Chapter 58: Chapter 58: Talking

They give me the sense we can do anything. Better than anyone else. Maybe even better than those dukes in their little villages.”

Luther grinned but did not protest. “Then let’s proceed to the training. If we never surrender, eventually they will know our names.”

They laughed across the hills as night descended upon the earth. They had no idea how late it was—only that tomorrow they would return to this place again.

The sun was positioning itself in the west, painting the sky orange. John and Luther had practiced for hours, their small hands stinging from holding the wooden sticks, their bodies exhausted but with a sense of urgency. Tired or not, they did not want to stop.

“Let’s do it again,”

Luther exclaimed,

standing up from his sitting position and holding his stick in the air.

John groaned, rolling around on the grass.

“You’ll kill me before we ever become warriors. My arms are falling off.”

Luther sneered. “Afraid of losing?”

John sprang up at once, acting indignant. “I never lose.”

They struck again, sticks pounding hard enough to ring off the hillside. Each blow quicker than the last, their bodies young and learning the beat of motion. John’s blows carried the instruction of his father—controlled, crisp, and rhythmic.

Luther’s was a passion in him, a burst of power. His blows full and occasionally trembly, and John adjusted.

Again,

they fell,

cackling maniacally.

“Maybe. maybe you’re improving,” John admitted, panting.

“If this keeps up,

I’ll have to start using real armor on you.”

Luther’s chest inflated with pride. “Told you, someday I’m gonna beat you.”

“Not today,” John chuckled.

They were quiet for a moment, lying and watching clouds drift overhead. Then John suddenly sat up, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

“Did you know what Father took me to yesterday?” he said.

Luther crept closer. “What?”

John’s tone lowered to a whisper, like he was sharing a forbidden secret. “He took me to our family’s secret room. A room only Warrior Lords can go into.

And there was this book inside—an old, dusty book that contains stories about our ancestors. It’s the Book of Warriors.”

Luther’s eyes widened. “What’s in it?”

“All of it,” John breathed, his voice hardly above a whisper. “It tells us about how our fathers had wars, the powers they found, even how they equated their power with something else.”

Luther’s focus was burning. “What kind of powers?”

John hesitated before continuing. “Fire breathe powers. You’ve watched Father employ fire breathe in battle, have you? That power was not his and his alone. He was blessed with it by a monster—Gidora.”

Luther gulped. “The fire-breathing

monster?…..

Isn’t it dangerous?”

John nodded.

“Not to Father. Gidora is his friend.

He once saved Father’s life and even gave him the power to breathe fire. Father used it to defend the village and push away invaders who attempted to destroy us.”

Luther could not imagine it—Eric standing above them all, flames shooting out in puffs with each breath, enemies running for cover. It was more myth than fact.

“And others,” John continued. “Stone breathe, wind breathe… even something evil.” His face turned serious. “The book says vampires employed acid breathe. They drank the blood of humans, and when there was none of that left, they breathed acid that dissolved the bodies into nothing but bones.”

Luther shivered at the thought.

“That’s… terrible.”

“Right. Father says not every power has to be used. Some call forth destruction instead of protection.”

They sat there quietly, the weight of John’s words sinking in. Luther’s small head was spinning with questions—about the book, about Gidora, about what else John’s family might be hiding.

“You’ll take me to that room one day,

won’t you?” Luther asked.

John smiled. “Maybe. If Father agrees. But for now you’ll just have to trust me when I tell you there’s more. I’ll tell you little by little.”

Luther grunted but smiled. John’s secrets always got him nervous, but excited him. He wanted to hear it all, but loved how each was unearthed like a hidden treasure.

The lads arose again, with a view to practicing some more. But before long, their practicing had become playing. They chased each other up the hill, laughing as they stumbled over rocks. They threw rocks at distant trees, competing to see who could hit the sharpest mark.

They even made sport of being great Lords, barking commands at imaginary troops and adopting great attitudes.

Hours ticked by like minutes. The sun dropped, shadows lengthening on the hill.

Finally exhausted, they lay down on the grass again, their bodies heaving with laughter that trickled away into stillness. The world was small and safe, as if nothing could keep at a distance here.

Then Luther sat bolt upright. His eyes expanded. “John… the sun is setting.”

John turned around and noticed the sky darkening. His stomach dropped. “Oh no. Dad said I had to get home before dark.”

Luther blanched. “Mine too! If my dad gets wind that I’m staying this late—”

They looked at each other, fear mounting like a raging fire. Both could already imagine the lecture they were going to get.

“We’re dead,”

John whispered dramatically.

“Totally dead,” Luther agreed.

They stood stock-still in shock for a moment. Then, sharing the same thought, they both laughed.

“Come on!”

John shouted,

grabbing hold of his stick and racing down the hill.

Luther was close behind him, his legs pumping with all their might. They stumbled, staggered, and nearly fell down the hillside, but neither of them gave in.

The day’s games and sports were forgotten—now they were running for their lives from their fathers’ rage.

Their laughter followed them as they ran, merging with the biting night air. They were but two boys—dreamers, friends, and would-be soldiers—yet still unaware of the destiny that was waiting in store for them.

Every step towards the village recalled their fathers’ stern faces, the reprimand that would certainly follow.

“What if Father confins me to the training hall for a week?” John gasped, half in jest, half in fear.

Luther, panting beside him, exclaimed,

“More than my dad.

He’ll make me work in the fields with no supper!”

Both of them actorishly groaned together, but immediately the groans became helpless laughter. They were scared, but they were together in a way that everything was improved.

By the time they saw village lights, there was something to be remembered always.

Then…

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