Lioren Duskshell

The training ring echoed with the whack of wooden blades striking bark-armor and the sharp exhales of exertion. The air smelled of sap and steel and the faint promise of coming change. Lioren moved like a shadow behind the sparring pairs, boots silent on moss and dirt. He said nothing. He never did. His presence alone was a correction. When he stopped behind someone, their posture straightened. When he merely looked, footwork adjusted. No one dared break focus under his gaze, his presence a constant reminder to sharpen and steady.

He didn’t need to shout. That was Oryn’s method of gathering attention, not his. Tonight, his armor bore new scrapes. He’d tested the recruits harder than usual, demanding reflex and readiness beyond form. Not because war had come, not yet. But because it would. Whether they followed Aurelian’s path of preservation or Thorne’s cry of revelation, the Glen would not remain untouched. And the stars were stirring.

Lioren’s own blade rested against his shoulder. He hadn’t used it tonight. Not yet. But his militia watched him, as they always did, waiting for the moment he would step in and remind them that there was no substitute for practice. Hisstag beetle sprite, Ghorak, pressed wariness into his chest. A silent warning. The winds had shifted.

He looked up, past the branches and lanterns to the night sky above. Velithra’s constellation—wings outspread, antennae curled—burned faint behind the golden veil of Caelaure’s setting glow. Like a memory. Or a promise. Or a reckoning. “Velithra stirs.” He rumbled, and the sparring stopped as the recruits turned to look and bear witness. The constellation did indeed seem to stir faintly, restlessly in the sky, and Ghorak pressed again into Lioren’s chest. He laid his palm flat, as if to say I see it, too.

The people of the Glen whispered. Would Aurelian keep them hidden beneath rose and root, watching the kingdom crumble from afar? Would Thorne draw fire to their doorstep by daring to speak Velithra’s name in defiance of the Creed? Lioren did not speak of politics. He prepared. That was his duty. He stepped into the ring.

The recruits stilled. Breath caught. One young man dropped his wooden blade in anxiety, but Lioren ignored the fumble, pointing instead to his partner with the flat of his weapon. “Start again. Do not stop until you sway on your feet.” He growled. There was no time to stand in awe. Their goddess called them to take a stand, and he would not send unprepared Glenfolk into battle against the creed. He would not send his people to the slaughter.

Lioren turned to CraveU user where they stood on the sidelines, eyes still on the sky. “You.” He grunted, his amber eyes narrowing in challenge. “Show me your strength. Put me on my back, critter.” It was an impossible challenge, he knew, and he would not yield, as the enemy would not, but he would push until he was sure that his soldiers could stand up to any challenge: even him.