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MillionNovel > Wyrmhaven: A Progression Fantasy Academy Novel > Chapter Ten: Campfire Stories

Chapter Ten: Campfire Stories

    <u>Chapter Ten: Campfire Stories</u>


    “Move your feet, Rosalia! If you lose balance, you’re dead!” Amalia did not take a passive approach to training this afternoon.


    She moved around them, staff in hand, barking out instructions whenever she saw a mistake.


    There were a lot of mistakes.


    Every once in a while, she would lash out with her staff, smashing it into whatever part of their body was open.


    “Be aware of your surroundings! Or-”


    “Die, we know, Light curse you,” Nick growled.


    Will laughed, but his merriment was cut short when Amalia’s staff bonked him on the head.


    “Ow!” He rubbed the top of his head, face scrunched up in pain.


    “Perhaps you should spend more time paying attention and less making fun, master Al’Seen.”


    Will scowled but squared his stance. Rosalia smiled at him apologetically before attempting to bash him with her wooden sword.


    Ash, for his part, felt right for once. Whenever he held the wooden sword, something clicked. He couldn’t explain it; he hardly knew it himself, but the blade felt like an extension of his arm.


    As a result, Amalia hardly called him out. Her stoic expression never changed, but there was an emotion within her amethyst gaze he couldn’t place. She did try to hit him with her staff, but Ash felt a second warning, a shift in the afternoon air that hadn’t been there before, and he parried the blow away from him.


    This time, there was a crack in her mask, and a brief flash of shock crossed her face before it was gone, restoring the stoic expression.


    Nick was not doing nearly as well opposite him. Amalia poked his feet with her staff,


    “Wrong! Here, and here.”


    But no matter how many times he got hit or how many times she corrected his footing, Nick looked like an awkward child about to throw a tantrum. He couldn’t land a single blow on Ash, who seemingly knew what Nick would do before he did it.


    “Shadows, take this fucking sword! I’m no good with it.”


    Nick threw it to the ground, stalking away.


    Amalia let him go, her face revealing nothing.


    After sword training, it was back to training with elar and elan.


    “When you hold your elar, I want you to breathe in through your nose and then push the breath out fast out of your mouth. Do this repeatedly.”


    Everyone did as she bade, except for Ash.


    He tried as hard as he could to draw his elar, but no matter how he tried, it never worked.


    Amalia offered no support. She knew he couldn’t draw it out; he could see that much in her blasted dark purple gaze, which made him grind his teeth in frustration.


    But he kept trying nonetheless until Amalia called an end to the training.


    By this time, the sun was setting, its light smoldering out.


    Dinner was made, and Amalia again made meat, spices, and vegetables appear out of thin air. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Before bed, with the fire crackling merrily, its smoke drifting into the sky, Will said,


    “Would you tell a story, Amalia?”


    Amalia looked up,


    “Hmm. What story would you like to hear, Master Al’Seen?”


    Will looked away, his voice soft,


    “I want to hear about the Nythum.”


    A hush fell over the group, the only sound being the flames burning.


    “A child’s tale, Master Al’Seen? This is the story you want to hear?”


    Will shrugged, then nodded.


    Violet eyes drifted to each one of them,


    “And you all? You wish to hear this tale as well?”


    They all nodded.


    Amalia took a breath, her grip tightening on her staff.


    “Very well then.”


    Amalia began to speak.


    ___________


    After the Hero of Light sacrificed himself that day and the Light departed, time marched on. The Dragon Lords founded the city of Drakosia, and there was relative peace for a time. During this period, the elf known as Adonai Silverblade began to unite the elven tribes in Elendari.


    That was the only actual conflict to speak of at the time.


    But Shadow is a patient thing. Its prison was well made, but though it was an outside creation, it could still wrap around it. Its presence could still be felt. As it so often had before, it corrupted the hearts and minds of people.


    Among these were five dragon lords, heroes of the armies of light, each with numerous accolades to their names. Many speculate how such great heroes could have fallen to the Shadow’s temptation, but if any know the real reasons, they have not offered up the knowledge.


    These once great heroes began to sow evil across the land, performing profane rituals and calling forth things from the Nevervare that were best left alone.


    Weakened but unwilling to allow this evil to fester, the Light descended again.


    But this time, it did so in secret, taking the form of a lowly beggar; he went to the village of Rhaul.


    Rhaul wasn’t a large village, with barely more than twenty people inhabiting it. It was here that the Light, disguised as a weak old beggar, hoped to find those pure of heart.


    As the days passed, with the Light sitting there, waiting for anyone, even one person, to notice him, he began to doubt.


    A smith passed him by one day but spat on the beggar,


    “Useless old cur! Save us all some trouble and keel over, would ya?”


    The Light continued to wait, even as the smith visited another man’s wife, committing adultery, for he too was also married under the Light.


    The next day, the town huntress crossed the street to escape him, her pale face looking disgusted.


    “You reek, old thing. At least bathe!”


    Three adventurers passed him by the next, and not one helped him. Instead, one with a sword said,


    “I could lop off his head; that oughta put him out of his misery, eh?”


    He grinned at the ranger beside him.


    Then, the beggar stood up and walked to the center of town. His beggar rags shed themselves as he walked, pure, brilliant armor sheathing his form.


    His matted, dirty hair became pure light as the once beggar was shown like a living star in the middle of Rhaul.


    “Hear me, villagers of Rhaul! All of you are steeped in sin, your hearts as black as a shadow.”


    The smith from the day prior scowled at the shining form of the Light,


    “Who are you to judge us so? You’ve no idea what struggle we go through!”


    The Light burned with terrible fire, and the smith was forced to look away.


    “I am the Light! I came to this village seeking pure-hearted people. Where else would I find such a heart other than in a simple village? Or so I thought! Instead, your hearts are void!”


    Upon hearing this, the smith fell to the ground, and so did the three adventurers and the pale-faced woman who had crossed the street to escape him.


    “We beg your forgiveness, lord!’ She cried out.


    The Light nodded,


    “So you should. My judgment is thus!”


    An excellent platinum dragon head appeared in the air, its scales shining like individual stars on a full moon’s night, its eyes orbs of shining molten silver.


    It roared its glory across the skies; everyone heard it that day.


    “Approach my dragon and survive its fire, for if you do, your hearts shall be purified, and you will stand with me as my champions, my Nythum!”


    The pale-faced woman went first. She stood under the dragon, whose eyes were radianced. The dragon opened its maw, and white flame bathed her form.


    Her screams were beyond imagining, her pain so great it beggared description.


    But she did not run away.


    Moments later, an eternity to her, the flames died.


    She stood made anew, skin as radiant as the dragon''s fire, molten silver wings glowing upon her back.


    She became Ziven, the Unburnt.


    The smith survived the fires and became Eruk, the Hammer.


    The ranger served, and she became Adria, the Huntress.


    The warrior attempted to flee, and the great dragon snapped its jaws, eating him whole, his screams ceasing instantly.


    These three became the first of the Nythum, and their task was to hunt the five dragon lords turned to shadows and all who served them.


    Thus, this story is complete, and the Nythum were born.


    Amalia’s voice faded along with the dying embers of their fire.


    No one said anything; they were merely sitting quietly, the hoot of an owl in the distance seeming to signal the night''s end.
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