Chapter Fifteen — Beyond The Gates
Morning came quickly to the Clinton palace.
Birdsong drifted through open windows, carried on a cool breeze that stirred curtains and leaves alike. Servants moved through the halls in practiced rhythm—the quiet bustle of a household waking to routine.
Azeroth's eyes fluttered open.
Deep, dark pupils adjusted to the soft golden light spilling in from the window, warmth brushing across his face.
He sat up with an ease that hadn't been there before.
Yawning, he swung his legs over the bed and rose, a faint, unguarded smile tugging at his lips as he made his way toward the bath.
The water was quick. Refreshing.
He found himself humming without realizing it.
Last night had passed without any dreams—no fragmented nightmares dragging him awake. Just rest. Deep, satisfying rest.
And today—
Today, he would be receiving the cores.
The thought alone brightened his mood. As he dressed, his mind wandered freely—imagining the strength he would gain, the limits he could push, the distance he could close between himself and everything else ahead.
Standing before the mirror, Azeroth studied his reflection for a brief moment.
He nodded once—to the familiar, handsome face staring back—then turned away.
With a lightness to his step, he left his chambers and headed toward his father's study, certain he would be there.
⸻
Along the way, he passed several servants.
Most greeted him as usual, but something was… off.
After bowing, their gazes lingered a fraction too long. The guards in particular watched him with stiff attention, eyes heavy with something unspoken.
Azeroth slowed.
He searched their faces for answers.
Yet the moment he met their eyes, they looked away—too quickly. Too deliberately.
Did something happen?
His shoulders tightened, unease creeping in, but after a moment he exhaled and continued on.
⸻
He stopped before the doors to the study.
Even before they opened, he felt it.
The air was heavy—pressed down by something unseen, something severe enough to make the corridor feel narrower than it was. The soldiers stationed outside straightened the instant they noticed him.
Their eyes heavy with something unsaid.
Yet when they spoke, their words did not quite match.
"Greetings, Young Master."
The courtesy rang hollow.
The doors opened soundlessly.
Azeroth stepped inside.
The study was spacious, its walls lined with shelves of old tomes and sealed artifacts. Morning light filtered through tall windows, yet it failed to warm the room.
His father sat behind the desk.
He was not alone.
A man in dark steel armor stood opposite him—broad-shouldered, straight-backed, posture rigid with discipline. A medal on his chest marked him as high-ranking, but that wasn't what drew Azeroth's attention.
It was the weight of him.
Like a blade left unsheathed for too long.
The conversation didn't pause when Azeroth entered.
It ended.
Darius turned.
"You're early," he said. A brief pause. "Good."
Azeroth took a step forward—
And stopped.
His father's eyes were red.
—Not the tired kind.
"Did something—"
Darius lifted a hand, cutting him off—not sharply, but firmly.
"Azeroth," he said, gesturing to the armored man, "this here is Garet."
The man turned fully, eyes sharp and assessing. He bowed—not deeply, but precisely.
"An honor, young master."
"He is your new instructor," Darius continued. "And will be overseeing your training from this point onward."
Instructor?
Azeroth's gaze flicked between them.
"I thought—" he began, then stopped himself. "What about Uncle Bran?"
Garet remained silent, his gaze never leaving Azeroth, studying him the way one might assess a weapon.
"Circumstances have changed," Darius said evenly. "Bran was injured during his journey. He will be unable to train with you for the time being."
The words took a moment to settle.
Then—
"Injured?" Azeroth said sharply. "Uncle Bran is hurt?"
He stepped forward without realizing it.
"Is he okay? Where is he?"
Darius held his gaze.
"He is alive," he said. "And recovering."
Azeroth searched his father's face.
"What happened?" he pressed. "How badly is he hurt?"
Silence.
Darius looked away.
The answer was already there.
"…Can I see him?" Azeroth asked quietly.
The refusal came without hesitation.
"No."
Azeroth stiffened.
Darius met his eyes again. "Not yet. He's not in a state you should see."
Frustration surged—but Azeroth forced it down.
"This was his father, the man who never refused him anything. If he was saying no now, there had to be a reason."
He drew in a slow breath. Then another.
"…Fine," he said at last. "If you say there's a reason, I'll trust that there is."
He turned, ready to leave—
Then stopped.
The reason he'd come here in the first place resurfaced.
Slowly, Azeroth turned back.
"…Father," he said. "The cores."
Darius closed his eyes.
For a brief moment, the weight on his shoulders seemed heavier than before.
"…Just," he exhaled, opening his eyes again, "go with Garet."
That was all.
Garet stepped forward.
A subtle smile tugged at the corner of his lips—one that said he was satisfied with his observations.
"I'll take it from here," he said. "This way young master."
Azeroth hesitated, then nodded once and followed.
⸻
They walked in silence.
Azeroth's thoughts were tangled—Bran, his father's eyes, the unanswered questions circling endlessly.
But as time passed, something else began to bother him.
The corridors were wrong.
He had lived here his entire life. He knew the estate's paths better than most.
"This isn't the way to the training grounds," Azeroth said at last.
Garet didn't slow.
Didn't turn.
He only smiled.
"Correct."
"…Then where are we going?"
Garet pushed open a gate.
Beyond it lay the outer edge of the estate—and the open world beyond.
Azeroth paused.
Ahead, the land stretched outward—untamed, quiet, and dense with towering trees whose shadows swallowed the path ahead.
The forest.
Unease crept in as understanding began to form.
"Why are we heading that way?" Azeroth asked.
Garet stepped through without looking back.
Left with no real choice, Azeroth followed.
But the closer they drew to the forest line, the more cautious he became.
Watching the broad back of his new instructor, apart from finding it somewhat familiar, Azeroth couldn't help but wonder—
Where exactly are you taking me?