Note: If Tapas skipped previous chapter for you, try again else you will lose a big chunk of story. TW: there's a description of violence there how Valis was tortured by Finger Cutters Gang and how he actually managed to survive

"Valis?!" exclaimed a man about his parents' age the moment he saw him. Before Valis could respond, the man rushed over and hugged him tightly.

"I was so worried... But you're alive!"

Valis decided it was better to keep quiet, for now, about the newly awakened power in the sea. Instead, he asked quietly:

"Who are you?"

The man took a step back, disbelief clear in his eyes.

"You don't recognize me? Well, of course, not surprising, really. You must've been about six when we last met... It's me: Grand Duke of Avene, Ron."

Valis froze. The name... the place... everything began to fall into place. Avene. We were in Avene. He had escaped Ladven. It hadn't been a dream.

"The important thing is that you're alive. But you must tell me, slowly, what happened. I heard that your mother..."

The Duke's voice trembled. Valis felt a lump in his throat but nodded. The words came slowly, with effort, but he began to speak. He told him about the events in Ladven, the fall of his family, and what had happened with Raven. With each passing minute, his hand clenched tighter into a fist.

"...Right after that, House of Ladven got rid of me. Threw me away like trash. I wandered like a rat, running from the assassins they sent after me. Eventually, I was caught by Finger Cutters. They kidnapped me for ransom... which never came. I don't know how long they kept me in that disgusting basement... In the end... they threw me into the sea.
It was all because of those cursed ones from Ladven. I'm sure they were behind my family's downfall..."

Ron was silent for a moment, staring into the boy's eyes. Then he leaned in and said with fervor:

"I'll help you. We'll destroy them together. I have a plan. Nobody other than a couple of my trusted men should know who you really are."

And so Valis, once of Eldermere, now as the lost heir of House Avene, Veragon began a new life.

Just a week after his arrival, a festival was held in Avene in his honor. Everyone talked about one thing: the Grand Duke's bastard son, who appeared out of nowhere.

Many asked if it could be true. Could anyone really believe such a tale? Apparently... yes. The people of Avene welcomed Veragon with open arms, rejoicing that House Avene would endure.

But things were different among the warriors of Avene. To them, he was a stranger. Shortly after arriving, Valis, as Veragon, began intensive training in swordsmanship and endurance. He learned quickly, but the unit's commander, Calveth, did not trust him.

Training always took place at dawn, before the fog lifted from the mountain peaks. Valis fell again and again, but each time he got up faster.

After a week, his hands were blistered; after a month, scarred; and after a year, no one dared to spar with him without hesitation.

Still, the commander would always say:

"A sword is not everything."

Valis could tell the man didn't like him, but he didn't let it get to him. One day he had to prove what he was capable of.

And in secret, he trained to control his power at night. While most officers spent their off hours drilling formations or sharpening blades, Valis would disappear.

He always returned on time, clothes damp with dew or dusted with ash, saying very little. Most assumed he walked to clear his head. A habit of quiet men. No one asked.

But the truth was, he was climbing to the top of the cliff and practicing to command the storms.

It had started small, some kind of static in his fingers, a tension in the air that matched his pulse. But he began to notice patterns: how clouds get darker, and how wind rises. The connection was subtle, but real.

So he quietly studied and practiced by night, where no one would follow. Places where the sky and the sea felt close.

At first, it was just sensing, learning the patterns of pressure, the feel of moisture in the air. He learned to listen before attempting to shape anything.

Then, cautiously, he began to reach.

He would stand still, spine straight, arms at his sides, and focus. On the sky. On what moved beneath it, and how the waves were crashing onto the rocks.

Then, he learned to guide them.

He started with wind: a breeze turning east instead of west. Then pressure: pulling clouds low across the ridges, thickening the air around him. Then sound: drawing distant thunder like the slow growl of something ancient.

It cost him.

The more he pushed, the more it pushed back. His nose bled and his skin burned cold.

But he kept going.

Not for power, nor for glory.

Because this was his weapon. One, they couldn't take from him. And he would keep it secret, for now, thinking that if the army found out, they'd want to use it. Control it. Control him.

So he said nothing and just kept training.

No one ever connected him with any kind of control over the weather.

