Foolish Soldier: Reborn With A Broken Limit.

Chapter 04: Lessons and Truth

"Soren. You'll be late."

His mother's voice. Soft. Close. A hand on his shoulder, gentle.

He opened his eyes. The ceiling was wrong. The light was wrong. For a long moment, he was nowhere. Then the room settled around him. The blue wool tunic draped over the chair. The window.

He had lain awake half the night. Kael's words turning over in his skull. You move like someone who's trained before. The demon's voice. The other voice. And beneath it all, his halo—faint, steady, there. He had pressed his palm to his chest in the dark and felt it answer.

"Your lessons," his mother said. She was already dressed, her dark hair pinned back. "You've missed two this month. Your father won't be pleased if you miss another."

Soren sat up. His body felt heavy. He had slept poorly. Dreams he couldn't remember. Voices he couldn't place.

"Lessons," he muttered.

The word felt foreign. Doran had never taken lessons. Commoners didn't. They learned to fight. Or a craft. Or they farmed. There were not many options. But Soren had grown up in lesson halls. Soren had sat on those benches three mornings a week for years, staring out the window, waiting for it to be over. The old Soren had hated every minute of it.

He could feel the residue of that boredom still buried in the body—the way his shoulders would slump, the way his eyes drifted toward the window before he caught himself. Soren Vail had been a terrible student. Disinterested.

Not anymore.

"I'm awake," he said.

"You're upright. That's not the same thing." She studied him. Her hand lingered on his shoulder a moment longer than necessary. "You were restless last night. Talking in your sleep."

His blood went cold. "What did I say?"

"Nothing I could understand." She replied.

He swung his legs out of bed. "I don't remember dreaming."

His mother watched him for a moment. Then she nodded, the way she always did—not believing him, but choosing to let it rest. "Breakfast is on the table. Eat before you go."

She left. Soren sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping the mattress.

I talked in my sleep. 

He dressed quickly. The same blue wool tunic from yesterday. The same soft boots. He hadn't thought to change. He ate standing up and left before anyone could ask him questions he couldn't answer.

The streets of the inner city were already busy.  Traders sorting produce. Guards changed shifts at the corner posts. A cart laden with grain rumbled toward the inner gate.

"Soren!"

He turned. A young lady was walking toward him, her stride brisk and unhesitating.  

Her blonde curls bounced with every step.  She was pretty. Her name surfaced from somewhere deep in Soren's memory.

Elaine.

Elaine Hayes. Her family dealt in building. Roads. Bridges. Things that lasted. She had sat beside him in lessons since they were children. She was one of the few people who still bothered to speak to him.

"You missed the last two sessions," she said, falling into step beside him. "I was starting to think you'd died."

The word hit harder than she knew.

"I was unwell," he said.

"You look unwell." She studied him with the frankness of someone who had known him long enough to be blunt. "Thin. Pale. Are you eating?"

"Yes."

"Liar." She didn't say it unkindly.

If only you knew.

They walked in silence for a moment. 

"Orin's taking our class today," Elaine said. She glanced at him. "You'll actually stay awake for this one, I hope."

"I'll try."

"You always say that."

They reached the temple district. Their lesson hall stood at the edge of the square, its white stone walls bright in the morning light.

"Soren," Elaine said, stopping at the door. Her voice was quieter now. "If something's wrong—"

"Nothing's wrong."

She held his gaze for a moment. Then she nodded, the same way his mother had.

"Come on," she said. "Let's find a seat before Orin starts without us."

They were too late. The class had already begun, Orin's voice drifting through the door as they slipped inside

They quickly slid into their usual spot near the middle benches. Soren usually took the back. But Elaine always saved him a spot, and he didn't have the energy to refuse.

The instructor was a thin man named Orin. Gray robes. Gray hair. A voice that sounded like parchment being folded. He paced at the front of the hall with a long wooden pointer, occasionally tapping the wall map of Avalon whenever a student's attention drifted. He had seen them hurry in.

"Moving on, we discuss the Crimson Stone."

He turned to face the students.

"The Stone predates the walls. Predates Aldric. Predates the city itself. No one knows who placed it in the temple. No one knows how old the black pool is. But its purpose is known to all."

Soren's hands were flat on the bench.

"At the age of six, every child in Avalon is brought to the temple at dawn. They kneel before the pool. They place one hand on the surface of the water. And the Stone reveals the truth of their soul. A ring of light appears above the child's head. The size of the ring corresponds to the energy output of the halo."

He paused, letting the weight of the words settle.

"Aldric himself touched the Stone as a boy. The temple was smaller then—a rough stone shrine built around the black pool, nothing like the vaulted hall we have today. But the ring of light did not appear above his head. It filled the chamber. It spilled out the door. The priest on duty wrote in his records: “The boy is not blessed. He is a blessing”.

Orin turned from the map. His eyes swept the room and landed on the middle benches.

"Vail. What did Aldric do with the years he was given?"

Soren stood. The other students turned to look at him. Elaine glanced sideways, her expression unreadable.

What did Aldric do with the years he was given?

