Marek sank onto a worn wooden chair, muscles burning from the fight. Inside his mind, Velkaroth stirred, his voice breaking the silence with a teasing edge.
"Dude, that was your first fireblast? I've seen toddlers throw better tantrums," Velkaroth scoffed, a grin practically audible in his tone. "Seriously, it looked like you were trying to light a campfire with wet sticks."
Marek grimaced, rubbing a sore spot on his arm. Yeah, thanks for the confidence boost, he thought. "It was hard. You expect me to be perfect the first time?"
Velkaroth snorted. "Nope. But you were definitely far from it. Not gonna lie, I thought we were about to get roasted instead of the worm."
Marek rolled his eyes but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Well, I'll get better."
"Bet. Just don't set the village on fire, okay? I'm not cleaning that up."
The banter eased some of Marek's tension as he tried to catch his breath.
Through the open window, he saw Alexandria sitting quietly in the kitchen, sipping tea with his parents. Now that he thought about it, they all looked comfortable around her. His parents clearly knew who she was.
Later, the soft knock came at his door.
When Alexandria stepped inside, Marek froze.
She was young—about the same age as his missing brother, twenty-three—but she carried herself with calm confidence. Her eyes scanned the small room quickly before settling on him.
Marek's throat tightened. He felt exposed, awkward, and scared all at once.
Marek didn't know what to say. Instead, he swallowed hard and tried to steady his shaking hands.
Alexandria's voice was calm but firm as she began, "I saw what you did back there. Fighting that worm wasn't easy, but you held your own." She paused, glancing at Marek's tired expression. "I kept it quiet for now. The village doesn't need more fear."
Marek blinked, surprised. "You did? Why?"
She smiled faintly. "Because sometimes people need hope more than panic." She reached into her satchel and pulled out a folded parchment, handing it to him. "This is for you."
Marek unfolded it carefully. It was a ticket stamped with an emblem—a sword crossed with a lion's head.
"It's for the KnightRounds," she explained. "An exam to become a knight. It's not just about swordplay; it tests skill, strength, and mind. Every year, each kingdom hosts its own. This year, it's happening here."
Marek's eyes widened. "KnightRounds?"
Alexandria nodded. "Yes. The continent is divided into three kingdoms: Dornthal to the north, Eisenstadt to the south, and Calberne in the center. Each holds its own KnightRounds, but this year, Calberne's event draws the largest crowd."
Marek folded the ticket slowly, absorbing the weight of it.
Then she shifted the conversation. "About your brother."
His heart skipped. "What about Lukas?"
Alexandria's gaze turned serious. "He's on a quest—one most knights wouldn't dare attempt. It's considered impossible, even for veterans."
Marek's breath caught. "Do you know where he is?"
She shook her head with a slight smile. "That's a secret. I won't spoil the fun. Let him have his adventure."
Without another word, Alexandria turned and left the room, leaving Marek alone with the letter in his hand and a thousand questions in his mind.
---
Marek lay still in his bed, arms behind his head, eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling above him.
His body felt like it had been tossed around in a barrel, rolled down a hill, and then set on fire.
Alexandria had left hours ago, and the village had gone quiet. But inside his chest, Velkaroth was very much awake.
"You know," Velkaroth began casually, "I've seen people fight dragons, command storms, and punch holes through mountains. But watching you throw fire was, honestly, the saddest thing I've witnessed in five centuries."
Marek groaned. "Can you maybe hold back the insult for one minute? I got slammed into a wall like five times."
"Oh, I counted," Velkaroth replied with a snort. "Six times. And that last one was entirely your fault. You charged with your left foot first. Who does that?"
"I don't know!" Marek snapped, then sighed as he turned to his side. "I've never fought before. I don't know how any of this works. I was literally just a normal kid a few hours ago."
"You're not normal anymore," Velkaroth said, his tone light but steady. "And since we're stuck together, I need you to at least act like you've got a basic survival instinct."
"I'm trying," Marek muttered. "But everything is happening too fast. The worm, the dragon soul, Alexandria, the KnightRounds…"
Velkaroth perked up. "Right, that weird name. Explain that to me again. Properly this time."
Marek closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "Alright. So, the KnightRounds. It's this big exam—continental, not just local. It only happens once every six years, and it's hosted by all three kingdoms together. This year, it's Calberne's turn."
"Calberne," Velkaroth repeated. "This place is Calberne, right?"
"Exactly," Marek said, a slight smile forming. "The other two are Eisenstadt, the one by the rivers and trade routes, and Dornthal, which is just mountains and stone fortresses."
Velkaroth whistled. "That explains the names. Sounds like a medieval wrestling league."
"They sort of are," Marek said, shrugging. "Anyway, the KnightRounds test everything. Not just combat, but also leadership, decision-making, magic, endurance, and even weird moral scenarios. One year, they made candidates save villagers while a fake army attacked them. The point isn't just strength. It's about who you are under pressure."
Velkaroth was silent for a moment, then said, "Sounds tough, and also wildly unfair."
"It is," Marek admitted. "But if you pass, you're not just some knight from a farm village. You get real status and connections. You can train with the elites, command forces, even join the royal guard if you score high enough."
