The hallway to Varen's office stretched like an endless tunnel. Portraits of Drayvar ancestors stared down from the walls, painted eyes that seemed to track Kael's every step. Warriors dead for decades, all wearing the same stern expression. All judging him.
Kael clenched his fists. His knuckles still ached from yesterday's training. Or maybe from the bar. Everything blurred in his memory like bloodstains in murky water.
The office door opened. Ama Maren stepped out, her face a mask of professional neutrality. Her eyes landed on Kael for an instant—just a fraction of a second—but it was enough. There was something there. Pity? Disappointment?
Kael erased the question from his mind. It didn't matter.
"Enter," Ama Maren said, her voice soft but firm.
Kael stepped inside.
Varen's office smelled of old paper and lamp oil. The dark oak desk dominated the room, covered in documents and maps. Varen sat behind it, his face barely visible in the shadows of the sunset filtering through the window.
He didn't look up right away. Just kept reading, the scratch of his quill on parchment filling the silence.
Kael waited. Every second stretched like hot metal. His heart beat steady, controlled. Show nothing. Not fear, not guilt, not doubt.
Finally, Varen set down the quill. His eyes—gray as Stormvale steel—locked onto Kael.
"Explain," Varen said, his voice low and measured, "how a simple gift turned into five corpses and a destroyed bar."
Kael swallowed. A small motion, but he felt Varen notice it. Damn.
"We went to the market," Kael began, keeping his voice steady. "To buy a gift for Favius. For his bravery in facing Rylan."
Varen nodded slightly. "Continue."
"In the market, we heard rumors," Kael paused, choosing every word. "About a merchant cheating House Drayvar. Merchant Ferris. Mixing stones in the grain."
"And you decided to investigate." Not a question.
"I'm a Drayvar," Kael said, lifting his chin slightly. "I couldn't ignore someone stealing from our family."
A muscle twitched in Varen's jaw. "So you went to the Rusted Anchor."
"Yes."
"With Ser Aldric, Davos, and Mika."
"Yes, sir."
Varen leaned back in his chair. The leather creaked. "And what happened then?"
Kael took a deep breath. Here it comes.
"We confronted Ferris. We asked him to explain himself. But he had guards. Armed men." Kael paused, letting the tension settle. "Davos… Davos panicked when he saw the weapons. He lost it. Ferris's men attacked first."
"And Ser Aldric?"
"He protected us," Kael answered quickly. "He's an experienced knight. He did what he had to."
Silence.
Varen stood. Walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back. The sunset painted his silhouette against the red sky.
"The city guards found three throats slit," Varen said, his voice dangerously calm. "Precise cuts. Surgical."
Kael didn't respond. Say nothing. Let him fill the silence.
"One man decapitated in a single stroke." Varen turned, his eyes dark wells. "And Davos… his heart ripped out."
The air thickened. Kael felt the weight of those words, the image they conjured. Davos on the floor, blood pooling dark, eyes open but empty.
He clenched his jaw. No. Focus.
"Tell me, Kael," Varen continued, each word a blade. "What kind of 'panic' causes that?"
"It was… chaos, sir," Kael replied, forcing his voice to sound shaken. "It all happened so fast. Blades flashing. Davos screaming. Aldric reacting. And then… then there was just blood."
Varen studied him. Long and piercing.
"The investigation continues," he said finally. "The testimonies are inconsistent. The guards have questions I can't answer satisfactorily."
Shit.
"But," Varen paused, returning to his desk, "you eliminated a man who was stealing from this House. A corrupt man."
Kael blinked. Was that…?
"You did something dangerous. Reckless. Without weighing the consequences." Varen sat, interlacing his fingers. "A nine-year-old boy shouldn't be in a port bar facing criminals."
"I'm sorry, sir—"
"But," Varen cut him off, "you did it to defend this House's honor. To protect our name."
A different silence filled the room. Not judgment, but evaluation.
"You'll be confined to the mansion for two weeks," Varen declared. "Double training with Master Torin. And you'll write a detailed report of everything you saw and heard that night."
Kael nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Consider this a lesson, Kael. Honor is defended, but with intelligence, not recklessness." Varen stared at him. "Next time you want to play hero, tell me first."
"Understood, sir."
"Leave."
Kael turned to the door, every step measured and controlled. He closed it behind him with a soft click.
