The faint aroma of tea drifted through the small kitchen as the morning light crept through the wooden shutters. Outside, the wind whispered over the plains, carrying the dry scent of dust and wild grass. It was always cold at dawn in Slaten, the chill clinging stubbornly before the desert heat burned it away.

  Pots and pans hung neatly from the walls, clinking softly whenever the breeze slipped through the gaps in the timber. Many of them had been hammered back into shape after the fires, blackened scars still visible along the sides. Nothing in Slaten was new Everything had been rebuilt.

  Cid Trinium padded down the stairs, his bare feet tapping on the old wooden steps. Tapping against the old wooden steps. He paused halfway, listening. The villag was waking, the sounds of hammers outside beating a nail in, children laughing and running in the village. The soft talks of people around the central fire, whether they actually went to sleep or stayed up talking is a mystery. From the call towers watch bell rings, letting the village know that all was calm last night.

  At the kitchen table sat his mother, Lauren, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug. In front of her lay a leather-bound book and a large mahogany box, wrapped in shimmering golden fabric. She smiled warmly as Cid entered, though the skin around her eyes looked tight with sleeplessness.

  “Happy birthday!” she beamed. “I was about to bring your breakfast up.”

  Cid grinned and slid into the chair opposite her, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I was awake anyway. Thought I’d come down. Need to get my run in before sparring with Keno.”

  Lauren poured tea from the clay pot into a second cup and set it before him. The tea was dark and strong, just the way Cid liked it. Brewed from the desert leaves gathered in the hills before the ruins of old Slaten. Most things they traded for in Slaten, but the desert fire tea, that was a tradition that has spread across Shahero.

  “Of course,” she said, watching him dig into his breakfast. “Today’s the big day. You finally get to take on your master.”

  Her smile held, but her fingers tightened around the mug until her knuckles went pale.

  She leaned forward, her tone softening. “Be careful with him, Cid. You might be faster, stronger, but Keno’s got experience. Don’t underestimate that. After all he has been in this world for a few more years than you and me”

  Cid smirked through a mouthful of eggs. “You worry too much.”

  Lauren chuckled though the sound carried an edge. She then pushed the gold-wrapped box across the table toward him.

  “For me?” Cid asked, eyes widening.

  She nodded. “Go on, open it.”

  He pulled away the fabric, revealing the battered wooden chest beneath. Scorch marks licked its sides, and the latch was tarnished with age, as if it has been opened and closed by many hands.

  When he opened it, the light caught on a pair of spiked metal gauntlets, gleaming silver beneath the kitchen’s dim glow. Etched with delicate patterns that seemed to shift when he looked at them too closely.

  Cid lifted one, feeling its weight. “How did you even afford these? They’re incredible.”

  Lauren's gaze flicked to the window. Outside the ridge watchtower against the horizon, it's silhouette stark against the rising sun. When she looked back, her expression was calm again.

  “Aren’t you going to try them on?”

  He raised a brow but slipped them on.

  Instantly, faint lines of light pulsed along the metal, The gauntlets were colder than the room. Crawling up his arms like living veins. The air seemed to thicken. Lauren’s movements slowed, her voice stretching into a deep echo.

  “Um… what’s happening?” Cid said, his own words sounding sluggish in his ears. “I feel slower.” Even the drip of tea from the pot seemed to hang in the air before it fell.

  Lauren smiled faintly. “Go for your run. See how they feel.”

  Outside, Slaten was stirring to life.

  The village spread across the low dunes like a scar that refused to fade. Mudbrick homes stood beside stone foundations older than memory. Many buildings leaned, patched with wood, cloth, or pieces of salvaged Shoven metals. Some roofs still carried the black marks of fire from years before.

  Children ran through the streets, weaving around practice dummies and weapon racks. Even the youngest trained. It had been that way since the village was rebuilt. Since the flattening.

  Cid began his run.

  The world moved strangely.

  The sway of grass slowed, Dust hung in the air. The flap of colourful banners stretched like liquid.

  But, he felt normal.

