The air was cooler now, the sky painted in soft shades of violet and gold as Kael made his way back home. The aches in his muscles had dulled into a steady throb—a reminder of how close he'd come to winning, and how much further he still had to go.
As he opened the creaky wooden gate and stepped into the yard, the scent of wild mint from his mother's herb garden greeted him. Before he could knock, the door burst open.
"There's my champion!" Lira grinned widely, standing with arms folded across her apron. Her eyes sparkled, though they scanned his bruises with motherly scrutiny. "You looked so confident until that final blow landed."
"You saw that?"
She laughed, walking up and tousling his hair. "Of course I did. I nearly fell out of my seat when you launched that flying kick. Very dramatic. Shame you landed on your face a second later."
Kael groaned, setting his pack down. "Thanks. Just what I needed after nearly getting crushed."
Lira walked over and tousled his hair, despite his protest. "Oh, come on, you did fine. You lasted longer than half the candidates you even land a hit on that girl—what was her name again?
Nora. He replied
She raised an eyebrow. "Mmm. Pretty boy strong. But you—" She poked his chest. "You held your own. Your father is going to love hearing this."
That made Kael pause. He blinked up at her. "When is he coming back, anyway?"
Lira's smile softened, and she glanced toward the window as if she could see him arriving through the distance. "A couple more weeks. Maybe less, if his job wraps up early."
Kael nodded slowly. It had been months since Alfred left on an assignment in the mountain provinces. The idea of seeing him again—telling him everything that had happened—sent a new flutter of excitement through his chest.
Lira pulled back and stretched. "Well, don't get too comfortable. That training's not over, you hear me? You've earned a short break, sure. But tomorrow, we pick up right where we left off.
Kael's shoulders slumped. "Of course."
"Welcome to being a knight," she said with a wink.
---
By the time Ryn arrived at the estate, the sky had dimmed into a soft dusk, the first stars just beginning to blink awake. The air smelled of nightbloom and clipped grass, the air crisp with the wealth of high-born districts. He reached the iron-wrought gates flanked by towering guards, and a long stone path stretched ahead, framed by hedges and flickering lanterns.
At the center stood the Zaren estate—less a home and more a fortress adorned in luxury. The castle-like mansion loomed over its sprawling grounds, with high balconies, domed towers, and windows lit like distant stars. Rows of uniformed guards patrolled the exterior while silver-uniformed maids swept the walkways or tended to the grand flower garden near the front gates—roses, arcana-lilies, blood-mint, and skyvines all blooming in perfect harmony.
Ryn stepped out of the carriage, already dreading the echoing silence that came with this place. Though lavish in every sense, the Zaren estate always felt… cold.
His first instinct was to avoid everyone.
He had no intention of seeing his father or his siblings—not tonight. He had passed the exam, something they wouldn't care about anyway. His victory was his own, and that was how he wanted it to stay. For now.
As he walked across the entrance garden, one of the front guards near the training yard spotted him and perked up. Mike, tall and burly with greying stubble and a scar over his right brow, offered a warm smile.
"Well, well. If it isn't the ghost son himself."
Ryn smirked faintly. "Still calling me that, huh?"
Mike laughed. "Only out of affection."
Mike had been more of a father to him than his actual one. It was Mike who'd first handed him a practice blade, who had shown him how to channel his Arcana into his strikes—though Ryn's grasp on it had always lagged behind. Still, Mike never looked at him like the others did.
"I passed," Ryn said simply.
Mike blinked. "The Academy exam?"
Ryn nodded.
"Well, I'll be damned." Mike grabbed his shoulder and gave him a proud shake. "You really did it. The others are gonna want to hear this."
The news spread quickly among the lower ranks of the estate. Within minutes, several maids had gathered at the stone entryway, their faces bright with delight.
"You passed?! I knew you would!" one of the younger maids beamed.
"Wait—he went to the exam? When?!" another asked, her eyes wide.
"I thought the Master had forbidden—"
"Shhh, don't ruin it. He passed! That's what matters!"
Among them was Gwen, a sharp-eyed maid with short red hair and pale gray eyes. She had always looked out for Ryn like an older sister might, often sneaking him food or bandaging his wounds when training got too rough. She stood with arms crossed but her lips tugged into a smile.
"Took you long enough," she said. "But I'm proud of you."
Ryn looked at them—his real family, in all the ways that mattered. These were the people who smiled when he entered the room. Who noticed when he was gone. Who cared.
He stepped up onto the marble steps and cleared his throat. "Actually… there's something I need to tell you."
The chatter died down. Gwen tilted her head. "What is it?"
"I'm going to tell my father," Ryn said, voice steady. "I'll be joining the military camp next month."
The mood shifted in an instant. A few maids gasped. Mike's brow furrowed, and Gwen straightened.
"You sure that's a good idea?" Mike asked carefully.