"And you're seriously going to try that?" Velkaroth asked. "Because if we're doing this, you need more than just dramatic speeches and pity-fireballs."
"I don't want to try," Marek said slowly. "I need to. I want to protect this village, and my parents. And I want to find Lukas."
"Ah, yes. Your mysterious older brother on his super secret impossible quest. Very anime of him."
"He's out there somewhere," Marek said. "Alexandria wouldn't tell me where, but I could see it in her face. He's doing something dangerous. And I'm tired of being the one left behind."
"Alright then. Let's talk training. We're on a tight schedule, and you're still about as threatening as wet kindling."
"Thanks."
"No problem."
Marek waited, expecting another joke, but Velkaroth's tone shifted into something more focused.
"Look, your biggest issue isn't the flame. You have the fire. I'm literally living in your ribcage. The problem is your release. Your body doesn't know how to use mana efficiently yet. That's why you burn out so fast."
"So how do I fix that?" Marek asked. "Is it like meditation, or some breathing thing?"
"It's part of it," Velkaroth said. "But your mana is unique now. You're not drawing it from your gut like normal mages. Mine is inside you—so your magic is going to grow like a second skin. The more you fight, the more it learns. And the more it learns, the stronger it gets. You're building a system based on reaction, not repetition."
"So it adapts to me?"
"Exactly," Velkaroth said. "It takes in how you move, how you react, how you think in the middle of battle. It's not just you casting spells. It's you becoming the spell. That's how true flamebound magic works."
Marek let that sink in. "So, if I train my body, and put myself in real situations... I'll grow faster?"
"Yes. And I have the greatest idea in the entire history of bad ideas."
"Oh no."
"We find the worm."
Marek sat up in bed. "You want me to fight it again?"
"Not fight, but dance."
Marek stared at the ceiling in disbelief.
Velkaroth continued, undeterred. "Think about it. You already know how it moves. You're fast enough to dodge it, even now. The goal isn't to kill it. It's to train with it, and to sharpen your instincts and force your mana to grow under pressure."
"And if it eats me?"
"Then I die with you," Velkaroth said. "So don't mess it up."
Marek groaned. "This is insane."
"No, this is genius. You learn better when you're terrified. Most mages train in safe arenas with training dummies and spark tests. But you? You've got a living monster that already hates you."
"You're supposed to be ancient and wise."
"I am, and I'm also completely correct. Come on. Deep down, you know this is the fastest way."
Marek laid back again, staring at the ticket to the KnightRounds on his nightstand. He felt the dragon soul burn faintly in his chest.
"You're really not going to let this go, are you?"
"Not even slightly. Tomorrow, we start. And trust me, you'll thank me after the third near-death experience."
Marek closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
"Fine. Tomorrow."
"Let's cook."
"…Don't ever say that again."
---
The next morning, Marek slipped out of the house just as the sun peeked over the hills.
His body still ached, but the decision had been made.
He told his mother he was just going for a walk around the village, which wasn't even a lie.
Berwald was large enough that a quiet stroll could mean anything—and thankfully, nobody questioned him when he wandered past the western watch fields and into the woods.
He stopped at the edge of the trees, took a breath, and tied his blue-and-black hair back tightly.
"You sure about this?" he muttered under his breath.
A rustle beside him made him glance down.
Velkaroth emerged from the underbrush, tail flicking, small claws scraping over a rock.
In this form, he barely came up to Marek's waist, but he moved like he thought he was ten feet tall.
"It's too late to chicken out now," Velkaroth said. "You already walked into the scary part of the forest. You turn back now and you're certified coward."
Marek adjusted his cloak and frowned. "I'm not chickening out. I'm just thinking."
"Thinking is for wizards with back pain," Velkaroth snapped. "We're warriors now, and warriors move."
Marek didn't answer.
His stomach twisted as they walked deeper.
The trunks of the trees were so wide they could've hidden five people behind them, and the branches above blocked out most of the morning light. .
"So… where is it?" Marek asked, glancing around.
Velkaroth sniffed the air and hopped onto a fallen log. "That way," he said, pointing with his snout toward a break in the trees. "Smells like bug guts and monster pee. Definitely worm territory."
Marek hesitated. "Are we sure we want to do this?"
Velkaroth stared at him. "No. We're absolutely not sure. Which is exactly why we're doing it. Come on. Don't tell me you're scared already."
"I am scared," Marek hissed. "That thing nearly killed me yesterday. And I'm supposed to just jog up to it and wave hello?"
Velkaroth rolled his eyes so hard it was audible. "Listen here, you overgrown egg—fear is healthy. But too much fear turns you into a—"
"Let me guess. A pussy?"
"Yes. A giant magical one. And I refuse to be bonded to a magical pussy."
Marek glared. "Why do you even talk like this?"
"Because I've been dead for centuries and I'm bored! And because if I acted like some ancient wise dragon with riddles and poetry, you'd have tuned me out day one."
Fair point.
They continued forward.
Then, they saw it.
Beyond a rise, the worm lay soft around a small hill of crushed stone and dead trees. It was bigger than Marek remembered.
Marek froze.
Velkaroth didn't.
"There it is," he whispered with a twisted little grin. "Our training partner."
"Velk… this was a mistake."
"Wrong. This is a warm-up," Velkaroth said.