The child of wolves (English version)

The meeting Part1.

The next morning, Astral woke up with a clear idea in mind. The dream of exploring the world with his friends, of living adventures and becoming a hero, had obsessed him. But he knew that a hero had to know how to defend himself. Adventures, journeys through the world, all of it would be impossible without strength and combat skills. He had heard so many stories from his father, tales of battles, duels, and strategies. He knew this was the key. But for that, he needed a master. And who better than Virion, his father, to teach him this art?

Descending the wooden stairs, each step eliciting a soft creak, he joined his father in the great hall. Virion was already seated at the table, as he was every morning, a steaming cup of tea before him. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing light across the stone walls. Astral approached, his determination palpable. He stopped in front of his father and waited for him to lift his eyes toward him.

"—Father," began Astral in a serious tone, quite different from his usual youthful enthusiasm. "—I want you to teach me how to fight."

Virion raised an eyebrow, visibly intrigued by the determination emanating from his son. He slowly put down his cup, taking the time to observe Astral, noting the tension in his shoulders and the gleam of decision in his eyes.

"—And why this sudden desire to fight, Astral?" asked Virion, his measured tone laced with a hint of curiosity.

Astral, not breaking his father's gaze, responded after a moment of reflection: "—I don't want to remain a child forever. One day, I'll leave this village. I want to see the world, face its dangers. I don't want to be an easy target for those who would block my path. You've always said that we never know what fate holds for us... I want to be ready."

Virion remained silent for a moment, considering his son's words. He saw the sincere desire in Astral—not merely that of a child seeking games, but that of someone who was beginning to understand the weight of responsibilities ahead. Thelaria, busy near the fire, listened carefully, a tender smile playing on her lips. She had always known this moment would come.

"—Mmh..." grumbled Virion, turning slightly toward his wife, perhaps seeking her approval or advice in her gaze.

Thelaria, without lifting her eyes from her work, responded in a calm but assured tone: "—He won't leave you alone until you say yes. And besides, it's better that he learns from you than gets himself into danger elsewhere."

Astral waited, watching his father with a patience tinged with impatience. Finally, Virion slowly nodded.

"—Very well," he said, standing up, his tall figure casting a shadow in the morning light. "—Let's go."

Without another word, he walked over to a corner of the room where his armored gloves were carefully hung on the wall. These gloves, imposing and reinforced with steel plates, were both weapons and survival tools for Virion. Each of the metal claws had been forged to withstand the harshest trials, and their surface gleamed faintly in the dim light of the room.

Astral followed his father, his heart racing with excitement, but aware of the solemnity of the moment. Together, they stepped outside, the crisp morning air greeting them with a refreshing chill. Behind the house stretched a clear area, bordered by ancient trees, perfect for training.

Virion turned to his son. His face had grown serious, focused. He was no longer the kind father, but the warrior about to teach.

"—Fighting, Astral, is not a game. Every movement must be thought out. Every gesture, every step, can be the difference between life and death. You want to learn to fight, but first, you must understand that what I'm about to teach you is not for play."