of his neck, a deadly spot with precision.

But Kyle was ready.

In a flash, he dropped his body low, twisted his elbow around Valerian’s arm, and slammed him to the ground without mercy. He kicked the dagger from his hand, grabbed him by the chest, and lifted him up. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

"Now we begin."

And after those hours of hell

Kyle no longer threw random strikes. He began forcing Valerian to adapt, to read the attack before it began. He made him fight imagined enemies from different angles run, crawl, roll, then return to strike.

"Phantom Thrust" wasn’t performed just once, but many times. Each time, Valerian became faster, more precise. But each time, Kyle would find a flaw and push him to fix it.

"Good," he finally said, watching Valerian collapse to his knees, gasping like he had swallowed more air than his lungs could bear.

"But a dagger isn’t a sword, Valerian. And it won’t save you in an open fight."

He raised his head, eyes soaked in sweat and dust.

"Then why do I fight with it?"

Kyle stepped forward, sat before him. His voice softened, but carried the weight of truth:

"Because you don’t fight in the light."

He paused a moment, then gestured to the two daggers laid near the sand.

"Daggers are an art of concealment. You don’t endure a direct clash against a fighter with a broad sword or a long spear. But you kill him before he knows you’re there."

Valerian shook his head, trying to take it in. Kyle said:

"A dagger is fast. Precise. It allows you to sneak, to ambush, to strike vital spots others can’t reach. But... it has flaws."

He raised his fingers:

"Short range. Weak blocking ability. Lack of weight. And all of that... means that any mistake, any delay, is your death."

He leaned in, his voice nearly a whisper:

"That’s why you must learn not to fight as others do. Don’t seek confrontation seek the end. Don’t seek the battle seek the opportunity."

Then he stood, turning his back:

"And I will make you find it. Even if you die in the process."

There was no exaggeration in Kyle’s words only a vow.

What remained of the day turned into a relentless effort to break Valerian. He made him carry weights while training to pounce, fight with eyes closed, jump from wall to wall, hide then attack, repeat it over and over until his body became near-unconscious, performing the move without thought.

"Phantom Thrust" was no longer a technique he was learning, but an instinct pulsing inside him.

And every time he fell, Kyle looked at him with a firm gaze and said:

"Get up."

Even when he couldn’t.

Even when he cried silently from the pain.

Even when he no longer knew if he was training or being remade.

And in the end, when the sun set and the arena drowned in his sweat, Valerian stood alone, dagger in hand, his entire body trembling but standing.

As for Kyle, he was at the edge, watching him silently, then said:

"You’re no longer just a boy, Valerian... but if you wish to stay that way, you must be the shadow the light fears."

He turned away, adding as he left:

"Tomorrow, I’ll break something else in you. Sleep well... if you can."