The sun rose red and slow over the Cradle, casting long shadows across obsidian walls and shrine towers that hummed with dormant elemental power. The crimson light painted the ancient stones like dried blood, and somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed, as if even the birds knew today would be different. Today marked a turning point for Ares, who had spent the previous years cycling through the same routine over and over again, but it was finally time for him to level up his training.
Ares stood before the tall mirror embedded in his room's mana-lit wall, the surface rippling slightly with contained magic. He studied his reflection, more boy than baby now, though the world still treated him like both. His movements had gained a subtle confidence that hadn't been there before, like a blade slowly finding its edge.
His hair was a polished shade of obsidian, fine and soft yet dark, and his eyes were piercing green, luminous and fierce like emerald flames. His mother's eyes. Beatrix's eyes. The one trace of her the world hadn't beaten out of him, no matter how hard it tried.
Now five years old, Ares had crossed the threshold where survival was no longer enough. He was officially old enough to begin full-scale training in the Eisenklinge tradition. But compared to his peers, he was still a new hatchling in a nest of hawks, and these hawks had very sharp talons.
Of the four boys currently in residence, only he and the 15th son were recent additions. Rowan, the 15th, had entered just a year ago, still learning to hide his laughter and keep his head low. They were the closest in age and in adjustment, like two lost souls navigating the same storm. The others had long since adapted to the Cradle's harsh embrace.
The 14th son, Caelum, was seven and already moved like water under pressure, quiet, disciplined, always watching with eyes that seemed older than his years. He hadn't spared Ares many words, but hadn't been unkind either. Then there was the 13th: Evandor, eight years old and nearing the end of his Cradle stay. Evandor carried himself like a small general, sharp-tongued, casually brutal in training, and visibly bored with anyone he deemed beneath his notice. Which was everyone.
'They've lived this life longer than I've lived in this body,' Ares thought, tying his black sash around his waist with practiced precision. 'I need to catch up fast. I have less than four years before that change happens.'
As someone who had read the book already, Ares knew of a looming danger, one where he didn't plan to be a casualty because of his weakness. He had died weak before, but now he would become strong so he wouldn't die weak again. The irony wasn't lost on him that he was probably the only five-year-old in existence with such morbid motivation.
The morning bell rang, echoing like a war drum down the stone corridors, each note seeming to vibrate through his very bones. Ares squared his shoulders and stepped into the hall, ready to face whatever fresh hell awaited.
– – –
The four boys gathered before the central shrine gates, dressed in black training robes stitched with the Eisenklinge crest, a blade wrapped in wind and fire that seemed to shift and dance in the morning light.
Evandor yawned loudly, stretching like a bored cat. "Took you long enough," he said, clearly speaking to everyone and no one. "Let's get this over with. I've already passed half these tests." His tone suggested he'd rather be anywhere else, preferably somewhere with less siblings and more comfortable beds.
Draven, the 12th, had graduated the year prior. The Cradle was quieter now, but no gentler. If anything, it felt like the silence itself had teeth.
Caelum leaned on the stone railing, arms folded, watching the sky like he had more interesting things to do than acknowledge his younger brothers. A cloud drifted by in what looked suspiciously like the shape of a sword, and Ares wondered if even the weather was trying to send them a message.
Rowan approached with a grin that was equal parts excitement and terror. "First day of hell proper," he said brightly, as if he were announcing a festival instead of impending doom. "You ready?"
Ares nodded, his green eyes glinting. "I was born ready." The statement was more literal than Rowan could possibly know.
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "Confident. I like that. Try to stay alive, yeah? I'd hate to break in another roommate."
Ares allowed a small grin to tug at his lips. 'I think I'll keep this one close.'
From the shadows of the courtyard, Veltrissa emerged like a specter materializing from darkness itself. She wore her usual white shirt and black trousers with her coat draped over her shoulder, and a rapier strapped to her waist that caught the light with predatory gleam. The shrine's mana flared as she stepped into the light, responding to her presence like a flame acknowledging its master.
"Welcome, Youngest," she declared, her voice cutting through the morning air. "Today, you begin the Eisenklinge Path."
Her voice was sharp and cold as frostbite, and she addressed Ares personally. Over the years until recently, Veltrissa had been keeping close tabs on Ares, and presently she was the only one who knew his true capabilities, that he had finally unlocked all elements and that he was already at intermediate rank. But what she didn't know was that he was at the peak of intermediate, unlike others his age. The one child present he might find challenging to defeat would be Evandor, who shared the same rank but had years more experience.
