CAIUS: Crown of Threads and Shadows

Evening had settled over Castle Precipice. The last light of the setting sun had disappeared behind the jagged peaks, leaving the fortress surrounded by deep blue darkness. Torches burned along the battlements and inside the drafty corridors, while the distant sounds of preparation echoed throughout the castle. Men sharpened weapons, archers inspected their bowstrings, and servants carried heavy crates of supplies toward the defensive positions.

The atmosphere had changed since morning. Everyone now knew that an orc horde was marching toward them.

Caius had spent the afternoon training alone in the courtyard. His father had ordered him to continue practicing Far Sight and Inner Sight, but the thought of the approaching army made it difficult to concentrate. He had never fought in a real battle before. Training against Cullum was one thing; facing a wave of bloodthirsty warbands was something entirely different.

When the last traces of daylight finally vanished, a young servant came to find him. ”Your father wants you in his chamber.”

Caius followed the servant through the central keep until he reached his father’s private quarters. When he entered, he found Cullum standing beside a heavy oak chest. The room was quiet, illuminated only by a single oil lamp burning beside the window.

Cullum looked toward his son. ”Close the door.”

Caius did as he was told, sliding the heavy bolt into place. Cullum waited until the latch clicked before turning back toward the chest. He opened the heavy iron lock and reached inside, removing a small metal ring. It was an old storage ring, darkened by age but carefully maintained, with a faint pattern carved around its band bearing the crest of the Macrae family.

Caius looked at it curiously. ”What is that?”

”Something that belongs to you.” Cullum placed the ring in his son’s palm.

Caius turned it over, feeling the cold weight against his skin. ”I was supposed to give this to you when you came of age,” Cullum explained, ”when you turned sixteen.”

Caius looked up. ”Then why are you giving it to me now?”

Cullum was silent for a moment, his eyes dark. ”Because we do not have the luxury of waiting.”

Caius looked back down at the ring.

”This storage ring has been passed through the Macrae family for generations,” Cullum continued. ”There is wealth inside it, along with supplies and medicines that may become useful to you. It is not everything our family once possessed, but it is enough to help you survive if you are ever separated from the castle.”

Caius’s fingers tightened around the band. ”You saved this for me?”

”I did.” Cullum’s expression softened slightly. ”I had hoped to give it to you during your coming of age ceremony. I imagined that day would come when you were sixteen, when you were old enough to understand what it meant to carry the Macrae name.”

Caius stared at the ring, the reality of the gesture pressing down on his chest. Three days. There was no guarantee that either of them would reach his sixteenth year.

Cullum reached into the chest again and removed a thick, leather-bound book. Its cover was worn and dark, and the Macrae crest was deeply pressed into the leather. He placed it carefully on the wooden table before Caius. ”This is more important than the wealth.”

Caius opened the cover. Inside were names, dozens of them. Some were accompanied by detailed descriptions, dates, records of historical battles, and notes about their internal capabilities.

”What is this?” Caius asked softly.

”The bloodline records of the Macrae family,” Cullum replied, looking directly at his son. ”Every known member of our family who awakened the Eye of the Loom is recorded within those pages.”

Caius slowly turned another page, recognizing ancient script describing the mechanics of Far Sight and Inner Sight, alongside the names of those who had mastered them centuries ago.

”The Eye of the Loom has existed within our bloodline for generations,” Cullum continued, ”but very few outside the family know of it.”

”Why?”

”Because knowledge is a weapon,” Cullum’s voice became firm. ”The Eye of the Loom gives our family an advantage that others would kill to possess. If the kingdom knew what our bloodline could do, they would seek to control us or turn us into tools. If our enemies learned the secret, they would find ways to exploit it.” Cullum placed a broad hand over the cover. ”You must never reveal this secret to anyone.”

Caius nodded slowly. ”Not even the men who serve our family?”

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from NovelPhoenix. Support the author by reading it there.

”Not even them.”

”What about a trusted friend?”

Cullum’s eyes hardened into flint. ”Not even a trusted friend. This knowledge dies with you if necessary. Do you understand?”

”I understand, Father.”

Cullum nodded and closed the book. ”Good.” He placed the volume beside the storage ring, then reached toward the weapons rack on the wall behind him. Hanging there was a simple, unadorned leather scabbard. Cullum removed it carefully.

When he drew the blade, the air in the room seemed to shift. It was a short sword, slightly longer than a dagger but shorter than a traditional longsword. Its blade was slender and beautifully balanced, forged with a level of craftsmanship unlike anything Caius had ever seen. The metal carried a faint silver sheen beneath the lamplight, and delicate elven markings were etched along its fuller.

Cullum held it out on both palms. ”This belonged to our family for generations.”

Caius accepted the weapon, and the weight immediately felt natural in his grip, as if the hilt had been molded specifically for his hand. ”What is its name?”

”Nightdancer.”

Caius examined the intricate runic etching along the spine. ”Who made it?”

