Blood & Kingdoms The Rise of Altan

The first light of morning began to touch the camp. A light mist danced above the ground, and the birds were slowly waking up.

Thalor sat on a rock near the campfire, whittling a stick with a small knife. Llyn rubbed her eyes and groggily walked up to Altan.

"You were on top of me when I woke up. Why?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Altan frowned. "I was dreaming. You were falling. I caught you."

"What kind of dream was that?" she asked with suspicion.

Altan shrugged. "You were sitting on a golden throne, holding a glowing bow. Then you started to fall. I reached out and caught you. Then... I found myself on the ground."

Without lifting his gaze, Thalor muttered, "Sounds like you actually fell this time."

Altan turned to Llyn. "Guess the mana reflex works in dreams too."

Thalor's eyebrows lifted slightly. "What do you mean?"

Altan hesitated. "Like I said last night... Sometimes, just before something happens, my body reacts. It's like time bends… and I move before I even realize it."

Llyn's eyes widened. "So if someone shoots an arrow at you, you dodge it before you even see it?"

Altan nodded. "Exactly."

Thalor took a few steps toward him. "Give me an example. When did this start?"

Altan squinted, gazing into the distance. "Once when I was little, a snake lunged at me. I pushed it away before even seeing it. Later in fights too—there were times I dodged blades... but I don't know how."

Thalor stopped. His eyes scanned Altan's posture, his breathing, the micro-reactions in his muscles.

"Hold on," he said suddenly.

He pulled a small stone from his pocket and, without warning, threw it at Altan.

Just as it was about to hit him square in the forehead, Altan leaned back, and the stone grazed his shoulder, falling to the ground.

Llyn watched with her mouth open. "You didn't even get a warning!"

Altan was just as surprised. "I don't know what I did... It just happened."

Thalor took a step back. He inhaled deeply, slowly nodding. "I've only seen this once before," he said quietly.

Altan and Llyn fell silent.

"Mana usually flows with the mind or the spirit. But sometimes... rarely... the body itself is born with mana. Your reflexes are fused with it."

Altan paused. "Is that... a good thing?"

Thalor didn't answer—he just smiled.

Llyn couldn't hold back. "So you're a special kind... But you still fall flat on your face. Fascinating."

Altan turned. "I didn't fall. Tactical maneuver."

Llyn shook her head. "Right. 'Tactical ground smacking.' New mana level, I suppose."

All three of them burst into laughter. The sun was slowly rising, and a new day was beginning in the forest. But that morning, something had changed in Thalor's eyes.

He no longer looked at Altan as just a child…

There was something more.

Llyn's laughter echoed across the hill. Altan had just lost his balance and landed face-first into the dirt.

"That's what, the fourth time today?" she asked between laughs.

Altan pushed himself up from the ground, brushing dust from his clothes and pride. "That doesn't count. The stone was slippery."

"Sure, sure," Llyn teased, winking.

Thalor stepped in. "If you two are done rolling in the dirt, it's time. We're registering you."

Altan hesitated. "Registering us for what?"

"The Mercenary Guild," Thalor replied. "Everyone grows through missions. You'll start at the very bottom. Like everyone else."

Llyn blinked. "You're serious?"

Thalor nodded. "Lowest rank. Scout tier. Escort duties, maybe cargo transport. If you're lucky."

Altan looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he caught Thalor's gaze and went quiet.

Thalor signed the initial forms himself. Altan and Llyn stood side by side as they received their identity seals. They were official now. It didn't feel like it yet—but it was a start.

Their first task was to escort an old farmer's caravan three villages away. There were no enemies. But walking under the sun and making sure the donkey didn't run off was a battle in itself.

Altan observed everything. The skies, movements in the bushes, the sounds hidden inside silence. It was instinct—leftover habits from another life.

Llyn, on the other hand, learned by talking. During missions, she asked everything:

"What's inside the caravan? What if we get attacked? Should we draw our blades or run?"

Sometimes Thalor answered. Sometimes he just shrugged.

Days passed. More missions came. With each one, the demands increased. Sometimes they had to track prints on a forest trail. Sometimes they had to argue with caravan leaders.

One evening, Altan turned to Llyn. "Who do you think is the strongest person in this world?"

Llyn thought for a moment. "No idea. Maybe one of the kings? Or a swordmaster?"

"And mana levels... do they really have limits?"

Thalor called out from a distance, "If you live long enough, you'll realize the only limit is yourself."

Altan didn't answer. But that night, sleep eluded him.

---

During those missions, their friendship evolved. They were no longer just fighters side by side—they were growing up together.

One morning, Llyn looked at Altan. "You're different today."

"How so?"

"You woke up early like always. But today, your face isn't tense."

Altan glanced at his reflection in a water basin. A quiet smile formed.

Today was his birthday. Six years had passed.

He was now sixteen.