Gwen's voice was the calmest—but the most serious. "Ryn… you really want to face him about this?"
He held their gazes. "Yes. I've always hidden things. Avoided them. But I'm tired of being the quiet son in the corner. If I'm going to be a knight—if I'm going to change my fate—then I can't do it hiding in shadows. Not anymore."
Gwen looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Then we'll be behind you."
Mike crossed his arms and chuckled softly. "Stubborn like your mother."
Ryn flinched. That name—mother—was a ghost in this house, barely spoken, never mourned.
A heavy silence settled between them.
"You… remember her?" Ryn asked, voice quieter now, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Mike's hardened expression softened. His eyes clouded, distant—like he was sifting through time.
"I was there, Ryn. She was strong, but fragile after labor. Barely had strength to speak. But she held you in her arms—tight, like you were the only thing keeping her alive." He looked down, voice thick. "Your cries… they were the last thing she heard. She smiled, even then. Like she was at peace."
Ryn's breath caught.
"She loved you more than anyone ever could," Mike continued. "You were the last piece of her. She stared at you like you were a miracle—not a burden. Blonde hair, just like hers. And those dark gray eyes? Spitting image." Mike gave a small smile. "She said you had her soul."
A lump formed in Ryn's throat. His fingers curled at his sides, eyes stinging with a heat he didn't expect.
"No one ever told me," he whispered.
"They didn't want to. Because to them… you were a reminder of what they lost." Mike's tone darkened, then gentled. "But she didn't see you that way. Not for a second."
Ryn swallowed hard and nodded slowly. That truth—simple and quiet—cracked something deep inside him.
All his life, he had been told he was the cause of death. A curse. A mistake. But this—this memory—was the first thing that ever made him feel… wanted.
To them, he had stolen her life.
But to her—he was her life.
To the people in front of him now… he was something more.
"Thanks," Ryn said, voice rough but steady.
Mike clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze before saying,"your mother will be very proud of you."
And for the first time in years, Ryn allowed himself a small, real smile.
---
The next morning, the medical ward buzzed with gentle clinks of glass bottles and whispered instructions from healers. Nora and Lisa, both bandaged but in better spirits, sat side by side as a nurse unhooked the last monitoring crystal from Lisa's wrist.
"Discharged," the nurse smiled. "Try not to land face-first into any more boulders."
Lisa groaned dramatically. "No promises."
As they left the ward, Lisa glanced sideways. "So... where do you live?"
Nora hesitated for a moment. "I don't. Not right now. Planning to stay in the dorms for now. Until training starts, anyway."
Lisa's brow furrowed. "You can bunk with me if you want. My master is not strict, and I doubt she'll care. She barely notices when I sneak snacks."
Nora offered a small smile, touched. "Thanks. But... I think I'd rather be on my own."
Lisa nodded, sensing this wasn't up for debate. "Suit yourself. Just don't disappear on me."
"I won't."
They clasped forearms like warriors, grinning. Then Lisa turned and walked off, her footsteps fading into the hall.
--
Back in the medical ward, a tall man with short black hair, sharp cheekbones, and a coat bearing the insignia of an instructor stepped through the wide double doors. Instructor James had a weathered face, skin tanned from years outdoors, and a mechanical prosthetic arm that glinted faintly beneath his coat sleeve. His presence exuded discipline and calm. But now, his brow was slightly furrowed.
"Nora Vance?" he asked a passing healer.
"She was just discharged. Might be in the garden."
With a nod, James turned down the corridor, boots silent on the polished stone. Through the arched windows lining the passage, he caught sight of a young girl near the flowerbed, framed by warm morning light.
She stood still, her gaze lowered, one hand gently touching the white blossoms of a rare flower.
She had soft ginger hair that curled slightly at the ends, falling just above her shoulders. Her skin was pale, dusted with freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes, large and hazel-brown, shimmered with thoughtfulness as she breathed in the scent of the petals.
"That flower's called Whisperleaf," James said, gently approaching. "It only grows near healing wards. Its fragrance is said to calm the mind and slow the heart rate."
Nora looked up at him, startled but not afraid. "It's beautiful."
"Much like you, it thrives under pressure," he added, then paused. "You're Nora?"
She nodded.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
She hesitated, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Thalrim. It's a farming town. Used to be, anyway."
James' expression shifted. "Thalrim... that place was raided years ago."
"I know," she said softly. "My parents ran a small farm. They did some research on the side, something about mineral veins in the mountain range. But I don't remember much."
James nodded slowly, eyes thoughtful. He'd heard of Thalrim. What remained of it now was mostly rubble and rumors. That someone from such a place had made it this far...
"Such talent," he murmured, "from a forgotten place."
Then, turning brisk, he said, "Come. You'll be joining the training camp. There's a long path ahead."
Without another word, the two walked side by side into the sunlight, the flowerbed behind them gently swaying in the breeze.