Chapter 41: His Father’s pride

The Duke of Nyxian, Valerian, was sitting in his large study.

He was holding a letter in his hand, a parchment from his son, Lucian.

“Dear Father,” the letter began, with Lucian’s elegant handwriting flowing across the page.

“I hope this letter finds you well. My days in St. Celeste are filled with purpose and devotion.

I attend daily prayers, I study the scriptures with diligence, and I find myself closer and closer to Zhalyr’s grace.

The instructors speak very highly of my progress, and I have even started helping some of the younger novices with their studies…”

Valerian let out a laugh, a deep and booming sound that echoed in the spacious study.

He had feared that Lucian, with his inclination for frivolous activities and his aversion to discipline, would have trouble inside the strict confines of the Church.

But it seemed his worries had been unfounded.

The boy was thriving.

He continued reading, and his smile widened when Lucian detailed his encounters with both Paladin Odessa and Prince Aerion.

“Imagine my surprise, Father, when I discovered that my own cousin, the formidable Paladin Odessa, had been assigned to oversee the security of the capital.

We shared a lovely afternoon remembering our childhood antics, and she even offered to give me some advanced combat training.

I must confess, Father, that I am tempted to accept her offer.

Perhaps a bit of martial prowess wouldn’t hurt, even for a humble priest.”

And then, the news that really made the Duke’s eyes shine:

“Father, you will never guess who else I met. None other than Prince Aerion himself!

He was visiting St. Celeste for official business, and we had the chance to speak at length.

He is a true warrior, Father, a shining example of the Paladin’s path.

His presence inspires awe and respect, and I believe his guidance could be invaluable as I continue my journey within the Church.”

Valerian put down the letter, with a wide smile on his face.

He had known Prince Aerion since he was a child, and had witnessed his transformation from a stubborn youth to a formidable Paladin.

Aerion’s influence on Lucian could be invaluable.

The prince’s favor could open doors, secure Lucian a prestigious position within the Church hierarchy, and perhaps even a place within the royal court itself.

His son, a confidant of the future king?

That thought filled Valerian with deep satisfaction.

He had always imagined Lucian as a warrior, a leader who would continue the Nyxian legacy of strength and ambition.

But now, it seemed the boy had chosen a different path, one that, with the right guidance, could lead him to even greater heights.

The possibilities were limitless.

“Alaric,” he called, his voice rumbling in the room.

His personal assistant, a man with graying hair and impeccable posture, appeared in the doorway.

“My lord?”

“Bring the wine from the ’08 harvest. We must celebrate the future of House Nyxian.”

“Excellent news from the young master, then,” Alaric said with a genuine smile of relief.

“The best,” confirmed the Duke. “At this rate, he will be a Cardinal before thirty. The boy has instinct.”

“It is a relief to hear that, my lord,” Alaric added in a low voice. “With the news arriving from the north… Baron Croft’s son was called to draft last week since he turned fifteen just two months ago.”

The Duke sighed, but there was no sadness in the gesture. It was the sigh of a strategist evaluating a sacrificed piece.

“Exactly, at fifteen years old, either you put on the robe or they give you a spear and send you to die as cannon fodder.” His gaze turned cold like the steel of the swords on the wall. “Croft’s son will fulfill his duty: dying so better men can rule, at least in St. Celeste, Lucian is safe from that slaughterhouse.”

Alaric nodded, lowering his gaze. “A wise decision, my lord.”

“Wise, indeed,” concluded the Duke, recovering his composure. “Now, that wine. The future of House Nyxian is built on the blood of the weak.”

***

The smell of dried herbs and forgotten remedies filled the small hidden room in a secluded corner of the St. Celeste infirmary.

Raziel, Lucian, and Lara were huddled around a table, with piles of botany texts open before them.

“This is impossible,” Lucian complained, throwing a leather-bound volume onto the table with a dull thud. “Who knew there were so many types of leaves? And roots? And… are those berries?”

Lara frowned.

“It is more than just identifying plants, Lucian,” she said, her voice patient but firm. “It is about understanding their properties, their interactions…”

Lucian groaned, burying his head in his hands.

“Late? We are practically old geezers! I heard that most Healers start their training as children, learning from their parents or the village elders, they spend years as apprentices, perfecting their skills, before even thinking about applying.”

“We are doomed, Raz. Absolutely doomed, they will laugh at us and kick us out of the infirmary before we can identify a dandelion.”

Lara, although clearly worried, tried to maintain a minimum of optimism. “Maybe it is not that serious, Lucian. We all learn fast, and we have each other for support, we have to.”

Raziel knew they were facing an uphill battle.

He had witnessed the rigor of the Healers’ training in his past life, the years of dedicated study, the countless hours they spent tending to the sick and wounded.

“Lucian is right,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “We are in over our heads, we don’t have the foundation, nor the years of experience, to compete with those who have dedicated their life to this path.”

Lucian hit the table with his fist, a gesture of pure helplessness.

“We are finished! We will never make it!”

The force of the blow caused a sudden, dry cough in Raziel and he brought his hand to his mouth by instinct, turning his head so they wouldn’t see him.

When he pulled his hand away, he saw a stain on his palm.

It wasn’t red.

It was a dark trail, almost oily, on the tip of his thumb.

’The invisible clock was ticking inside his chest.’

He wiped the stain on his tunic before they could see it.

“Wait,” Lara said, her voice trembling as she felt Raziel’s raw despair. “There has to be… a solution, because we cannot give up, Raziel, you always have a plan.”

Raziel took a deep breath, forcing the panic to retreat.

The metallic taste of corruption lingered in his mouth.

Lara was right.

Panicking was a luxury he couldn’t afford. His time was running out, literally.

He looked at the books, the diagrams, the mountain of knowledge they didn’t have time to climb.

And then, the idea hit.

“We need a teacher,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Someone who can speed up our learning, who understands the true depths of the Healer’s path.”

Lucian let out a bitter laugh.

“A teacher? Who in their right mind would accept three novices with no experience and a strange ability to attract the Inquisition?”

Raziel’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint being born in them.

“Someone who owes you a favor,” he said, and his gaze locked onto Lucian. “And who cannot refuse.”

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