The study was warm, lit by low lanterns and the amber glow of wine caught mid-sip.
Baron Aldric Landergrey sat behind his desk, posture composed, expression neutral as ever. Across from him stood Sir Reinhardt, the Head Knight Commander of the barony, armor set aside, cloak draped over one shoulder.
Silence lingered between them.
"You called for me," Reinhardt said.
Aldric nodded. "I did. About the boy."
Reinhardt's eyes narrowed slightly. "Owen."
"Yes."
The Baron folded his hands. "He's changed."
"So have my squires and knights," Reinhardt replied. "They're uneasy."
Aldric leaned back. "Because he fights without mana?"
"No. Its rather because he fights with the intent to kill," Reinhardt corrected. "That's rarer. And far more dangerous."
Aldric studied him carefully. "You see something in him."
Reinhardt exhaled, then reached for the wine. "I do."
He took a sip, gaze drifting not to the Baron, but somewhere far beyond the walls of the study.
"He reminds me of myself."
Aldric blinked, surprised.
Reinhardt chuckled dryly. "Back when we were younger. Before command. Before titles." He shook his head. "Back when we followed Lloyd Midgar to war with blind faith and sharpened steel."
Aldric's lips curved into a rare smile. "Ahh Those days…"
Reinhardt smirked. "You smiled more back then."
Aldric's eyes softened. "And you complained less."
They shared a quiet laugh.
"You remember Glauderia?" Aldric said suddenly.
Reinhardt scoffed. "How could I forget that reckless woman. Picked fights with anyone who so much as breathed at her wrong."
"She couldn't stand arrogance," Aldric said fondly. "Or cowards."
"She still couldn't beat us," Reinhardt replied, lifting his cup. "Not back then."
Aldric smiled wider. "True. But gods help whoever stood between her and a battlefield."
The warmth lingered... then faded.
Aldric's smile thinned. "It's a shame… how time flies."
He stared into nothing. "I'd give anything to go back."
Reinhardt's hand stilled mid-motion.
His expression changed.
"No," he said quietly. "I wouldn't."
Aldric looked up.
Reinhardt's eyes darkened. "I'd go back to the night everything went wrong."
The room went silent.
The lantern flickered.
Aldric said nothing.
Neither did Reinhardt.
That night the woods beyond the estate were alive with night sounds of crickets, wind through leaves, and distant calls of creatures unseen.
Owen moved through the shadows carefully, breath slow, blade wrapped in cloth at his side.
He shouldn't have taken it.
He knew that.
The knight's sword was real steel, worn, balanced and heavy with promise. It felt different from wood. Honest. Unforgiving.
He stopped deep within the trees.
Moonlight filtered through branches, illuminating a massive boulder half-buried in the earth.
Owen stared at it.
Then he set the sword aside.
He planted his feet and pressed his hands against the stone.
Nothing happened.
He pushed harder.
Muscles screamed. Breath hitched. Veins burned.
The boulder didn't move.
Owen laughed.
A low, breathless sound.
"So that's how it is," he muttered.
He stepped back, wiped sweat from his brow, and smirked.
"This is how I'm gonna get stronger."
He pushed again.
And again.
The forest watched in silence.