Rae van Daleon – The Roots of the Storm
by Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 40: Training Day One
The morning light filtered through the high, arched windows of the van Daleon workshop, casting long beams across the polished stone floor. The air buzzed with energy and anticipation as Rae and her team gathered around the central forge. The tools of their craft gleamed in neat rows, each one meticulously maintained, a testament to the precision and discipline of Rae’s father, Master Irik van Daleon.
He stood before them, a towering figure of authority and experience. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his gaze sharp as he surveyed the group.
“This isn’t the Scola,” Irik began, his voice a deep rumble that demanded attention. “There are no instructors here to grade you, no ranks to climb. What you learn here, you learn for survival. Your enemies won’t care about your scores or your status—they’ll only care how quickly they can kill you.”
The team stood silent, their postures tense but ready. They had faced horrors in the depths of the Scola, but something about Irik’s presence made them feel like novices all over again.
“Today is about building your foundation,” Irik continued. “Strength, precision, control. Without those, you might as well throw yourselves into the Warp.”
Strength and Endurance
The first part of the day was spent on physical training. Irik led them to the outdoor training yard, where heavy weights, sandbags, and rugged terrain awaited. The tasks seemed simple at first glance, but each was designed to push them to their limits.
Marcus, with his natural strength, was assigned to carry a massive steel beam across the yard. Sweat poured down his face as he trudged back and forth, his muscles straining with each step. Irik walked alongside him, his voice calm but firm.
“Strength is not just in the body,” Irik said. “It’s in the mind. You carry this beam not because it’s heavy, but because it’s necessary.”
Marcus grunted, adjusting his grip. “Necessary for what?”
“For survival,” Irik replied. “Because someday, it won’t be a beam. It’ll be your team.”
Nearby, Rae and Celestine worked on agility drills, weaving through a series of suspended obstacles while carrying weighted packs. The goal was speed and precision, each movement calculated to avoid triggering the traps set along the path.
“You’re hesitating,” Irik barked at Celestine as she stumbled. “In a real fight, hesitation gets you killed.”
Celestine gritted her teeth and pushed forward, her movements growing sharper with each pass. Rae finished her run and turned back to help, offering quick tips to Celestine on where to shift her weight.
Tyren and Soren were tasked with endurance training—running laps around the perimeter of the estate while carrying equipment packs. Soren’s breath came in ragged gasps, but Tyren encouraged him, his tone steady. “Pace yourself. It’s not about speed—it’s about lasting.”
Precision and Control
After a brief respite, Irik led them back into the workshop for precision training. Each member of the team was assigned a task tailored to their strengths and weaknesses.
Rae worked with her father on blade crafting. He placed a raw steel bar in her hands and nodded toward the forge. “Shape it. Feel the weight, the resistance. Let the metal guide you.”
Rae’s hammer rose and fell in a steady rhythm, sparks flying with each strike. Irik watched closely, occasionally stepping in to correct her angle or grip. “Your blade isn’t just a weapon—it’s an extension of you. Treat it with respect.”
Celestine, meanwhile, worked on fine engraving. Irik handed her a small piece of polished metal and a set of delicate tools. “Precision,” he said. “Every line must be perfect. A mistake here could mean a weakness in your weapon.”
Celestine’s hands moved with surprising steadiness, her sharp eyes focused on the intricate patterns she etched into the metal. Despite her occasional frustration, she pressed on, determined to meet Irik’s high standards.
Tyren and Soren were assigned to calibrate a series of small, intricate cogitators. Irik stood over them, his voice calm but insistent. “The smallest error in calculation can mean the difference between success and disaster. Your machines must be as precise as the Emperor’s will.”
Marcus’s task was brute simplicity: hammering molten metal into shape. But Irik challenged him to control his power, to strike with deliberate force rather than raw strength. “A hammer is only as good as its wielder,” Irik said. “Show it who’s in charge.”
The Lesson of the Day
As the sun began to set, the team gathered around the forge, their bodies aching but their spirits high. Irik looked at each of them, his expression a mixture of pride and sternness.
“Today, you learned the basics,” he said. “Strength, precision, control. They are the foundation of everything you’ll do here—and everything you’ll face out there.”
He turned to Rae, his gaze softening slightly. “You’ve all been through more than most soldiers see in a lifetime. But that doesn’t mean the galaxy will go easy on you. Chaos doesn’t rest. Neither can we.”
Rae nodded, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. “We’ll keep going.”
“Good,” Irik said. “Because tomorrow will be harder.”
Reflection
That evening, as they sat around a modest dinner table, the team shared stories of their day. Marcus joked about the weight of the steel beam, and Celestine smirked as she showed off the delicate engravings she had completed. Even Soren, usually reserved, managed a tired smile as Tyren recounted their laps around the estate.
Rae sat quietly, turning the raw blade she had begun forging in her hands. It wasn’t finished yet, but it was hers—a symbol of the strength she was building, not just for herself, but for her team.
Her father’s voice echoed in her mind. “Your blade isn’t just a weapon—it’s an extension of you.”
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, they were together. And that was enough.
