The long awaited day

After many more months of Valen doing the same things, the day finally arrived

Valen turned ten beneath a sky full of stars.

There was no party, no feast just waiting for the night— just a warm stew with too much pepper, a new leather-bound notebook from Elyse, and a rare, sharp nod of approval from Clyde. That alone felt like a festival.

The day had passed quickly: sunrise meditation, a few theory questions, an afternoon spent organizing Elyse’s rune stones and then hauling iron for Clyde, who swore up and down that “real strength still beats theory in a pinch.” Valen had protested, but he carried the load anyway.

He hadn’t tried casting. Not once.He wanted to wait

He was ten now. He thought if he stayed quiet, if he waited patiently — if he deserved it — then maybe something would happen.

But nothing had. Not yet.

----------------------------------------

That night, long after the fire had burned low and the candles had been snuffed, Valen lay in his bed, eyes open, staring at the wooden beams above.

He couldn’t sleep.

The room was quiet — the kind of quiet that made your thoughts feel too loud.

His body was tired, but his mind spun.

I’m ten now.

I’ve waited. I’ve studied. I’ve learned everything I could.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

So why does it still feel like I’m waiting for something to begin?

He turned onto his side, eyes flicking toward the edge of his small shelf: five notebooks, stacked in order, each one filled with his crooked handwriting, his drawings, his diagrams. Next to them sat the carved wooden rod he still used during meditation. He picked it up and turned it in his hands — smooth from years of holding, but still simple. Just a stick.

Is that all I am? A boy with books and no spark?

He tried to imagine what it would feel like — real magic humming beneath his skin, his hands glowing, wind swirling around him like it did around Elyse. He imagined lifting a stone with just his will, igniting a candle with a word, drawing a rune midair and feeling the world shift in response.

But it was just that.

Imagination.

A weight settled in his chest — not quite sadness, not quite anger. Something else. Something older.

A feeling like… the road had already turned, and he hadn’t noticed.

----------------------------------------

Outside, the wind stirred the branches.

Valen sat up slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. The moonlight cut through the shutter gaps in slivers, painting pale stripes across the floor.

He closed his eyes and breathed.

Not to cast — he couldn’t.

But to listen.

Like he had done a hundred times before.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The quiet changed.

Just a little.

There was something in the air now — not sound, not wind, not scent. A presence.

It felt like pressure. Like something unseen was watching. Measuring.

His breath caught in his throat.

He opened his eyes.

The room looked the same.

But everything felt different.

Then — from somewhere inside him, or maybe far above — something moved.

A warmth. Slow and deep. Like a spark crawling up through the soil.

His fingers clenched around the wooden rod.

He stood.

Not because someone told him to.

But because it felt right.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

And then — a pulse.

Not light. Not fire.

Just knowing.

A word echoed in his head — one he had never read, never heard, but understood all the same.

A title. Heavy. Inevitable.

Like footsteps he hadn’t realized were his own

…

Legendary Swordsman