The road to Triel was long and familiar, stretching through rolling farmland and past quiet homesteads where smoke curled lazily from chimneys. Declan Nash had once thought of this place as home, but as he rode through the town’s outskirts, a strange feeling settled in his chest—one of distance, of separation.
He had spent months in Waterdeep tending to his family’s affairs, and though he had expected some changes upon his return, he hadn’t anticipated just how much the town would feel… different.
The old gathering halls where he had once shared stories and laughter with his comrades were filled with new faces. The friends he had bled beside in battle and celebrated with in peace were preoccupied—running businesses, training new recruits, or preparing for the next inevitable crisis that loomed over the Sword Coast.
Triel had never been a quiet place, not with Baldur’s Gate so near and the constant threat of bandits, monsters, or worse. But now, the air felt heavier, as if the weight of responsibility had settled over everyone he had once known.
He sought out old friends, but each visit ended the same way. A hurried conversation, a promise to catch up later, and a return to duty.
Later never came.
Standing in the doorway of the barracks, Declan watched as young men and women sparred in the yard, training for the conflicts that always seemed to come. He felt no urge to join them. Once, he would have picked up a blade and drilled them himself, barking orders, correcting their stances.
Now, he simply stood there, unnoticed, like a ghost in the place he had once called home.
If there was one constant in the world, it was the Sword Coast teetering on the brink of destruction.
Rumors swirled through Triel like an autumn wind, each tale darker than the last. Some spoke of a cult stirring in the north, others whispered of creatures slipping from the shadows near the Winding Water, and still more told of fell entities vying for control of Baldur’s Gate.
Not just one enemy. Many.
Declan had fought in these battles before. He had sharpened his sword against enemies who wished to bring ruin to the Coast, had stood shoulder to shoulder with warriors and mages, each of them striving to keep the darkness at bay.
And yet, despite all the victories, despite all the blood spilled in defense of the land, there was always another war waiting just over the horizon.
He could fight again. He could throw himself into another battle, take up arms against another looming evil. But the fire that had once burned so fiercely in him had cooled.
He had done his part.
The decision came to him quietly, without fanfare or hesitation.
Declan stood in his small chamber, packing his belongings with the efficiency of a soldier preparing for a long march. His armor, his sword, his cloak—all carefully arranged. His life, reduced to what he could carry on his back.
There was no need for goodbyes. Those who mattered were too busy, and those who weren’t would understand.
By the time the sun crested the horizon the next morning, Declan was already on the road. The weight of Triel, of his past, lifted from his shoulders with every step his horse took away from the town.
Waterdeep called to him, not because it was home, but because it was where he belonged now.
The road stretched ahead, uncertain and open.
And for the first time in a long while, Declan let it carry him forward.
The courtyard of the Nash estate rang with the steady rhythm of steel on steel. The late morning sun poured over the stone walls, catching on the family banners that stirred lightly in the breeze. Declan stood tall, clad in a simple training tunic, gauntlets buckled to his forearms but no armor on his chest. Across from him, Henry panted, sweat darkening his shirt as he adjusted his grip on the wooden practice blade.
“Again,” Declan commanded, his tone firm but not harsh. He circled slowly, every inch the instructor, his sharp blue eyes locked on his younger brother’s stance.
Henry lunged, blade raised in a predictable arc. Declan’s own training sword swept low and caught it aside with a practiced flick, turning Henry’s momentum against him. The boy stumbled forward, but Declan caught him by the shoulder before he fell.
“Your reach is fine, your intent is strong,” Declan said, steadying him, “but you’re leading with your heart, not your head. Alexander used to say the same to me — conviction without control is a wasted strike.”
Henry frowned, straightening his shoulders. “So I’m supposed to fight without passion?”
Declan’s lips curved in a faint smile. “No. Passion is the flame. But you must learn to build the hearth around it. Gaven taught me that patience is what turns a boy with a sword into a knight. Every strike, every parry, should serve a purpose. Not just to kill, but to protect.”
He stepped back, raising his blade again. “Now — come at me as though Emily or Sophia were behind you. Imagine you are their only shield.”
Henry’s eyes widened slightly, but something shifted in his stance. His grip tightened, his weight steadied, and when he advanced again, his movements carried a new gravity. Declan met him stroke for stroke, letting the clash of practice swords ring out across the courtyard.
“Better,” Declan said as Henry forced him to give ground. “Now you’re not just swinging wood at me — you’re defending something worth dying for.”
Henry’s blade wavered, but he held his ground. “Did you ever falter, when you were a squire?”
Declan lowered his weapon slightly, his expression softening. “Every day. Against Alexander’s drills, against Gaven’s expectations, against my own doubts. But they taught me that faltering isn’t failure. It’s how we learn the cost of standing tall.” He tapped Henry’s chest gently with the blunt tip of his blade. “And it’s how we remember why we rise again.”
Henry exhaled, nodding. Sweat trickled down his brow, but determination lit his young eyes.
“Again,” Declan said, stepping back into guard. “And this time, remember — the flame in your chest is what drives you. The discipline in your hands is what guides you. Together, they make you more than a fighter. They make you a Nash.”