And then, only then, he exhaled.
The worst is over. The story holds.
A deep sigh, the first real crack in his mask since it all began. His shoulders relaxed slightly, the weight—
"Interesting story you told Father."
Kael froze.
Lyssara leaned against the hallway wall, half-hidden in the sunset shadows. Arms crossed, a small but unsettling smile on her lips.
"Were you listening?" Kael asked, snapping his mask back into place instantly.
"I don't need to listen to know when someone's lying." Lyssara pushed off the wall, approaching with slow, deliberate steps. "You have that… glow. Same as when you blackmailed Aldric."
Damn.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kael replied, standing firm.
Lyssara stopped in front of him, close enough that Kael could see the storm-gray of her eyes. She was taller, but something in her posture made him feel weighed, measured.
"Five dead, Kael." Her voice was soft, almost curious. "One of them your friend. And you walk out like you broke a vase."
"Davos died defending his knight," Kael said, his voice cold. "That's what matters."
Lyssara studied him. A long moment of silence stretched like a rope about to snap.
"You know what's fascinating?" she asked finally. "That Father believed you. Or at least, chose to believe you."
She paused, tilting her head slightly.
"But I noticed the 'spark' at your ceremony. And I notice this too."
She started walking away, her footsteps echoing in the stone hallway. She didn't look back, but her voice floated in the air.
"Be careful, little brother. Lies have weight. And eventually, they crush you."
Kael stood motionless, watching her figure vanish into the corridor's shadows. His mind raced, calculating, assessing.
She knows. Not everything, but she knows.
He clenched his fists.
Damn.
Two days later, the training yard was quieter than usual.
The other initiates moved through their routines, but something was different. Glances that slid away when Kael passed. Conversations that died abruptly. An invisible space around him, like he carried a plague.
Kael ignored it. Let them think what they want.
Mika stood alone in a corner of the yard, striking a practice dummy with mechanical, repetitive motions. His wooden sword thudded into the stuffing over and over. No technique. No purpose.
Just striking.
Kael approached. The sound of his boots on the packed dirt made Mika tense, but he didn't stop.
"It's all settled," Kael said quietly, ensuring no one else could hear. "As long as you keep your mouth shut and do what I say, there's no problem."
The tone wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. A threat.
Mika finally stopped. His sword dropped to his side. When he turned, Kael saw the deep shadows under his eyes, the redness.
He hadn't slept. Maybe not in days.
"Davos had family," Mika said, his voice trembling but steady.
Kael didn't respond. Just waited.
"A little sister. Eight years old." Mika's voice cracked slightly. "She… she keeps asking why he's not coming back."
"Davos died for House Drayvar's honor," Kael replied, his voice flat. "That's what matters."
"That's it?" Mika stepped forward, hands shaking. "Honor? He had seven… seven holes in the—"
"Enough."
Kael's voice cut through the air like a whip. Cold. Final.
Mika stopped. His mouth opened, then closed. Something in his eyes went out.
"I don't recognize you," he whispered.
"Good," Kael replied, holding his gaze. "Because the Kael you knew would have died in that bar."
Silence. Just the wind whistling between the practice weapons.
"Davos chose to step in," Kael continued. "No one forced him. He died like a warrior. That's more honor than most will ever have."
Mika stared at him. There was something in his expression—fear? Revulsion?—but finally, he lowered his head.
"As you say… my lord."
The title was sarcastic. But also submissive.
Kael pointed to the practice dummy. "Now, pick up your sword. We're training."
"What?"
"Pick up your sword."
Mika obeyed slowly, retrieving his wooden weapon. His movements were clumsy, reluctant.
"Guard stance," Kael ordered.
Mika assumed the basic posture. Kael mirrored it, facing him.
"Attack."
"Kael, I don't—"
"Attack."
The strike came weak, predictable. Kael blocked easily and countered, his sword slamming into Mika's side with a hard thud that staggered him.
"Again."
Mika attacked again. Kael blocked and struck, this time the shoulder.
"Faster."
The training turned brutal. Kael attacked without mercy, his strikes hard and precise. Mika could barely defend, retreating step by step.
From across the yard, Master Torin watched. Arms crossed, expression unreadable. He didn't intervene.
Finally, Kael swept Mika's legs. The boy hit the ground with a dull thud.
"Get up."
