Shortly before his return, Lorena and Bard sat across from each other in the dimly lit room. The scent of burnt wood lingered in the air, and Bard''s gruff voice broke the silence.


    "The boy shows promise," he grumbled, setting down his cup.


    Lorena raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Are you sure?" Her words were cold, as if she engaged in the conversation reluctantly.


    "Yes. He’d make a fine soldier. Even at his young age, he managed to react to my attack," Bard replied, his tone devoid of pride.


    Lorena’s face twisted as if she’d tasted something bitter. "Hmm, our reputation would greatly improve if he joined the army. But I have no desire to encourage that brat. The mere fact that he had such cowardly parents... it disgusts me. And worse still is their betrayal of the holy light of God."


    Her lips pressed tightly together, and disgust was etched across her face. For a moment, it seemed as if she had to restrain herself from slamming her fist on the table.


    "I have a suggestion," Bard continued, as if trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. "We offer him the chance to train freely and search for his parents'' killer, on the condition that he joins the army when he turns sixteen."


    Lorena''s eyes gleamed, her cold expression shifting to a cynical smile. "A good idea. He’ll never find the murderer anyway. But he can’t begin searching until he’s sixteen. And what if he turns against us?"


    Bard shrugged indifferently. "He’s weaker than I am," he grunted, his hands gripping his cup firmly. Having served several years in the army, the thought of Azrael posing any threat to him didn’t trouble him in the slightest.


    "We’ll simply keep reminding him that the Church is on our side," he added. "There won’t be any issues."


    Lorena nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing as her thoughts turned to Azrael. "Indeed. It’s time he learns his place."


    A creaking sound interrupted the silence as the front door opened.


    "It seems he’s here," Bard remarked casually.


    Lorena shot a disdainful glance toward the door. "Azrael, come here!" she called out, her voice sharp and icy.


    "Great, looks like they’re not too happy about my extended absence," Azrael thought gloomily as he felt the tense atmosphere pressing down on him. The piercing gazes of his relatives seemed to suck the air from his lungs as he reluctantly approached the table.


    Lorena greeted him with a cold smile and gestured for him to sit. "We want you to join the army when you turn sixteen," she announced as if the decision had already been made.


    "No." The response came without hesitation. His gaze hardened, and his jaw clenched. The memory of his parents, who had sacrificed everything to keep him from such a fate, burned within him. Even if they tried to force him—he could never give in to them.


    But Lorena remained unfazed, continuing with an unyielding tone: "In return, you’ll be allowed to train without interference. Additionally, after joining, you’ll be granted permission to search for your parents’ killer."


    Azrael’s heart raced as he absorbed the words. Silently, he weighed his options, his gaze fixed on the ground. "The offer is tempting," he thought, his hands twitching nervously. "Training is my top priority right now, even if it’s just a means to an end. My parents would never have wanted this, but... I could refuse once I’m strong enough."


    He lifted his head, his eyes narrowed and watchful. "Agreed," he finally said, his voice steady. "I’ll accept the offer."


    Lorena leaned back slightly, as if she had expected nothing less. "I’ll inform the Church as well," she continued, a hint of triumph curling her lips into a faint smile. "Solaren is the way and the light. He will guide you on the right path."


    Azrael felt her words rumble within him. "She’s warning me," he thought, his gaze momentarily dropping to the floor. The idea of the Church intervening didn’t worry him to much—in fact, he was ready to stand against them if it came to that. Yet he knew he had to avoid conflict for now. Any disruption to his plans would be too great a risk.


    That evening, Azrael fell into a deep, dreamless sleep – his physical exhaustion took its toll. But the peace did not last long.


    "Mother!" he suddenly screamed, his voice tearing through the silence of the night. Drenched in sweat and with wide-open eyes, he sat upright. His heart pounded violently in his chest as he looked around frantically. The familiar surroundings of his room slowly emerged from the darkness. He took deep breaths in and out as the realization struck him like a cold shiver: "Another nightmare..." His tension eased, and his breathing gradually steadied.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Azrael wiped his forehead and stared at the ceiling. "I have to get rid of these cursed dreams somehow," he murmured, despair evident in his voice. The thought refused to leave him. "More training… maybe it will help." His gaze hardened, filled with determination. "If I wake up because of a nightmare, I’ll train. If I feel lonely, I’ll train even harder. Sooner or later, it has to stop."


    A new idea began to take shape. "I could sleep in the forest. No relatives, no chatter. Just me and my training." The thought of being alone in the wilderness promised peace, but also new challenges. "I’ll provide my own food. Hunting practice… that would be useful." The prospect of supporting himself this way financially made sense to him. "Besides, I need money."


    His expression darkened as his thoughts turned to his bow, the only gift that had ever truly mattered to him. But even that, they had denied him. "They could have at least brought the bow," he growled quietly. Hatred flared within him. "How could they be so indifferent?"