"From this day forward, you will no longer be fed knowledge, you will claw for it like starving wolves." Her eyes swept over them like a blade testing for weakness. "You will study martial forms, family arts, noble behavior, and court strategy. You will engage in daily combat with echoes of warriors long dead. You will be tested in shrines, in halls, in silence, and in fire."
Her gaze lingered on each boy, pausing just long enough on Ares for him to feel it in his bones like winter settling into his marrow.
"Evandor," she said, turning slightly. "This is your final year. You will not leave quietly. You will earn your departure with blood, sweat, and probably a few tears, though if you cry, I'll pretend I didn't see it."
Evandor smirked, though there was something almost nervous in his expression. Almost.
"And you," she said, turning to Ares with the intensity of a hawk spotting prey, "will learn what it means to survive under the weight of legacy. Whether you bear it or break under it... remains to be seen."
– – –
They were led down a new corridor, deeper than before, walls lined with iron-framed portraits of Eisenklinge sons long dead. None of them smiled. None looked kind. In fact, Ares was fairly certain some of them were scowling directly at him, which was impressive considering they'd been dead for decades.
They entered a massive circular hall where six elemental circles had been carved into the blackstone floor, each one pulsing with barely contained energy. Dummies of iron and crystal stood at each end like silent sentinels, their surfaces scarred from countless training sessions.
A tall woman in silver armor waited in the center like a statue come to life. Her presence filled the room with the promise of pain and improvement, not necessarily in that order.
"I am Instructor Velna. You will learn the Nine Core Forms under me." Her voice echoed off the walls with military precision. "Pick a circle. Show me your balance. And if you fall on your face, at least try to make it look intentional."
They moved without complaint. Evandor chose first, cocky and swift, selecting the fire circle with theatrical flair. Caelum moved silent and fluid to the water circle, his steps barely making a sound. Rowan shot Ares a thumbs-up before settling into the earth circle with determined enthusiasm.
Ares moved last, stepping into the storm-marked circle. The moment his feet touched the carved lines, he felt the elemental energy respond to him like recognition. He remembered how bodies were meant to turn, momentum from the hips, weight in the knees, spine straight as a sword's edge. He settled into form. Not perfect, but steady, with the kind of natural grace that spoke of untapped potential.
Velna passed by and grunted approvingly. "You're not the worst. That's practically a compliment around here."
Garran would've made a sarcastic comment. Evandor did.
"I hope this isn't the highlight of your day, Sixteenth," he called across the hall with the casual cruelty of someone who'd perfected the art of verbal sparring.
Velna didn't stop walking, but her voice carried clearly. "He speaks again, and he'll spar me instead. I promise you won't enjoy the experience."
That shut Evandor up, barely. Though Ares could see him mouthing what looked suspiciously like curse words.
– – –
After hours of drilling forms until their muscles screamed, etiquette lessons that made diplomatic warfare seem simple, and a lecture on bloodline strategies that felt more like advanced military tactics, the boys were given an hour of rest.
Ares walked alone to the shrine overlook, where the wind was sharp against his skin and carried the scent of distant storms. The stars shimmered faintly overhead like scattered sword points, and he could almost imagine they were watching him with ancient approval.
Footsteps echoed behind him, measured, deliberate. Caelum.
The older boy didn't speak at first, just stood at the edge of the overlook beside Ares like a guardian statue. The silence stretched between them, comfortable rather than awkward.
"I thought you hated noise," Ares said finally, his voice barely audible above the wind.
"I hate arrogance," Caelum replied without looking at him, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "You're not arrogant yet. Just new. There's a difference."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving Ares with more questions than answers.
Rowan arrived a few minutes later, hands behind his head and whistling tunelessly. "Well, you survived day one. That's something. Some kids don't even make it past lunch on their first day."
"I did survive," Ares agreed, though he suspected 'survive' might be too generous a term.
Rowan grinned, his expression brightening the shadowy overlook. "Now do it again. And again. And maybe by the time Evandor's gone, they'll let us eat without having to pass three tests just to hold a fork."
Ares looked back at the Cradle, its spires dark and full of hidden fire, pulsing with secrets and ancient power. The building seemed to loom over them like a sleeping dragon, beautiful and terrible in equal measure.
'One year until Rowan leaves. That's all the time I have to close the gap.'
He clenched his fist, feeling the calluses already beginning to form from today's training.
'Let's begin.'