  He ran along the outer circle, where watch towers stand looking over the surrounding area. Veterans stood there, eyes scanning the horizon. Some lifted their hands in greeting. Others simply watched.

  Beyond the village, the plains opened up wide and vast. Tall dry grass whipped his legs as he ran. Far in the distance, the ruins of old Slaten lay half buried beneath sand and time.

  He ran his full circuit.

  When he returned, barely winded, the village clock told him half the usual time had passed.

  “How...?” He muttered under his breath.

  When he stepped inside, Lauren was waiting, refilling the teapot. She gestured to his chair. “Sit down, Cid. It’s time you knew the truth.”

  He sat, setting the gauntlets on the table. The light pulsing in them dimmed. Cid staring at them in a kind of awe.

  Lauren’s expression grew solemn. “Do you remember the bedtime stories I used to tell you? About the Saviours of Shahero?”

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  She spoke of the prophecy, The saviours.

  The Chosen.

  The speedster.

  He stood abruptly, the chair clattering to the floor. “No. You’re not saying...”

  Lauren’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes, my son. You are one of them. You are the Speedster of Shahero.”

  For a heartbeat, the bravado drained from his face, leaving only a boy trying to breathe. Cid’s mouth went dry. “The… Speedster…”

  Lauren nodded. “You were born of the gods. A beacon among mortals. The gauntlets are your divine weapon, the Gauntlets of the Innocent. They amplify your speed and control it. Time itself bends around you, giving you the clarity of gods. What you see as slow is the world struggling to keep up.”

  Cid sank back into his chair, staring at the gloves. “They found them here?”

  “Yes. In the ruins of Slaten, buried under the old mud huts from before the fires. They were entrusted to me, to give to you on your eighteenth birthday.”

  He traced the metal’s intricate lines, awe softening his expression. “So… what happens now?”

  Lauren poured tea into his cup. “You’ll be met by the Royal Guards. They’ll take you to the High Council, hidden deep within the cliffs of the Northern Coast.”

  Cid blinked. “The Royal Guards? I thought they were wiped out in the invasion.”

  “Many fell, yes,” she said softly. “But a few survived. Hidden. Watching. Waiting.”

  Cid nodded slowly, the weight of destiny sinking in. “And when will they come?”

  “They’ll arrive once you’ve finished your spar with Keno.” Her eyes glimmered with pride. “That will be your final test.”

  She reached for the book on the table, the same one from his childhood, and handed it to him. “Here. The history of Shahero. Now you can write your own chapter.” Its leather was warm, as if it had been held by many hands that never lived long enough to finish their stories.

  The dojo was already full when Cid and Lauren arrived.

  The wooden doors creaked open, and the chatter fell into a hush. The villagers had gathered shoulder to shoulder, their faces proud and tense. Many of the Elders bore scars. Many had lost family in the invasion. They looked at Cid as if he were both hope and farewell. But every few seconds someone glanced toward the doors, as if expecting Shoven boots to answer the applause.

  At the center of the room, Keno sat cross-legged in meditation, his scarred hands resting on his knees. He looked up as Cid entered, his mouth curling into a knowing grin.

  “Cid,” Keno said, his deep voice echoing. “New gauntlets, I see. Think they’ll protect you from me?”

  Cid’s smirk returned. “Maybe. Maybe I won’t need them.”

  “Ha!” Keno barked a laugh. “We’ll see.”

  He lunged first, fast as a whip, but the moment his foot left the ground, Cid blurred. A streak of light flashed past, kicking up dust. Keno stumbled, spinning to find Cid already standing behind him.

  “Tricks,” Keno grunted. “Always tricks.”

  “Then I won’t use them,” Cid said, stripping off the gauntlets and dropping them to the floor. He needed to know the speed wasn’t the only thing that made him worth choosing.

  He charged. Keno sidestepped, caught his arm, and flipped him clean over, slamming him to the mat. The air whooshed from Cid’s lungs as Keno planted a foot on his chest.

  “Never drop your guard, boy,” Keno said. But his eyes sparkled with pride.

