Evening light filtered through the tall arches of the courtyard, stretching shadows across the cobblestones. The air smelled of hot iron and damp leather—the scent left behind by an active garrison.
In the few days since they had begun training with the pages and squires of House Yllar as a page himself, Caelum had had time to put names to most of the faces. Shared meals at the same table had revealed temperaments too: Squire Rehn, a chatterbox who always asked too many questions; Marven, another page—quiet but observant; and Joral, a veteran guard who spoke little but heard everything.
That evening, they were all gathered in the courtyard. Barion and his group had returned earlier that afternoon, and everyone had seen the bandages, the closed expressions, the exhausted horses. But no one had yet said officially what had happened.
So they waited.
An entire hour.
Conversations sparked and died just as quickly, smothered by the heavy silence clinging to the stone.
"Did you see Renval's face?" Marven whispered to Caelum, low enough that only two or three nearby could hear. "Looked like he came back from a funeral," Rehn replied, unable to resist commenting. "Maybe he did," murmured a guard beside them.
Joral, leaning against the wall, cleared his throat with a dry sound. "If Captain Barion came back looking tired, that's a bad sign. I've seen him go three days in freezing rain without closing his eyes. So for him to look like that…"
No one responded. You didn't joke about Barion's endurance.
The porch doors finally opened. A rider in a black and silver tabard entered the courtyard, dust still clinging to his boots and his mount's flanks. He dismounted with a sharp motion, removed his gloves, and stepped into the center.
His voice rang out, crisp: "By order of Baron Yllar: Captain Barion's expedition is a victory. The losses are acknowledged, but they do not alter the outcome of the operation."
He let the silence hang, cutting off any attempt at questioning. "That's all I have to say."
Then he turned and left, his footsteps echoing against the stone.
"Victory… but no details," Rehn muttered. "Details are for those who sit at the Baron's table," Joral replied, instinctively checking the sheath of his sword.
Caelum remained still, watching the door through which the messenger had vanished. He understood now that these silences couldn't be filled with simple questions. They could only be broken by loyalty earned through undeniable deeds.
When the courtyard emptied, he returned to his small room and lay down. Sleep took him almost instantly—dreamless.
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The next morning, before the sun reached the towers, a sergeant walked through the corridors: "Training resumes! Full schedule, no exceptions."
The voice faded, but Caelum immediately understood the consequences. The morning sessions with Jorund were now a thing of the past.
They lasted only half an hour, but that half-hour held more value than many entire days. Since Barion's departure, it had become a silent ritual: at dawn, while the courtyard still slept, he would join Jorund in a quiet corner, far from prying eyes. There, in the sharp silence of morning, fresh air filled his lungs, and each movement repeated with an almost meditative precision.
Jorund spoke little, but every word hit its mark. No long speeches, no pointless drills—just the essentials, offered plainly. Caelum knew he wouldn't find such teaching in the group lessons.
And now, it had to end.
Sitting on the edge of his straw mattress, he lingered a moment, listening to the sounds in the corridor, as if to delay the moment he'd have to rise. The official routine was reclaiming its place—unyielding. A rare opportunity had slipped through his fingers, and he knew that no one but him would truly grasp the loss.
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Early in the afternoon, as he was tidying the armory, Barion appeared in the doorway. His features were drawn from the fatigue of travel, but his gaze still burned with undiminished vigilance.
"Come," he said curtly. "I want to see how far you can go. No weapons, no secondary drills. Just your technique."
Caelum wiped his hands on his tabard and followed him. They reached a small side courtyard, bordered by old lichen-covered walls, where the air smelled of sun-warmed stone and dry dust.
He understood immediately: Barion wasn't looking for a sample of his progress, but a full demonstration of what he was capable of.
Caelum took his stance.
"Form one," Barion commanded.
He resolved to give everything he had worked on. He stabilized, locked his breath, and engaged his muscles in the precise sequence he had learned. He remained there for a full thirty minutes—motionless, yet vibrating with contained energy. Every breath was controlled, every micro-adjustment executed flawlessly. Not once did his balance falter.
When the time ended, he slowly straightened and moved on—without waiting for the command—to the second form. His grounding shifted, his breathing changed, and he held it for exactly thirty minutes. The movements, more demanding, flowed with an almost hypnotic rhythm.
Finally, he began the third form. This one, he could only hold for ten minutes. Adjustments came more frequently, breath was harder to master, but he did not yield to fatigue.
Throughout, Barion stood with arms crossed, watching him. The longer it went on, the harder it seemed for him to maintain his impassive expression. When Caelum finished, Barion remained silent for a moment, as if assessing whether what he had just witnessed was truly real.
"I…" he began, then paused to adopt a steadier tone. "Do you want to become my official disciple?"
Caelum opened his mouth, surprised, but didn't have time to answer.
"Know that things are about to change," Barion continued. "With the success of this mission, I'm about to be promoted to Grand Knight. The Empire has decided to elevate our lord, Baron Yllar, to the rank of Count. And I… I will become a Baron in turn."
He paused briefly, his gaze still fixed on Caelum. "That title comes with duties. As Baron, I'll serve in the Imperial army on the battlefield. If you accept to be my disciple, you'll have to follow me. Departure is set for a month and a half from now. But listen closely: if you commit, the Empire will reward you. You'll gain access to resources you could never obtain alone—strengthening elixirs, martial arts manuals, rare weapon skills… And above all, you'll face life-or-death situations, the only ones capable of awakening your seed of life."
A spark of ambition lit his eyes. "And when I break through to the rank of Grand Knight—which will happen as soon as my condition allows—you'll benefit from everything that entails. I'll have access to knowledge and techniques reserved for that domain, and you, as my disciple, will be exposed to them directly."
Caelum, far from naïve, understood perfectly that in this world, nothing was ever offered without expectation. Lasting bonds were those where both sides found value—a win-win relationship. His eyes narrowed slightly.
"And… what do you expect from me, in the long run?" he asked.
Barion gave a brief smile, this time more genuine. "I hope that one day, it'll be you who opens the doors to even higher levels of knighthood for me. If I raise you today, it's because I believe that tomorrow, you'll be able to raise me in turn."
Caelum remained still, weighing every word, aware that this offer was not just a promise of ascension… but an implicit pact between master and disciple, woven from ambition and loyalty.