”The elves,” Cullum paused, his gaze distant. ”More specifically, it was crafted for our family by an elven smith many generations ago. It has been passed down through the Macrae bloodline ever since. That is why it is known as Nightdancer, the Macrae Heirloom.”

Caius looked at the gleaming edge. ”The Macrae Heirloom?”

”It has belonged to our family longer than this castle has,” Cullum said.

Caius ran his thumb carefully along the flat of the silvered blade. ”So it was carried by our ancestors?”

”By many of them,” Cullum watched his son carefully. ”It is not simply a weapon. It is a family heirloom and a symbol of the Macrae bloodline. Treat it with respect.”

”I will,” Caius promised quietly, sheathing the short sword with a soft click.

Cullum stepped closer, his shadow falling over the table. ”Now there is one more thing you must do.”

Caius frowned. ”What?”

”Form your first mana core.”

Caius stared at his father in disbelief. ”Now?”

”Tonight.”

”But you said I wasn’t ready,” Caius argued. ”You said my body needed months of physical conditioning first.”

”You are not ready,” Cullum’s answer was immediate and blunt.

”Then why force it?”

”Because in three days, an army will be at these walls.” Cullum moved toward the center of the room and sat cross-legged on the rug. ”Your body has been prepared enough to begin. If we had months, I would make you wait. I would strengthen your body further and make sure your foundation was absolute before allowing you to form your core. But we do not have months.”

Caius slowly sat down facing him. Cullum reached out and placed both hands over his son’s abdomen.

”The Macrae family possesses a cultivation method that has been passed from one generation to the next,” Cullum said. ”It will guide your mana through your internal pathways, strengthen your foundation, and allow you to form your first core more efficiently.”

Caius took a slow breath, settling his posture. ”What is it called?”

”The Loomheart Method,” Cullum closed his eyes. ”Do not force your mana. Feel it first. Let it move naturally through your channels. Follow the path I show you.”

Caius followed his instructions, closing his eyes and drawing deep, measured breaths. At first, there was only cold darkness, but then he felt a faint warmth deep within his abdomen. Cullum guided the flow carefully, pushing his own refined energy into Caius’s pathways to demonstrate how to circulate the energy. The warmth gradually intensified, gathering near his navel as though drawn toward a single point.

As the energy condensed, Caius’s breathing grew heavier, but then he noticed something wrong. His father’s guiding energy was beginning to flag and tremble.

Caius opened his eyes. ”Father.”

Cullum did not respond, his brow slick with cold sweat. Caius looked closer and realized what was happening: Cullum was actively expending his own core reserves to force Caius’s unformed pathways open, transferring his own vitality to speed up the process.

”Father, stop,” Caius said, trying to pull back. ”This is weakening you!”

Cullum’s grip tightened like iron against his son’s shoulders. ”No.”

”You need your strength for the battle!” Caius insisted. ”You said the orcs will be here in three days. You cannot waste your mana reserves on me!”

Cullum opened his eyes, staring directly into his son’s. ”Caius, listen to me.” His voice was strangely calm, stripped of all authority except that of a father. ”I want you to form your mana core before that battle.”

Caius remained frozen.

”I want you to have every advantage possible before the orcs reach these walls,” Cullum said softly. ”If something happens to me, your core will remain. The Eye of the Loom will remain. The legacy of our family will remain.”

Caius shook his head, a tightness gripping his throat. ”We will both survive.”

Cullum offered a faint, sad smile. ”I intend to. But I do not know if we all will.”

The heavy silence returned to the chamber. Cullum looked toward the high window, where the dark mountain peaks blocked out the stars.

”I have fought in enough wars to know that courage does not guarantee survival,” Cullum said quietly. ”A good soldier can die from a single stray arrow. A strong warrior can fall beneath a hundred blades. A castle can stand for centuries and still fall in a single night. I cannot promise you that I will be alive when this battle ends, but I can make sure that if I am not, you have what you need to continue.”

Cullum pressed his palms back against Caius’s chest, his energy surging once more. ”This is why I am giving you the ring. This is why I am giving you the record. This is why I am giving you Nightdancer.” He glanced at the short sword resting beside the table. ”It is your heirloom now.”

Caius swallowed hard, the weight of the realization crashing down on him. His father was not preparing him for a heroic victory. He was preparing him for the possibility of being left completely alone in the world.

Caius closed his eyes, forcing down the lump in his throat. ”Then teach me.”

”Good,” Cullum nodded.

The cultivation resumed. Under the quiet light of the oil lamp, father and son sat facing one another as Cullum carefully guided the flow of energy through Caius’s body. The process was slow and agonizing, as unrefined pathways expanded to accommodate the pressure, but Caius endured it without a sound, following every instruction his father gave him.

Deep within his lower abdomen, the faint warmth continued to condense into a tight, spinning node. The first true foundation of his mana core was beginning to take shape.

Outside the chamber walls, Castle Precipice prepared for war. Three days remained, and neither father nor son knew who would still be standing when those three days were over.