  Cid grabbed his master’s leg, twisted, and rolled backward. In one fluid motion, he was on his feet again. The two circled each other, sweat already darkening their tunics.

  Keno came again, faster this time, but Cid matched him strike for strike. A blur of fists, feet, and motion filled the dojo. The onlookers gasped as Keno went down hard, rolling across the dust.

  When he rose, blood dripped from his lip. “That’s more like it,” he said between breaths. “Now show me the warrior you’ve become!”

  “And don’t you dare lose yourself in it,” Keno warned, quiet enough that only Cid heard.

  Cid didn’t hesitate. He leapt high, spun, and landed a kick to Keno’s chest that sent him crashing into the pillars. The dojo shuddered. Both men vanished into the rafters, darting through beams like predators in the shadows.

  Then, one final move. Cid dropped, kicked through a support beam, and sent Keno tumbling. The old master hit the ground with a thud and… laughed.

  “Well done, my apprentice,” Keno wheezed. “You’ve surpassed me.”

  Cid extended a hand. “You’ll always be my master.”

  The crowd erupted into applause. Lauren’s eyes filled with tears. Mercy ran forward, throwing her arms around Cid’s neck and kissing him before the villagers. Mercy always smiled first, like she could charm danger into passing them by.

  “My Cid,” she whispered. “The master of the dojo.”

  Lauren hugged him tight. “I’m so proud of you, son.”

  Before Cid could reply, a high-pitched hum filled the air.

  The walls trembled. The great doors flew open, and a gust of wind scattered dust through the dojo. Parents push children behind themselves for fear of the Shoven attacking again.

  A white and gold ship hovered outside, its engines thrumming with divine resonance. For a split second, Cid thought it was Shoven steel come to take him before he could leave.

  A man stepped inside, tall, clad in pale armor dusted with travel. A blue cape rippled behind him. Removing his helmet, he scanned the room.

  “Cid Trinium?”

  Cid turned, heart racing. “That’s me. The Chosen Speedster.”

  The room fell silent.

  “The High Council of Shahero summons you,” said the Royal Guard. “We must depart immediately.”

  Cid turned to his mother and Mercy. Both were crying now. Lauren pressed the book and the gauntlets into his hands. “Go. Fulfill what you were born for.”

  Keno stepped beside her, resting a proud hand on Cid’s shoulder. The Royal Guard’s eyes flicked toward Keno and widened. “Master Keno,” he said. “It’s an honor. It’s been years.”

  Cid blinked. “Wait, you know him?”

  Keno smiled faintly. “Of course. I’ve served the High Council since before you were born. I was placed here to train you.”

  Cid realised Keno’s harshness had never been cruelty, it had been survival disguised as discipline. Cid’s breath caught. “So this was all…”

  “Preparation,” Keno finished. “You’re ready now.”

  Mercy rushed forward and kissed him once more. “I love you, Cid. Please, come back to me.”

  He nodded, barely able to speak. The Guard placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, we must go.”

  Cid stepped aboard the ship, turning for one last look at his home, his village, his mother, and the woman he loved. The doors sealed shut with a hiss. The engines roared, lifting the craft skyward.

  Lauren and Mercy stood hand in hand, watching as it disappeared into the clouds.

  Mercy lifted a hand to the sky, as if she could hold the ship there by sheer will.

  The village stand watching in silence, they know what this means, war is coming.

  Thanks for reading!

  Every time someone spends a few minutes in the world of Shahero, it honestly means more than I can properly put into words. Seeing people follow the journey of Tyron, Samantha, Lazarus, Freya, Cid, and Zara makes all the hours of writing worth it.

  If you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story. I read every comment, and it genuinely helps the story reach more readers here on Royal Road.

  A few people have also asked how they can support the project as I work toward eventually publishing the book. If that’s something you’d like to help with, there’s a support link below that goes toward editing and preparing the story for print.

  No pressure at all though—reading the story is already huge support.

  Question for readers:What moment in this chapter stood out to you the most?

  See you in the next chapter.

  — Matthew Cooke-Sumner