Chapter 7 – The Farewell Before the Flame
The library was silent as always.
Not the silence of emptiness — the silence of presence. Of breath held. Of waiting.
Leonhart moved through it like someone returning home. The vast shelves, once overwhelming, now greeted him like old trees. Familiar. Towering. Still full of secrets.
He passed the second tier, turned left, and found his way to a shelf where the titles no longer bothered to stay still. One thick tome flickered its letters at his approach.
"On the Binding of Greater Spirits."
His hand brushed the spine.
The air shifted.
"You always did pick the complicated ones," came Elaris's voice.
She appeared near the floating stairwell, not hovering this time — standing.
Leonhart turned. "I have questions."
"I'm aware."
He didn't wait for permission. "Why are there only ten Great Spirits?"
Elaris walked forward, her eyes colder than usual.
"Because ten is all that remain."
Leonhart frowned. "There were more?"
"There were thousands."
A slow silence settled between them.
"What happened to them?" he asked.
"They were used. And killed."
She raised her hand, conjuring ten threads of golden and silver light, each pulsing gently in the air.
"The First is me — Elaris, Spirit of Knowledge.
The Second is Avena, Spirit of Blood. She whispers through bloodlines, whether they know it or not.
The Third is Tharion, Spirit of War. Wherever iron marches, he listens."
The threads continued, each with a strange weight — like names carved into memory.
At the end of the line, one thread pulsed dark. Not gold. Not silver.
Shadow. With a core of flickering red.
Leonhart's breath slowed.
"That one."
Elaris did not look at it.
"She is the last. Izereth. Spirit of Destruction."
"She?"
"Yes. She doesn't speak often. But when she does, entire continents remember."
Leonhart couldn't stop staring at the thread.
"She destroyed ninety percent of the population," Elaris said quietly. "Centuries ago. Long before Eldrosia. When the world was still wild and unnamed."
"In less than twenty-four hours, she erased cities. Turned oceans black. Scorched civilizations out of time."
Leonhart whispered, "How was she stopped?"
"She wasn't," Elaris replied. "She was contained."
"It took the largest alliance of spirits and mortal warriors ever assembled. Ninety-five percent of the spirits who fought… perished."
"But in the end, they succeeded. They sealed her in chains made of memory."
Leonhart's voice barely carried.
"Where?"
Elaris looked at him.
"No one knows. That was the condition of the seal. Not even the ones who created it remember where she sleeps."
"She is gone. But not gone. Not dead. Just waiting."
The room felt colder now.
Elaris turned, and the threads vanished one by one.
"That's enough of a history lesson," she said. "You should prepare. Your departure for the academy approaches."
Leonhart exhaled, grounding himself.
"Time flies so fast," he murmured. "I'll speak with my father at dinner."
Elaris's voice followed him, quiet and firm.
"Do not forget who you are — or what you carry. The academy is not simply a school. It is a battleground of masks and memory."
Leonhart looked back once.
"I haven't forgotten."
And then he left the library behind.
—
The dining hall was calm that evening.
Only the clink of silverware broke the silence. The chandelier glowed with soft white enchantment.
Leonhart waited until the pause came — when Eira stopped talking, and the Duchess set down her cup.
Then he spoke.
"Father."
Kael Elgrave's eyes rose immediately.
"Yes?"
"I intend to enroll at Aetherhold this year."
There was a beat of quiet — not surprise, but evaluation.
Kael set his utensils down.
"You intend to?"
Leonhart nodded. "I've trained hard. I'm ready."
The Duke's stare was unblinking.
"That academy is not for boys with ambition. It is for heirs, weapons, and names the Crown means to use."
"I know," Leonhart said. "That's why I'm going."
Kael sat back slightly, considering.
"Do you believe they'll accept you?"
Leonhart met his eyes.
"I believe I'll make it impossible for them not to."
Another pause.
Then — quietly — Kael gave a single nod.
"Then prepare."
No blessing. No ceremony.
But no denial.
Eira broke into a grin. "You're really going?"
Leonhart gave a half-smile. "Looks like it."
—
Seven days later, in the morning sun, he stood across from Eira in the garden for one last spar.
No words. Just rhythm.
They stopped at the same time.
Leonhart lowered his blade. "Keep training," he said. "I want to see you at Aetherhold one year from now."
Eira nodded — her expression proud, but sad.
"You'd better still be stronger when I get there."
Leonhart smiled.
"I'll try."
—
By midday, the family gathered near the gate.
Leonhart wore a long, tailored coat — navy blue with silver trim. A forgotten style from decades past. Fitted now.
His mother adjusted the buttons near his collar.
"You look like your grandfather."
"Is that good?"
She kissed his forehead. "It is today."
He turned to Eira.
"Be a good girl. Don't stop training."
"I won't."
Then Kael stepped forward, arms behind his back.
"You're leaving early," he said.
"You're not fifteen. Your birthday is two months from now."
Leonhart's reply was simple.
"I want to learn more. The capital's the best place for that."
The Duke nodded once.
"Then prove it was the right decision."
—
The train awaited him. The same elegant beast that had once carried him, unconscious, into the unknown.
Now he boarded it under his own name.
He stepped into a private cabin, the sigil of House Elgrave etched on the window glass. He sat by that window, watching the estate gates shrink in the distance.
His mother waved gently.
His sister grinned.
His father simply stood still, like stone.
Leonhart raised a hand.
And waved back.
The train rumbled forward.
Trees blurred past..
And somewhere far ahead, in the shadow of a towering spire of stone and history, a new chapter waited to be written.