Aelar's Forge

After hearing Rioran’s story, Lord Rodel sat motionless in his grand chair, his weathered fingers gripping the ornate armrests until his knuckles turned white. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across his face, deepening the lines of grief now etched into his features. His throat tightened as the brutal details of his brother's death played vividly in his mind.

“So that’s what happened,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never imagined my brother’s death would be so brutal.”
His eyes, glistening with unshed tears, searched Rioran’s face.
“Are you the only survivor?”

Rioran shifted his weight, the metal of his artificial limb catching the light as he extended his left leg.

“Yes. As you can see, my left leg is made of steel—crafted by my own hands.”

His fingers absently traced the intricate metalwork, remembering the countless hours of pain and determination it had taken to forge not just a limb, but a new life from the ashes of war.

Lord Rodel observed the craftsmanship with genuine admiration, his gaze lingering on the mechanical joints that moved with surprising fluidity.
Such skill born from such tragedy…
He drew a deep breath, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of sixteen years of unanswered questions.

“I understand... sigh...”
He paused, carefully choosing his next words.
“Rioran, I wanted to ask about your child.”

Rioran’s expression darkened. He looked away, staring into the flames dancing in the hearth.
The confession had weighed on him for years, and now the moment had come.

“Oh… sorry, but—he’s not my child,” Rioran admitted, his voice heavy with the burden of long-held truth.

“What?!” Lord Rodel exclaimed, lurching forward in his chair.
His mind raced, flooded with questions.

Rioran clasped his hands together to steady himself.

“His mother died while holding him in her arms,” he said quietly. “The baby—he was unharmed. I didn’t think much at the time. I just... I adopted him.”

His eyes revealed a depth of emotion no words could fully express—years of love, pain, and protection, all without a drop of shared blood.

Lord Rodel’s expression softened as understanding dawned.

“Can you also tell me how you and Aelar survived?”

Rioran nodded slowly, gathering his thoughts. The memories came rushing back—smoke, ruin, silence.

“All right. The place where the war ended... that was where we lived. There was a ruined house that used to be a blacksmith’s shop. It’s where I forged my leg of steel and fitted it myself.”

He mimed the painstaking process with his hands.

“I trained until I got used to walking again.”

He paused, remembering the lean years.

“If you’re wondering how we ate, it’s because that same store had food hidden away—cans, dried supplies. We survived off what little was left.”

His expression softened as he recalled Aelar’s childhood.

“That boy adapted so quickly. I let him explore, find useful things, and help us survive. I taught him everything I could—how to hunt, how to stay hidden, how to think. I knew one day... he’d have to face the world on his own.”

Lord Rodel leaned back, trying to absorb it all.
Such hardship, yet such strength...

“What a long story, isn’t it?” Rioran said with a weary smile, the corners of his eyes creasing with emotion.

“Yeah,” Lord Rodel agreed, shaking his head. “Sixteen years… do you regret any of it?”

“Not a second,” Rioran said firmly. “Those sixteen years with him—they’re priceless to me. But now…”
His voice grew heavy.
“It’s time for Aelar to start his own journey. To face what the world really is. That’s why I brought him here—to prepare him for the demons still lurking.”

Lord Rodel chuckled softly, though his eyes were serious.

“So, that’s where you’ve been hiding. Do you plan to tell him the truth?”

Rioran rubbed his head, a gesture of hesitation.

“That’s... the only path I see right now. And yes, I will. But not yet.”

His gaze fell. In his mind, he pictured Aelar’s face—betrayed, hurt—and his chest tightened.

“It’s your decision,” Lord Rodel said gently, but firmly. “Just... don’t wait too long. Secrets like that can turn into scars.”

Rioran met his eyes, then slowly nodded.

“Can I entrust Aelar to you? To teach him how to fight, to survive, to grow stronger? I must return to Padayan—my homeland.”

Lord Rodel didn’t hesitate.

“Of course, my friend. I’ll train him as if he were my own.”

Relief washed over Rioran’s face.

“Thank you, truly. I owe you more than I can say. One day, I’ll repay you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Lord Rodel replied with a small smile.
Silence settled between them, the crackling fire the only sound.

“Tomorrow, a ship will be ready to take you to your destination,” Lord Rodel added after a pause.

“Thank you very much.”
Rioran rose to his feet, the metal leg whirring softly as he stood.
“I bid farewell now. Please... say goodbye to my son for me. I—I can’t face him. Not like this.”

“I’ll handle it,” Lord Rodel promised, standing with him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Get ready for tomorrow.”

“I’m truly grateful,” Rioran said, bowing his head.

A bittersweet smile crossed his face as his thoughts turned to Aelar—for the last time, perhaps.

Meanwhile...

Aelar was still diligently cleaning his room—unaware of the life-altering decisions being made just for him.

He moved with quiet focus, spending the entire day tidying the dormitory with care and precision. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he scrubbed the wooden floors, using makeshift tools he’d crafted from scrap wood scattered around the grounds.

A clean space means a clear mind, he reminded himself—one of Rioran’s many teachings.

Every corner was inspected, every surface polished until it gleamed beneath the afternoon light streaming through the small window. Slowly, the barren room began to feel like a place he could call his own.

As he worked, Aelar’s thoughts drifted toward the unknown future ahead.

What will become of me in this new place?

The thought stirred both excitement and fear in his chest. The world beyond his ruined home was vast—and dangerous.

With each stroke of his broom, Aelar swept away not just dust, but his doubts.

I will make Father proud, he vowed, straightening his back as he surveyed his work. The once-neglected dormitory now bore the quiet signature of his effort—a small victory, but one that filled him with growing pride.