Beyond The Waning Light of Paradise

Chapter 17: Of Friendship & Bloodlust

The streets of Amberheart were bustling with life, but to Silas, everything felt distant and surreal. After the disastrous ceremony, Silas returned home, his mind replaying the event repeatedly, trying to find something he could have done differently. Rowan had walked him back, offering words of comfort, but nothing seemed to reach Silas. The failure weighed too heavily on him.

Now, with Silas safely at home, Rowan also decided to head home. He hoped to find something there to cheer Silas up or at least distract him from the overwhelming disappointment.

As Rowan wandered through the quieter parts of the district, his thoughts remained fixed on Silas's sorrow. Each step felt heavier, weighed down by his friend's disappointment. Lost in these reflections, he almost didn't notice the group of noble children chatting nearby. It wasn't until their laughter turned cruel that their words broke through his reverie. He stopped in his tracks as he caught a snippet of their conversation.

"Well, we need to talk about his mother, no? I say she had a bit too much 'fun' while the War Master was away. Makes you wonder if the poor man even knows he's raising another man's son?" one of the nobles jeered, loud enough for Rowan to hear. "I don't think the War Master's own son would be a wastrel like him."

Rowan's blood began to boil, but he kept walking, trying to ignore the insults. He told himself that Silas had already heard enough cruel words today; getting into a fight wouldn't help. But then another noble, laughing, added, "Haha, that would be a fine tale, no? The grand and proud War Master being cuckolded by some commoner. Maybe that's why the boy's so weak—he's not really his son at all."

Rowan stopped, his fists clenching at his sides. He knew he should keep going, get to his home, and avoid trouble, but the words dug into him like knives. Before he could convince himself otherwise, he heard another voice, mocking and cruel. "I've seen him practising swordplay with a commoner in the training ground. Perhaps he knew he would be a failure and is aiming to be a soldier instead. How pathetic!"

Rowan tried to walk away, but each taunt struck like a physical blow. His deep bond with Silas clashed with his natural instinct for self-preservation. Still, something inside him snapped when he heard the final insult. He couldn't let this go. Not today. Not after everything Silas had endured. "You better take that back right now!" he snarled, his voice sharp and dangerous.

Surprised by Rowan's sudden appearance, the noble boys quickly recovered their arrogance. The tallest of the group, a boy with a cruel smirk, stepped forward. "Or what? You'll fight us? Oh, isn't it that hound of the Lonestars, the one who practises swordplay with the slut's son? What the fuck do you want, dog?"

Rowan didn't bother with more words. He lunged at the tall boy, his fist connecting with a solid thud that sent the noble reeling. Being a year older than some of the attackers, Rowan had strength and skill on his side. He managed to knock down the boy who had made the vile comment about Silas's mother, his fist connecting with a satisfying crunch. The noble hit the ground, dazed and bleeding from his nose.

The other boys, however, were not easily deterred. There were seven of them in total, and while Rowan fought with all his might, they began to use their Soul Weaver abilities to turn the tide. Rowan suddenly felt a strange pressure wrapping around his limbs. It was as if the air had turned thicker, each movement a struggle. A boy grinned maliciously, his hand glowing faintly. 'Soul Bind,' Rowan realised with a startle. The boy was using his power to slow him down, making every swing of his fist feel like he was underwater.

Another attacker used Spirit Infusion to enhance his blows with ethereal energy, causing Rowan's strikes to feel less solid as if the boy's attacks were partly phantasmal. The additional strain made Rowan's counterattacks less effective, and the pain intensified with each hit.