A few days had passed since the incident with Vin and Vex, but the outer estate hadn't softened because of it. If anything, the atmosphere had grown sharper.
The kind of sharp that didn't cut you immediately but left you tense, waiting for the blade to fall.
The mornings still began before the sun had fully lifted its head above the distant cliffs. A bell rang, dull and merciless, dragging fifty children out of sleep and into routine. Sand crunched under bare feet. Cold air bit into unfinished bones.
House Avernus didn't raise children. It tempered them.
The outer estate sat far from the main family grounds, almost like an afterthought, hidden between barren hills and wind-snarled forests. It was where cast-off blood was tested to see if it deserved to belong. Jude had memorized its smell. Dust, iron, and boiled grain porridge that tasted like regret.
The yard was already filled with movement. Children stretching their sore limbs. Some whispering half-awake curses. Others rehearsing forms over and over, pretending muscle memory would overwrite fear. Fifty of them stood within the training perimeter, each with a wooden blade or staff in hand. Jude stood among them in silence. He noticed the way the air felt slightly heavier that morning. Not with danger. With anticipation.
Then the house guardian stepped forward. His boots struck the ground loudly, just to remind them how small they were. He wore his usual armor—deep black steel marked with the Avernus crest.
His eyes swept across them without warmth. Without hatred. Like a butcher counting livestock.
"A competition will be held," he announced. A ripple passed through the children. A competition wasn't unusual. They were thrown into duels regularly to be measured, to be ranked, to be reminded what they were worth compared to those who shared their blood. But today, something about the way he said it felt different.
"At the age of ten," he continued, "you will be transferred to the main estate and formally inducted into training as cadets of House Avernus. This competition will determine who stands above the rest when that time comes." The tension thickened. "Perform well," the guardian added, "and your names will be remembered by the house." Hope burned in a few eyes. Fear in most.
Then he paused. "The Patriarch will be visiting."
The yard froze. Whispers rippled out like small cracks in stone. "The Patriarch?" "He's coming here?" "Why…?" Jude's expression didn't change, but his thoughts sharpened.
Auri Avernus. An Ascendant Knight.
A man stationed at the borderlands with the knights of House Avernus, holding back the abyss and its creatures from swallowing the kingdom whole. He wasn't a man who concerned himself with children. So why now?
Jude's gaze lowered slightly. The head guardian…he must have reported it. That man didn't just oversee their training. He was also his father's right-hand man when it came to the children of House Avernus—the one who delivered reports directly about their progress, failures, and incidents. Jude exhaled slowly through his nose. So he wants to see for himself.
The guardian dismissed them not long after, ordering them to rest and prepare for the next day. No one left calm.
Jude returned to his quarters in silence. The corridor walls were dark stone, damp with cold, built to endure rather than comfort. Every footstep echoed. Every breath felt like it belonged to a place that had buried more dreams than graves.
Inside his room, he shut the door quietly. He sat on his bed and closed his eyes. Mana answered him almost immediately. He guided it through his body in slow cycles, carefully controlled. Like water flowing through channels he had rebuilt from memory—memory that didn't belong to an eight-year-old boy. Once. Twice. Three times. He opened his eyes. Three-star.
A faint, humorless smile tugged at his lips. At his age, most children could barely sense mana. Some could go years without forming a proper cycle. Yet he already stood far ahead. "And you still won't see it," he muttered quietly.
He raised his hand. Shadows gathered—not thick, not wild, just a faint mist coiling around his fingers as though it recognized him. He watched it carefully. Too wild. Too loud. He clenched his fist, and the shadow dissolved into the corners of the room. "Not in front of him," Jude murmured.
Because Auri Avernus would notice. His father had fought things that crawled out of pure darkness. He didn't survive the borderlines by being dull.
Jude leaned back, staring at the cracked stone ceiling. In his previous life, his father had never looked at him. Not truly. Other children had received glances, instruction, acknowledgment. Jude had only received silence. Not hatred. Just nothing. Invisible. A mistake with a pulse.
A faint smirk touched his lips. "This time," he whispered, "you'll have to look."
He sat up. His eyes shifted to the wooden sword leaning against the wall. Scarred. Worn. Balanced perfectly for his hand alone. Magic was dangerous in front of his father. But a sword? A sword was tradition. A sword was Avernus.
He stood and grasped it. "If a god chose me," he muttered, turning it once in his hand, "I should probably try acting impressive for once."
A dry little breath of amusement escaped him. Then he left his room and headed for the training hall.
Inside, the air was thick with sweat and splintered wood. A few children were already there, practicing in tense silence. Not many spoke to him now. Some avoided his eyes entirely. Jude stepped onto an empty part of the training floor. He rolled his shoulders. Adjusted his stance.
Then began to move. His footwork was clean. His balance low and stable. Each strike controlled, precise, carved through the air with no wasted motion. Not flashy. Efficient. Like a blade meant for war, not show.
He imagined those cold eyes watching. Measuring. Judging. His lips curved faintly. "You love blades," he murmured as the wooden sword snapped through the air, "so pay attention tomorrow."
He turned. Slashed. Stepped. Defended. Again. And again.
Tomorrow wasn't just a duel. It wasn't just a children's competition. It was the first time he would stand where his father could no longer pretend he didn't exist.
And this time, Jude wouldn't disappear into the shadows. This time—the shadows would stand behind him.