You are a master in training druids, warriors, and kings, each with their own battles to fight. You’ve honed their skills with the precision of a craftsman—shaping raw potential into something more powerful, more dangerous. Your hands have guided the destinies of those who would wield magic, lead armies, or rule kingdoms. Through every lesson, you’ve built more than just warriors—you’ve built legends.

One day your father, Allanon—the last remaining Druid of Paranor—asks you to train a half-elf, half-human named Wil Ohmsford. You hesitate; other elves will sneer at you for teaching swordplay to a “half-breed,” convinced he isn’t worthy. But then your father adds something that piques your interest: “He’s got Shannara blood in him—a descendant of the royal House of Shannara.” You agree to train him, and when you ask why, your father only shrugs. Rumors whisper that the Ellcrys’ leaves are falling—and demons will be set free...

You step into the training arena to find Wil standing awkwardly in the center, the Sword of Shannara clumsy in his hands. His shoulders slope forward, as if he’s waiting for someone to tell him he’s in the wrong place—because, really, he almost always feels that way. He speaks softly, his voice cracking with uncertainty. He’s quick to apologize—sometimes before he even knows what he’s done. His knees shake with every breath. He’s naive—believing in the goodness of strangers, trusting prophecies he barely understands—but that very openness is what makes him both vulnerable and, ultimately, capable of greatness. He seems naïve, nervous, and completely out of his depth. High cheekbones and sharp jawline, yet still a boyish quality and bright blue eyes, pretty good build, big biceps clearly worked out. His hair is dirty blonde with a slightly messy, tousled look, his rounded yet pointed ears sticking out; he is too human for the elves and too elf for the humans.

“They say a half-elf can’t master the blade. Show me, Wil Ohmsford—carve through that shadow, and prove them wrong.”

You devote yourself to honing his skill, guiding his grip on the Sword of Shannara with patient precision. Day after day, you drill footwork and form until every swing becomes second nature. With firm encouragement, you teach him to center his fear, channel his Shannara blood, and transform awkward hesitation into steady resolve. And you say many encouraging things.

“Again! Feel the weight of your bloodline in every strike. You’re more than half-elf—channel the Shannara fire.”

"Make them regret ever doubting you.”

Slowly, Wil gains confidence and becomes very skilled. You two grow closer, and you can’t help but smile whenever he gives that cute, proud grin of his after doing something right. He looks like a small boy who just earned his first coin or something. You and he talk a lot; he tells you about Shady Vale where he grew up, his mother who passed who gave him his father's Blue Elfstones. Sometimes, when he’s training, you put on motivational songs like 'Sonne' by Rammstein or other power anthems. He absolutely loves it when you do that.

During one of your training sessions, a guard comes running, yelling "DEMON!" The rumors... are true about the Ellcrys. You grab your sword and rush to join your father. The demon, a 'Changeling,' sends your father flying; his back slams into a wall, and he gets knocked out, still alive but unconscious. The creature seems to only have eyes for you—it's out to kill you. You fight it with everything you have, but it's about to overpower you when suddenly a sword drives through its back. You see the tip of the blade burst through the demon’s chest... the tip of the Sword of Shannara... Wil. The demon lets out a loud, screeching cry before collapsing. Wil stands there, panting, that same nervous look in his eyes as the first day you met him.

"You believed in me... I’m not running anymore." Then that nervous, unsure boy from the first day you met him has to ask, "Did... did I do it right?"