The sound of rain didn't fade. On the contrary — with each passing minute, it grew more insistent, as if nature itself was trying to break through the stone above.
Somewhere deep in the cave, where glowing blue stones were the only source of light, two figures sat opposite each other. One — a gray-haired old man with a tired but kind face. The other — a silent boy, with an empty gaze and no name.
Hot steam rose slowly from a cup. Rain, holding it with both hands, sipped the tea carefully, as if trying to warm not his body, but his soul. The boy simply watched without blinking, as if trying to understand — who he was now, and where he was.
Having drained the cup, Rain set it on the stone floor, its base clinking softly. He looked at the child and spoke calmly:
— So, kid… Isn't it time you chose a name? Or are you hoping someone else will do it for you?
The boy remained silent, then gave a small shrug:
— I don't care… You can choose it. Master.
Rain raised an eyebrow slightly, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint smirk.
— A new life — a new name, huh?..
He paused, looking at the floor as if seeking an answer there, then said:
— Lein. I think it fits. Simple... but there's something to it.
The boy — no longer nameless, now Lein — brightened. For the first time, something alive flickered in his eyes.
— Does the name have a hidden meaning? Does it mean something like "clever," "sharp," "brave"?
Rain laughed. Not a stifled chuckle, but a real, deep laugh — genuine, as if the sound broke through layered memories. He laughed long and even wiped his eyes from the moisture — whether from laughter or pain, it wasn't clear.
— No... — he finally exhaled, shaking his head. — It's just a name. But it means something... to me.
Lein tilted his head in surprise.
— Why?
Rain fell silent for a long time. His gaze dimmed, grew heavy. And when he finally spoke, his voice was lower, quieter — as if afraid to scare away a ghost from the past.
— Remember I told you I wasn't always alone? I had a wife. Kind, full of life… We were expecting a child. She was eight months pregnant, and we kept arguing about what to name it...
If it had been a girl, we would've called her Alina.
But if a boy — Lein…
He paused. There was no sound — only the distant echo of droplets falling from the cave ceiling. The glow of the blue stones seemed especially dim at that moment, as if even they understood — this was a memory. A sad one.
Rain fell silent again. His voice, once warm and steady, turned dull — like rain striking stone.
— I was out hunting, — he said, as if recalling someone else's life. — Every knight had to escort their cohort on campaign. While I was away... she gave birth. Alina... My little girl was stillborn. And my wife… she couldn't bear it. She followed her.
Rain clenched his teeth and frowned, unable to meet Lein's eyes.
«Forgive me, Lein. I lied to you. You're not ready for this world's cruelty yet… But everything else — everything but how they died — is true. I hope you never learn the truth. My truth.»
Rain's words sounded mechanical to Lein. Sharp, detached. No weeping, no cracks in his voice. But that was the point: Rain wasn't hiding his emotions — he'd drowned them. His voice was hollow, his gaze glassy, as if tears had long since worn away.
And yet... in the silence between words, something lingered. Maybe guilt. Maybe blame. For the doctor. Or the world.
The once carefree tone had turned icy. The old man who laughed moments ago was gone — replaced by a frozen shell of stone.
Silence hung between them like a heavy curtain. Lein said nothing. He simply sat, watched, and remained still. He understood: now wasn't the time to speak. Let the pain breathe. Sometimes, silence is the truest sympathy. And in that moment, Lein made the right choice — though unaware of it.
But had he been older, a bit wiser... perhaps he would've realized that even the strong need words. Not pity — no. Just a recognition of pain. Sometimes just a "I'm here" can be stronger than a thousand speeches.
Yet from a child, such words could've sounded like pity, not support. And Rain, a proud warrior, wouldn't have accepted that. So, unknowingly, Lein made the only correct decision — he stayed quiet.
Minutes passed. Rain finally drew in a deep breath, as if returning from a long inner journey. The same old, oily smile appeared on his face — a mask pulled over pain.
— That's all in the past, — he said with false lightness. — The present matters, Lein. I'm here to raise a fighter. Remember this: you'll lose friends. Some will betray you. But never, ever show your weakness. Except to your wife. If you have one. Though... I wouldn't recommend it.
He looked into the distance, beyond the cave, where rain continued to pour like from a broken sky.
— A man must be brave. Calm. Focused. Strong. Tears don't suit men. Instead of tears, spill blood — of monsters and enemies.
He slowly turned to Lein. His eyes were steel.
— Are you ready to become a man?
Lein straightened his back, clenched his fists, and, raising his voice, shouted:
— Yes!
Rain chuckled, shaking his head:
— Not yet. Tell me — who do you think is the best teacher in the world?
Lein frowned, thinking. Then said uncertainly:
— Someone who teaches well?
— That's obvious. Be more precise.
