Lucan awoke to pain.
A dull, constant ache ran through his chest and side. Not sharp, not fresh, but the kind of heavy weight that pulled at every breath like something tethered deep beneath the skin. The room around him was dark, save for a few candles on the far wall and the soft orange glow of a brazier. Stone walls. A cot. A chair. One narrow window, high and barred.
Not a cell. But not far from one either.
He tried to sit up. The pain made his vision blur.
"Easy now," came a voice. "You've got more holes in you than a practice dummy."
Lucan turned his head and saw a man seated in the shadows — dressed in black and silver mail, a heavy coat with a crimson mantle over his shoulder. A thick scar on his cheek. Dark eyes. A presence like a drawn blade.
Captain Thorne.
Lucan grunted and forced himself upright with one arm, careful not to pull too hard at the stitched gashes across his body. He managed it barely.
Thorne rose and walked closer, arms crossed.
"You spoke to Lord Emberlily like a fool yesterday," the captain said.
Lucan frowned. "I didn't know I wasn't supposed to."
"You also didn't bow. Didn't kneel. Didn't use a title. You called him 'you.'"
"I wasn't exactly briefed."
Thorne stared at him for a moment before sighing. "No. You weren't."
A silence passed between them.
"Where are you from?" Thorne asked abruptly.
Lucan looked down at his hands. Calloused, bandaged. They didn't feel like they belonged to him.
"I don't know," he said.
Thorne raised a brow.
"I'm not lying," Lucan said. "I woke up that day without memory, only a minute before the outrage begun. That's all I remember."
The captain didn't speak for a moment.
"That's a bold thing to claim."
"It's the truth."
Thorne nodded slowly, eyes narrowing. "And yet, with seven blades in your body, you stood your ground. Why?"
Lucan looked up. "She was in danger."
"There are trained men in the guard who've run for less. Some collapse the moment they see their own blood. You should have been dead before help ever came."
Lucan's jaw tightened. "I thought I was."
"But you weren't." Thorne stepped forward, gaze like steel, leaning into Luke. "Do you know what that tells a man like Lord Emberlily?"
Lucan shook his head.
Thorne said, "You know how houses like Emberlily start?"
Lucan looked him in the eye. "No."
Thorne's lips quirked slightly, and his tone softened, almost thoughtful. "They don't start with titles or bloodlines. They start with men who aren't afraid to fight for what they want. Men who make their own path, carve their own name into this world. It's not about who you were, it's about what you do. Men like Lord Emberlily rise because they see opportunities where others don't. They see potential where others only see risk."
He paused, letting his words linger.
"Lord Emberlily doesn't take interest in everyone. But you? You're still here. That tells me you might be worth something more than just another casualty. So the question is, what are you going to do with that?"
"I'm not dying on the floor as someone else's pawn," Lucan said, voice hardening. "I want more. I want to rise, however far this world will let me."
A silence followed.
Thorne studied him again, and this time there was something different in his eyes. Not warmth. But curiosity. A soldier measuring a blade.
"You've no sword. No magic. No name," he said.
"I've got nothing," Lucan agreed. "No skill, no noble blood, no training. But I learn fast. You give me a task, I'll master it. I'm competitive. I don't give up."
He remembered it clearly, sitting for hours at screens, learning patterns, adapting faster than anyone else. Victory wasn't just about strength. It was about calculation, resilience, and obsession. Obsession with the game, about improving every chance he could.
Thorne gave a quiet grunt.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen, eighteen in about two months" Lucan answered without hesitation.
"You'll be of age for the upcoming semester then," the captain said. "Eighteen is when men are allowed to test for Great Oak Academy."
Lucan tilted his head. "Academy?"
Thorne turned, walking to the window. "It's where nobles send their children to learn the sword, the flame, the book. Warriors, mages, scholars. It takes boys and girls and makes them into figures worth bending the knee to."
Lucan sat with that for a moment. It sounded like everything he needed.
"And anyone can join?" he asked.
"Anyone who survives the first day. It's not often commoners test. Trials of strength, wit, or talent. If you pass, you pay."
Lucan's heart sank. "Pay. How much?"
"A small fortune," Thorne said. "Enough to buy your own smithy."
Lucan ran a hand through his hair. "I don't have a single coin to my name."
"What's our currency?" Thorne asked.
Lucan shrugged. "No idea."
"Crowns," Thorne said. "Gold, silver, or copper. And you have none of them. The tuition is 60 gold crowns a year."
"Fantastic," Lucan muttered. "So I'm broke and homeless in a world that only respects strength or status."
Thorne smiled, it was a rare, grim thing. "There may be a way."
Lucan looked up.
"Lord Emberlily," Thorne said, "has taken interest in you. That's not nothing."