Chapter 6: The Lodge

The lodge was rough but sturdy, built of heavy, dark timbers that smelled of cedar, woodsmoke, and a faint, metallic tang that Ori thought might be old sweat and steel. Inside, the only furniture was essential: a trestle table, a few low stools, and a single cot. A large man with a similar build to their father sat on one of the stools by the fire—Rost, Klohee’s brother. His boot rested on a cushion, concealing the extent of his leg injury. He didn’t rise.

“You’ve come a long way for a charity case,” Rost said, his voice a low, grating rumble that broke the heavy silence of the woods.

Tez, exhausted, spoke first. “We need your help, uncle. We came from Estily.”

Rost finally looked up, his eyes sharp and wary. He assessed the two figures: a seventeen-year-old on the brink of collapse, and a fourteen-year-old whose eyes burned with a mixture of grief and simmering anger. Rost recognized the clear, physical signs of profound trauma. His initial skepticism about their unannounced visit quickly melted away.

“Sit. Tell me everything,” Rost commanded, pushing the ladle back into the pot over the fire.

For the next two hours, the boys relived the journey, an exercise that tore open their recent wounds. They described the chaos, the monstrous form of the first beast, the shock of its unnatural healing power, and the tragic collapse of the watchtower. Rost listened grimly, his face unreadable. When they reached the harrowing description of Klohee’s final, heroic moments, Rost’s face crumpled. He paused, closing his eyes for a long moment before pushing a tray of warm, simple stew toward them. He had lost his sister, and the pain was evident.

“She was always the best of us,” Rost murmured, his voice thick with unexpressed grief. “She was the anchor. Kept your father and me from straying off mission countless times.”

Ori and Tez looked at each other.

After they ate, Ori pulled the dark green rod from his belt. It instantly transformed in his grasp, snapping into the living sword shape—a dull green blade attached to the hilt's shimmering green gem. Rost stared at the item with focused, intense concentration.

“A Jade Artifact,” Rost confirmed, his voice hushed.

Ori, confused, explained finding it in the ancient tomb, its inscription, and how his blood had brought it to life, locking him to the weapon.

Rost was fixated on the sword, holding out his hand for the artifact, which Ori cautiously released. The sword immediately collapsed back into an inert rod in the air, falling harmlessly into Rost’s palm.

“These items were created in a great war by an ancient people. There were eleven known Jade Artifacts in the kingdom,” Rost explained, turning the rod over, the gem flashing briefly. “The gem grants it a form of life, transforming simple tools or weapons into dependable protectors. It is always a dull green item connected to the gem. Five are lost. One remains in each of the major cities. But three are in the capital.”

He handed the rod back to Ori, who caught it and watched it immediately transform back into the living sword.

“This artifact is bound to you now, Ori. It only comes alive when you touch it. It is fueled by the will and life-force of its wielder, which is why your blood activated it. There can only be one wielder.”

Rost promised them training, but saw the immediate need to address Ori’s core flaw. He looked at Ori, who still clutched the weapon tightly.

“Discipline is the key,” Rost stated. “Your strength, your courage, your living sword—it is all useless without discipline. Your will powers that weapon, but if your will is chaos, the weapon is merely chaos, too. That sword is an extension of your spirit. If you cannot control yourself, you cannot control it. To be strong enough to save, you must be disciplined enough to control yourself. That is what your brother knows, and what your mother mastered.”

That night, Ori was kept awake by the echoes of his mother’s death. Getting up for some water, he noticed Rost quietly placed a few extra portions of food—bread and dried meat—on a wooden platter on the porch. Ori thought Rost might be preparing for an early morning hunt, but decided not to ask.

The next morning, the wooden plate on the porch was empty. Ori wondered if an animal had eaten the food, and thought it strange that Rost would leave it outside overnight at all.

After everyone had gotten up and eaten, Rost led them into a clearing behind the lodge.

“If you’re going to stay here, I will need to know where you stand,” Rost grunted, handing Tez and Ori long, thick wooden sticks. “Spar.”

Ori and Tez went at it immediately. Ori fought with strength and passion, delivering powerful, but reckless blows. Tez was more precise and calculating, his moves conserving energy while attempting to find the holes in Ori’s broad sweeps. Ori seemed to possess a much better instinct with sword combat, reacting to Tez’s swift motions with pure intuition rather than refined discipline. It was clear that if Ori were to be refined, he might become a great swordsman like his father, but that potential remained locked behind his chaotic will.

Rost called a break, noting these aspects and what areas he was able to train each boy on. “You have your parents’ blood, that is clear. You are good,” Rost said, impressed. “But Tez, you lack speed; you rely too much on predicting the opponent. Ori, you lack precision; your pure passion makes you reckless.”

After the breather, Rost gave them more information about the Jade Artifact. He got Ori to hold it, then unexpectedly tossed a medium-sized log right at his chest. “Slice,” Rost commanded.

Ori swung the living sword. The blade passed through the log with a whispered hiss, splitting it perfectly in two. The two halves tumbled harmlessly to the ground. Ori and Tez stared, shocked at how simple that feat had been.

Ori nodded, clutching the weapon. “That was easy.”

“The Jade Artifact is razor sharp and very durable. It can slice almost anything,” Rost explained. He pointed to a nearby tree and asked Tez to pick up an axe and chop at the trunk. Tez did, but barely made a dent—it was hard wood, and many axe swings were needed.

Next, Rost told Ori to use his sword. Ori swung, and his blade embedded itself deep into the tree. It was a perfectly clean cut, but thin. The boys were clearly impressed by the power of the artifact.

“Train us,” the boys said in unison.

Rost nodded affirmingly and told them to pick up the wooden sparring sticks again.

~~~~~