Mika breathed heavily, sweat mixing with tears he wouldn't admit to.
"Get up," Kael repeated, his voice cold steel.
Mika rose. Slowly. Painfully.
And they continued.
Dusk found Kael walking toward the stables. His body ached from the extended training, muscles protesting with every step. But his mind was clear. Focused.
Mika is controlled. Varen satisfied. Only one left…
The stable door stood ajar, lamplight spilling through the crack. Kael pushed it open and entered.
Ser Aldric sat on a bench, cleaning his sword with methodical strokes. White bandages wrapped his torso beneath his open shirt, dark stains seeping through in places.
Gareth's broken ribs.
Aldric tensed when he saw Kael. His hands paused mid-motion.
"What do you want, boy?" he asked, trying to sound casual. He failed.
Kael closed the door behind him with a soft click. The sound seemed to echo in the confined space.
"To talk about what happened," Kael replied, walking to the center of the stable. "And about what's coming."
Aldric set the sword aside, standing slowly. It hurt. It showed.
"We already spoke to your father. It's over."
"Over?" Kael stopped a few paces away. "No, Aldric. It's just beginning."
The knight frowned. "I don't know what—"
"The story holds," Kael interrupted. "But only because I controlled it. Because I spoke to Varen. Because I kept everything in place."
Aldric eyed him warily. "And?"
"And that means your life, your position, your reputation…" Kael paused, letting the words settle. "Everything depends on that story. On my story."
"Careful, boy," Aldric warned, his voice dropping dangerously. "I'm still a knight of this House."
"A knight who blackmailed maids," Kael replied with cold calm. "A knight now tied to five deaths. Three throats slit with 'surgical precision,' in Varen's words."
Aldric paled slightly.
"Do you think Varen will be so… understanding if new details emerge?" Kael continued. "If someone mentions Gareth—a first-layer Master—was there? That maybe it wasn't all 'defense' like we said?"
"That's not—"
"Gareth could come back, Aldric." Kael stepped closer. "Anytime. And if something goes wrong, if the story unravels, who do you think takes the fall? Varen Drayvar's son, or the nameless knight who killed three men?"
Silence. Long and heavy.
Aldric clenched his jaw. His hands balled into fists, but he said nothing.
"I need people I can trust," Kael said, his voice softening slightly. "Competent people. Useful people."
He paused, letting Aldric process.
"You killed three men in seconds. That takes skill. Experience." Kael met his eyes. "You're useful, Aldric."
The knight let out a bitter laugh. "Useful? For what? A child playing politics?"
"For someone who's going to change things," Kael corrected. "Someone who already is."
Aldric studied him. There was something in his expression—fear, yes, but also recognition. Understanding of the reality he now lived in.
"I'm a knight of House Drayvar," he said finally, his voice hollow.
"And you will be." Kael nodded. "But now, you're also my man. My sword. When I need you, you answer."
"And if I refuse?"
"You won't."
It wasn't arrogance. It was certainty. Cold and absolute.
Aldric closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. When he opened them again, something had shifted. Resignation. Acceptance.
"What do you need from me?"
Kael smiled. Small. Cold.
"Loyalty. Obedience. Discretion." He paused. "And when the time comes, your sword."
Aldric stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Yes…" His voice cracked slightly. He swallowed. "Yes, my lord."
The words fell into the stable air like stones into still water.
Kael nodded once. "Good."
He turned to the door, then stopped.
"Oh, and Aldric," he said without looking back. "Heal fast. I'll need you soon."
He left the stable, leaving Aldric alone with his swords and his new reality.
Night had fallen completely when Kael returned to the mansion. The stars glittered over Stormvale, cold and indifferent.
A pawn, he thought, touching the fresh scar on his palm. The memory of the bar, the blood, Davos's empty eyes. But a useful pawn.
His gaze lifted to the upper windows. Lyssara's was lit, a shadow moving behind the curtains.
Watching him.
She knows something. But not everything. Not yet.
The night wind blew in from the sea, carrying the scent of salt and storm. Kael breathed deep, letting the air fill his lungs.
The game has truly begun, he thought, walking toward the mansion entrance. His shadow stretched behind him, dark and distorted. And this time, I can't afford to lose.
The doors closed behind him with a dull echo.
And somewhere, in the shadows of Stormvale, a first-layer Master smiled.