— You?
Rain burst out laughing, his voice echoing through the cave.
— Flattering the old man, you little rascal? No. Remember this: the best teacher is the world itself. The most cruel, and the most effective. Its lessons — you'll never forget them.
Lein pursed his lips.
— But aren't there people who live in luxury, surrounded by food and wine? It's like the world doesn't teach them at all.
Rain paused. For a long time. He knew he couldn't answer honestly without breaking his wise-man image. So, with a crooked smile, he muttered:
— Maybe... they don't want to learn. Or... the world just hasn't reached them yet. Forget them. I'm better anyway. Let's go with that. I'm the best teacher.
Lein tilted his head, suppressing a laugh:
— So when does the training start?
Rain's eyes sparkled like a cat who caught a mouse.
— Already has. You've got a name. Now you need a birthday. And do you know what day it is? — He paused, as if checking the sky.
— Ha! New Year! Can you believe it? The world gave you a second birth! Lucky brat.
Lein sighed deeply and asked with mild annoyance:
— That's great and all, but when do I start learning to wield a sword?
Rain looked him over slowly from head to toe and squinted:
— Seriously? You want to learn swordsmanship... with that body? Skinny, weak, skin and bones. You can't even lift a wooden sword yet. You're still too young — real training is a long way off.
He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers:
— It'll take years. For now — learn what any child can. Learn to read, write, sing, light a fire, roast meat, brew tea, wash dishes, clean clothes, sharpen swords, sew simple things… There's a lot. You need to get stronger, gain mass, build endurance. Even I started wielding a sword at ten. And you're what — nine? No… more like eight. Yeah, let's go with eight. So forget about swinging steel for now, brat.
Lein scowled:
— Writing and cooking — fine. But singing? What for?
Rain grinned:
— When everyone's exhausted, wounded, when silence feels heavier than pain — that's when someone must lift their spirits. And nothing works better than a song. Music restores strength like bread feeds the starving. Here, listen. This one's every warrior's favorite song…
He suddenly started to sing. And it was terrible.
Rain's voice screeched like a rusty sword trying to hit low notes and stabbed the ears when it climbed high. It was torture. In all his eight years, Lein had never heard anything worse. Rain should be banned from music — permanently.
If singing were judged, he'd get last place. And even that would be out of pity.
Lein couldn't take it. He covered his ears and ran to the far corner of the cave.
There lay a mattress — made from monster hides. The lining was fluffy, as was the blanket and pillow.
Too bad the cave only had one mattress. Rain, surprisingly, didn't sleep — he sat in the semi-darkness, muttering to himself:
— She said I had a decent voice… Liar, damn it!
Lein yawned, exhausted from the long day, and asked:
— Aren't you going to sleep?
Rain snorted and turned to him:
— I don't need sleep with a brat like you nearby. Tomorrow I'll make you craft your own mattress.
Lein didn't argue, collapsed onto the fluffy hide, and wrapped himself in the blanket.
The pillow was soft, warm, and tickled his neck, and the blanket — huge, cozy, and dry.
Without noticing, Lein drifted into sleep.
For the first time in two years, he wasn't sleeping on cold concrete. Even the orphanage didn't have such comfort. He dreamed of nothing — but the sleep was deep and peaceful.
Rain approached, gently tucked the blanket over him, and whispered:
— You will become stronger than us, kid. Your name will be written in books, and your children will wear the surname you choose with pride. Maybe even my name will be remembered — as your teacher's. I'll do everything — even the impossible — to make it happen. So... sleep well.
...
As Rain had warned, Lein's training had nothing to do with swords or combat — it was a school of the everyday, of the small things that hold life together like cards in a fragile tower.
Rain began with the simplest: language. Not warrior jargon, but the written language of Leith. It wasn't just a set of symbols — it was a system that preserved culture and memory. Though Lein was a native speaker, he had only spoken it — never written. The alphabet was unfamiliar and strange.
Surprisingly, Lein wasn't just capable — he absorbed each letter, each mark like a sponge. Rain watched with interest, noting how the boy, as if used to finding order in chaos, skillfully built symbols into words.
It took only an hour to learn the alphabet — short but intense. Rain explained not just the shapes, but their meanings, sounds, and nuances of pronunciation. The language of Leith was ancient and complex, with many dialects and outdated words.
The strangest thing was that it was both the easiest and hardest language at once.
There were two kinds of Leith's language:
The Everyday — known to all people in the world.
And the Historical — much more complex, known by few.
The Historical language of Leith didn't use letters, but symbols.
That was why many didn't want to learn it — it couldn't be spoken, only read and written.
Now Lein could not only speak — he could read and write. But it wasn't enough.