He trained under Iros. He fought in the Great Wars. He founded Avalon. He built Wall Aldric and sealed it with his dying halo. He left behind a city, a calendar, a lie he never knew about, and a name that Soren's own brother carried like a stone around his neck.

"He gave them," Soren said.

Orin's eyebrows rose. "Explain."

"He didn't keep the years. He spent them. On the walls. On the city. On the people who couldn't fight." The words came from somewhere deep. "He died pouring everything he had into the stone. He didn't hold anything back."

The hall was quiet.

Orin studied him. "That's quite an answer Vail."

Soren said nothing.

"Accurate, though." Orin turned back to the map. "Aldric gave his years. Every last one. That is why his seal still holds. That is why we remember his name."

Soren sat.

Orin moved on with the lesson. The other students looked away. But Elaine kept watching Soren for a moment longer. 

"Some rings are vast," Orin continued. "Some are small."

A girl in the front row raised her hand. "Is it true that some children show nothing?"

Orin nodded. "A small percentage. No ring. No light. The Stone remains still for them."

"Why?"

"No one knows. The soul is the principal thing—the scriptures are clear on this. All the treasures of the earth cannot outweigh it. A still Stone does not mean an empty soul. But it does mean no detectable halo—" 

"Like Soren."

The voice came from two benches ahead. A young man with the brown hair and sharp features of House Aldebaran. He hadn't turned around. He hadn't needed to. His voice carried perfectly in the quiet hall.

A few students laughed. Most didn't. Elaine stiffened beside him.

Soren said nothing. The Aldebaran boy's halo pressed outward with the easy confidence of someone who had never needed to contain it. Vast. Effortless. The kind of reach that made instructors nod and fathers boast.

"Rudeus," Orin said. His voice was mild, but there was an edge beneath it. "The Stone's results are not a subject for mockery. You do understand that."

"Just stating a fact." Rudeus turned in his seat. His eyes found Soren. "No ring. No light. No halo. Isn't that right, Vail?"

The hall was silent.

Soren met his gaze. He had faced demons. He had faced the void. A boy with a vast halo and a sharp tongue was neither of those things.

"He's right," Soren said.

That was a lie.

Rudeus held his stare a moment longer, expecting something. A flinch. A reaction. Soren gave him nothing. The silence stretched. Then Rudeus turned back around with a shrug.

Rudeus was right. Although, Doran was born with a weak halo, Soren didn’t have one.

At least not until recently.

He remembered visiting the temple. He remembered touching the water.

The water stayed still. No ring. No light. The silence stretched. The priest waited, then nodded. People whispered. His mother's hand tightened on his shoulder. His father left without a word.

It was not a fond memory.

But it didn't matter now. He had a halo. He had seven years. That was all that mattered.

 

"The Four Great Families," Orin said, tapping the map, "trace their lineage to Aldric's original comrades. House Aldebaran in the east. House Regulus in the north. House Antares in the west. House Fomalhaut in the south. Each was entrusted with a corner of the city's future. Each still holds that trust today."

Soren knew the names. Everyone knew the names. But now he heard them differently. These were the families who built Wall Iros. The families who told the people it was blessed. The families who knew the truth and kept it.

"And Wall Iros?" a boy asked from the middle benches. "Is it also sealed by Aldric's halo?"

"The outer wall," Orin said, "was built later as the city grew. Its construction was overseen by the Four Families. Aldric's seal extends to it, as it extends to all of Avalon."

No hesitation. Just the official answer, delivered with the certainty of someone who had never questioned it.

Soren stared at him. The instructor believed what he was saying.

The lesson ended. The students filed out. Orin gathered his notes and disappeared through the side door with a brief nod.

Soren stayed in his seat. Elaine stood, adjusted her clasp, and looked down at him.

"You're not coming?"

"In a minute."

She hesitated. "Don’t let rudeus get to your head, you know how he is."

"I'm fine."

"You're not." She didn't sit back down. She patted him on his shoulder. "Just don’t ponder on it too much, okay."

She left. Her footsteps faded down the stone corridor.

Soren sat alone in the white hall. The morning light was still falling through the windows. The map of Avalon was still hanging on the wall.

A danger only he knew was coming.

He walked home through the inner markets. The same route as yesterday. 

He passed the Vail estate gates. The courtyard. The hallway mirror. He didn't stop this time. He didn't need to. The face in the reflection was still a stranger's, but it was becoming familiar.

In his room, he sat on the edge of the bed. The sheets were still rumpled from the night before. His mother's words echoed. Talking in your sleep.

What if he had said something from when he was still Doran. He had to be more careful.

Seven years.

He had seven years until the dark orb. Seven years until Wall Iros crumpled. 

And somewhere out there, Commander Varris was probably still alive. Younger than the man Doran had died for. He didn't know the wall was a lie. He didn't know a demon with a stitched mouth was waiting.

Soren pressed his palm against his chest. The halo was there. Surging. Contained.

He stood. He had seven years. He needed a plan. He needed to train. This body was soft. The muscles didn't remember yet. But they would.