No one suspected he might wield power in such a way, and he intended to keep it that way for as long as he could. There was no need to reveal all his cards.

Not yet.

...

The moment when Valis finally had a chance to prove his worth came unexpectedly fast.

They were attacked by invaders from the north. The entire unit was preparing for an offensive at the front, but they underestimated the strength of the enemy.

The Avene army walked straight into an ambush in the Lys Valley, a narrow gorge surrounded by steep cliffs. The enemy, well-organized North forces backed by local rebels familiar with the terrain, had blocked the only exit.

Avene's troops were caught mid-march, stretched too thin, and the rear was quickly cut off. Confusion and disorder spread.

"They've cut off the southern pass. We're trapped," said Commander Calveth, breathing heavily, seriously wounded in the first assault.

His cloak was soaked in blood, and the chain of command broke down. Soldiers kept fighting, but their morale was sinking fast. Thick clouds hung overhead, and the valley was heavy with heat, sweat, and fear. The situation looked hopeless.

Amid the chaos, Valis stood up and decided to act. A few days earlier, during a routine patrol, he had noticed something unusual, an old, dry riverbed mostly hidden by brambles and overgrowth.

Valis stood up. He spoke quietly, but with certainty:

"There's still one way."

He marked it on his map. When he mentioned it around the campfire, one of the sergeants laughed.

"You'll find berries there, kid. Not a way to win battles."

Calveth narrowed his eyes. His voice was cold.

"You're not a strategist, just a boy who swings his sword well."

"Maybe. But if we're going to die, I'd rather do it when doing something, not waiting for execution."

A moment of silence. The commander looked at the other officers as if checking their reactions.

"Do you need men?"

"If there are any volunteers."

There was only one, a tall blonde archer with a bland expression named Adam. But the fact it was just two of them didn't discourage Val.

Before dawn, they slipped away under the cover of fog, cutting through the dense underbrush along the dry riverbed that Valis had found. The path was treacherous, but just as he'd said, it led behind the enemy lines. After hours of silent movement, they found themselves perched above the rebel encampment.

Valis turned to Adam, voice low and calm.

"We hit fast and hard. Signal the front with a flare once we attack the camp. Set the tents on fire. They'll think they're being flanked by a second force."

Adam nodded and got his bow ready. The assault was swift and brutal. Tents went up in flames. Confusion rippled through the enemy camp.

Further away, the soldiers of Avene, worn and cornered, saw the flare before the smoke rose into the sky.

Commander Calveth, pale but stubbornly upright on horseback, gave the order.

"Advance! Break through!"

Within minutes, the enemy camp erupted in chaos. The blades were flashing, striking from shadow and smoke. Tents burned, shouts rose, and in the confusion, some of the rebels even turned on one another, unsure where the attacker was coming from.

They surged forward. The enemy, now attacked from both front and rear, faltered. Shouts turned to screams. Horses trampled fleeing soldiers.

The Avene army caught the officers by surprise. The rebel commander was killed almost immediately. Their supply stores were set on fire, and communication fell apart. With no orders and smoke spreading across the field, some troops fled. Others surrendered.

Valis stood in the center of the collapsing rebel camp, sword dripping with blood, eyes raised to the cliffs.

The valley was theirs. The Avene forces regrouped, wounded were tended to, and the dead were mourned. Val returned home with torn gear and blood on his face, but alive.

People who had barely noticed him before now looked at him differently, with respect, maybe even admiration.

Commander Calveth approached him. For the first time, he offered a nod.

"You turned the tide," the man said quietly. "I was wrong about you."

Valis looked at him, calm, composed, but something flickered behind his eyes. He didn't gloat. Didn't smile. Just nodded.

"Thank you, sir."

...

That night, after the victory, the camp was quiet. Soldiers whispered about Veragon, Grand Duke's son, near the fires, some with awe, others with confusion, trying to understand how someone so young, so quiet, had turned a disaster into a win.

But Valis didn't join them.

He sat alone near the edge of the cliffs, overlooking the dark shapes of the valley below.

To him, it was just a step.

A necessary one.

They didn't know what drove him. They didn't know what had been taken from him. Or who had taken it. He wasn't here to serve glory, or honor, or even Avene, not truly.

He was here because the path of war was the only one that led back to him.