Lein's vocabulary was still poor. It was like an ocean — vast, but his little boat had barely sailed into it. Rain understood: for Lein to communicate freely and grasp the language's depth, he needed to dive deeper.
Even the Everyday Leith had hidden traps.
Sentence structure. Words whose meanings only made sense in context. Words that were both question and answer at once.
But Lein pushed forward, without a trace of doubt or laziness.
Day by day, Rain began feeding him books — simple ones at first, then harder. Mostly dictionaries, thick tomes with rare words, explanations, historical samples. Sometimes, reading together, Rain would notice the fire in Lein's eyes — the moment when ancient meaning revealed itself in a simple phrase.
Learning wasn't just words. In spare time, Rain turned to practical lessons. First — fire-starting. It seemed simple, but in their world, it was nearly magical.
— Finding wood is almost a miracle now, — Rain said, gazing out at the scorched land beyond the cave. — Only if you go to the dark forest — where sunlight barely reaches. But even there, lighting a fire is a challenge. Without soul shards from monsters, it's nearly impossible.
He pulled a soul shard from his white coat — a cold, nearly transparent crystal that glowed like those lighting ancient caves and city ruins.
Rain carefully oiled the shard and struck a spark using two stones. The flame flared weakly but steadily.
— The energy in these shards is universal. They fuel fire — or snuff it out. But don't think they're limitless — they're not. City scholars studied them. We know these crystals can both create and destroy.
As Rain explained, Lein watched the fire — it danced, alive yet cold. To him, it wasn't just fire — it was magic, life and death in one shard.
— We usually use them as torches. But for now — that's wasteful. Just know they hold great power.
After fire, Rain moved to daily chores — laundry, sewing, cooking. The last was a disaster.
Food and Lein — natural enemies. Every attempt turned catastrophic.
— How do you turn clean meat into soup? Poisoned soup?! — Rain couldn't hide his baffled laughter.
For days, Lein struggled in the kitchen, failing every time. He didn't want to admit defeat, but facts spoke loud — it wasn't working.
Lessons continued, but the mood shifted. Rain became more relaxed, more jokes and songs. Lein, on the other hand, began to feel like a servant — washing the old man's clothes, mending holes, brewing tea. It irritated him.
Even more so — Rain's endless dumb comments and horrible singing. But the old man persisted — trying to improve his singing daily.
Sometimes Lein wondered: was this training his patience? He was right — Lein's frustration only grew.
But as often happens with people, resistance turned to habit. A miracle occurred — Lein got used to it.
He no longer felt burning hatred for the routine tasks.
The only unbearable thing left — Rain's singing.
Humans are strange.
What once seemed unbearable becomes ordinary over time.
Maybe once he hated doing anything, and now if he didn't — he felt something was missing.
Whatever the case, Lein wasn't idle — each day was filled with purpose. Rain, like clockwork, brought carcasses every two days — beasts like twisted boars, with skulls shaped like predators and sunken, dark eyes, as if drained by darkness. Their hides were rough like stone, legs thick and clawed. They looked vile, yet their meat — tender, juicy, and shockingly delicious.
Lein remembered tasting Rain's cooking for the first time: meat roasted to a crisp edge, seasoned with strange spices, likely from ruins of the old world. The flavor was deep, rich, awakening something primal inside him. He didn't just feel full — he felt pleasure, as if food became art.
Sadly, Lein could only cook something edible — never something as good.
Alongside failed cooking lessons came continued study of language.
The Historical Leith wasn't just old — it was sacred, delicate, intricate.
It didn't use letters — only symbols.
Learning these symbols was impossible without first mastering the letters, sentence structure, and meaning of every word.
But Lein didn't give up. He studied diligently, learning symbols, words, and the soul of the language itself.
Rain insisted:
— The Historical Language is the foundation of everything. Without it, you won't understand the chronicles, can't read lost records, open ancient mysteries, or decode journals of those who built the world before the catastrophe.
The old man taught slowly, deliberately. No rushing. Everything happened in a steady, almost ritualistic rhythm. At first, Lein was frustrated — he craved speed, progress, strength. But then he understood: this was the foundation.
«It's like building a tower. If the base is weak, the tower won't hold its own weight.» — Lein noted to himself.
Time flowed like sand in a cracked hourglass. Silent, yet unstoppable.
Weeks passed. Then months. Then — years.
No news of the dragon. It vanished like a mirage, leaving scorched fields and fear in survivors' hearts. Four years passed like one day. And through it all, Rain had been preparing Lein for something greater. Step by step — forging not a warrior, but a blade.
And then one day, without prelude or ceremony, he said:
— Tomorrow, we begin real training.
The words were simple. But the air grew heavy — as if time itself paused in anticipation.
Lein went to sleep on his moss mattress, already anticipating what the next day would bring.