    Suddenly, he froze. "Wait a minute… how did I even get here?" The question gnawed at him. "I was in Care Brune, and now I’m… far away. How is that possible? Was I unconscious for that long?" His thoughts churned, the memory of it seeming blurry.


    "What was I just thinking?" For a moment, his mind went blank, as though someone had thrown a veil over his thoughts. "Well, it can’t have been that important," he muttered, shaking his head. Something gave him pause, but he quickly pushed the thought aside.


    Azrael decided to head into town to search for work. His options were limited, but he knew he had to find a way. Madame Lorena had casually mentioned a wash bucket in her garden that he could use. The coldness in her words hadn’t escaped him, but he tried to brush it off.


    "Under no circumstances can I disturb her morning prayers," he reminded himself, a shiver running down his spine. His hand instinctively moved to the place where his eye used to be. The loss still burned deeply in his soul.


    Quietly, he crept out into the garden. The morning air was cool, and the damp ground chilled his feet. The garden stretched nearly three dozen meters in length and about a dozen meters in width—a secluded, silent world encircled by a dense hedge. At the far end, he spotted a small, weathered wooden shed with a fenced-in area in front of it. Inside, about three dozen chickens scratched at the earth, and four goats stood motionless in the cool dawn. Their soft bleating was the only sound breaking the stillness.


    To his right, a small stream cut through the garden. The current gurgled gently, and beside it, a large tub was embedded into the earth. Here, he could wash himself. Azrael approached the water hesitantly, feeling the icy coldness as it splashed against his skin. He washed quickly, almost in a rush, as if afraid to delay the ritual any longer. Once he was done, he dressed and tied a band around his head—much like an eye patch, to cover the disfigured emptiness on the left side. The sight of his lost eye was hard for him to bear, let alone for others.


    The sun had not yet risen, so he was able to leave the house unnoticed. The stillness of the dawn enveloped everything in an eerie quiet. The day before, he had briefly mentioned his long absence. But Madame Lorena seemed not to care about his words. Her indifference cut deep, but he knew it made no difference to her. With the rune binding him to this place, escape was impossible anyway. He was trapped, just as he was in his nightmares.


    Bard had reacted similarly. Azrael couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t bother him in the slightest if he disappeared. Perhaps he was even relieved by it.


    "For them, I''m nothing but a tool," Azrael thought, unmoved, as he walked through the dim morning twilight. His hand once again brushed against his eye patch. "But that will change. One day, I''ll be strong enough to leave all of this behind."


    "Damn, everyone''s still asleep." Snorting in frustration at his own stupidity, Azrael changed his course. "I''ll add survival training to my exercises," he decided firmly and stepped into the cool morning air of the forest.


    Until the town awoke, he used the time to explore the two chosen spots in the woods. The moss field he had selected stretched out like a green carpet, gently shaded by the dense tree canopies. The trees stood tall and majestic, their thick trunks covered in deep green lichens that bathed the light in a soft, muted glow.


    "This will be where I set up camp," he murmured, as he found the perfect spot at the edge of the moss field. "From here, I’ll have the best access to the necessary resources."


    To the north of the field, a clear, sparkling river wound its way through the forest. The water gently rippled over smooth stones, and the sun broke into shimmering light reflections on the river''s surface. The banks were lined with soft, damp mud, regularly replenished by the constant movement of the water.


    "Perfect." The animals he intended to hunt would gather here to drink. Upon closer inspection, he even spotted a few fish gliding through the clear current, making the river an ideal place for his plans.


    The surroundings were dotted with fallen trees and scattered branches. The bark of the trees was partially overgrown with moss and small fungi. The gnarled, branching trunks and scattered logs provided him with plenty of material to build shelter.


    "I just need to make sure I find the best spots," he thought to himself, scanning the terrain with his sharp gaze. "It will still be hours before the shops open," he mused. "I can use the time to start building the camp."


    A new idea began to take shape in him. Perhaps he could sell part of his hunt. That would help him become financially independent without wasting time on unnecessary work.


    "First, I''ll stack deadwood," he planned. "Then I''ll find someone willing to pay a good price for game meat. Merchants or locals are sure to be interested. If not, I ca do other small works, like cleanig."


    With a clear goal in mind, Azrael set to work. Building the camp was hard labor. The soft ground of the moss field pressed under his feet with each step. The air was fresh and cold, filled with the quiet rustling of the trees and the occasional chirping of birds.


    Hours passed, and when he finally took a break, sweat dripped from his forehead. His hands were stained brown with earth and dirt, and his muscles burned from the effort. Yet, in the heart of the forest, surrounded by the serene beauty of nature, he felt alive—each moment pulling him further away from his past and closer to the independence he longed for.