The hallway to Varen's office stretched like a tunnel with no end. Portraits of Drayvar ancestors watched from the walls, painted eyes that seemed to follow Kael's every step. Warriors dead decades ago, all with the same severe expression. All judging him.
Kael clenched his fists. His knuckles still ached from yesterday's training. Or perhaps from the bar. Everything blended 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, barely a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Something was there. 'Pity? Disappointment?'
Kael erased the question from his mind. It didn't matter.
"Go in," Ama Maren said, her voice soft but firm.
Kael entered.
Varen's office smelled of old paper and lamp oil. The dark oak desk dominated the room, covered with documents and maps. Varen sat behind it, his face barely visible in the shadows of the evening light filtering through the window. He didn't look up immediately. He just kept reading, the scratch of his pen on parchment filling the silence.
Kael waited. Every second stretched like hot metal. His heart beat steadily, controlled.
'Don't show anything. Not fear, not guilt, not doubt.'
Finally, Varen put down the pen. His eyes, gray like Stormvale steel, locked onto Kael.
"Explain to me," Varen said in a low, measured voice.
"How a simple gift turned into five corpses and a destroyed bar."
Kael swallowed. A small movement, but he felt Varen noticed it.
'Damn it.'
"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. He was mixing stones in the grain."
"And you decided to investigate."
It wasn't a question.
"I am a Drayvar," Kael said, lifting his chin slightly.
"I couldn't ignore someone stealing from our family."
A muscle tensed 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 got scared when he saw the weapons. He panicked. 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 up. He walked to the window with his hands clasped behind his back. The evening light drew his silhouette against the red sky.
"The city guards found three throats cut," Varen said in a dangerously calm voice.
"Precise cuts. Surgical."
Kael didn't respond.
'Don't say anything. Let him fill the silence.'
"One man decapitated with a single stroke," Varen turned, his eyes like dark wells.
"And Davos... his heart was ripped out."
The air thickened. Kael felt the weight of those words, the image they evoked. Davos on the floor, blood forming a dark puddle, eyes open but empty. He clenched his jaw.
'No. Focus.'
"Tell me, Kael," Varen continued, every word a blade.
"What kind of panic causes that?"
"It was... it was chaos, sir," Kael replied, forcing his voice to sound affected.
"Everything happened so fast. Weapons shone. Davos screamed. Aldric reacted. And then... then there was only blood."
Varen studied him. Long and penetrating.
"The investigation continues," he finally said.
"Testimonies are inconsistent. The guards have questions I cannot 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 he...?'
"You did something dangerous. Reckless. Without measuring the consequences," Varen sat down, lacing his fingers.
"A nine-year-old boy shouldn't be in a harbor bar confronting criminals."
"I'm sorry, sir..."
"But," Varen interrupted him,
"you did it to defend the honor of this House. To protect our name."
A different silence filled the room. Not of judgment, but of evaluation.
"You will be confined to the manor for two weeks," Varen declared.
"Double training with Master Torin. And you will 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 be a hero, let me know first."
"Understood, sir."
"Leave."
Kael turned toward the door, every step measured and controlled. He closed the door behind him with a soft click. And then, only then, he exhaled.
'The worst is over. The story holds up.'
A deep sigh, the first real crack in his mask since everything began. His shoulders relaxed slightly, the weight...
"Interesting story you told Father."
Kael froze.
Lyssara was leaning against the hallway wall, half-hidden in the evening shadows. Her arms crossed, a small but unsettling smile on her lips.
"Were you listening?" Kael asked, instantly recomposing his mask.
"I don't need to listen to know when someone is lying," Lyssara pushed off the wall, approaching with slow, deliberate steps.
"You have that... gleam. The same one as when you blackmailed Aldric."
'Damn it.'
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kael replied, holding firm.
Lyssara stopped in front of him, close enough for Kael to see the storm gray of her eyes. She was taller, but something about his posture made him feel evaluated, weighed.
"Five dead, Kael," her voice was soft, almost curious.
"One of them your friend. And you walk out of there as if you'd broken a vase."
"Davos died defending his knight," Kael said with a cold voice.
"That's what matters."
Lyssara studied him. A long moment of silence that stretched like a rope about to snap.
"You know what's fascinating?" she finally asked.
"That Father believed you. Or at least, decided to believe you."
She paused, tilting her head slightly.
"But I did notice the flash at your ceremony. And I notice this too."
She started to walk away, her steps echoing on the stone floor. 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 remained motionless, watching her figure disappear into the shadows of the corridor. His mind raced, calculating, evaluating.
'She knows. Not everything, but she knows.'
He clenched his fists.
'Damn it.'
Two days later, the training yard was quieter than usual. The other initiates moved through their routines, but something was different. Glances that darted away when Kael passed. Conversations that died abruptly. An invisible space that surrounded him, as if he carried a disease.
Kael ignored it.
'Let them think what they want.'
Mika was alone in a corner of the yard, hitting a practice dummy with mechanical, repetitive movements. His wooden sword impacted the stuffing with dull thuds, again and again. No technique. No purpose. Just hitting.
Kael approached. The sound of his boots on the compacted earth made Mika tense, but he didn't stop hitting.
"Everything is settled," Kael said in a low voice, making sure no one else could hear.
"As long as you keep your mouth shut and do what I tell you, there's no problem."
The tone was not a suggestion. It was an order. A threat.
Mika finally stopped hitting. His sword fell to the side. When he turned, Kael saw the deep dark circles under his eyes, the red eyes. He hadn't slept. Maybe he hadn't slept in days.
"Davos had family," Mika said in a trembling but firm voice.
Kael didn't answer. He just waited.
"A younger sister. Eight years old," Mika's voice cracked slightly.
"She... she asks why he's not coming back."
"Davos died for the honor of House Drayvar," Kael replied with a flat voice.
"That's what matters."
"Is that all?" Mika took a step forward, his hands trembling.
"Honor? He had seven... seven holes in his..."
"Enough."
Kael's voice cut 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. Only the wind blowing through 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 he finally 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 going to train."
"What?"
"Pick up your sword."
Mika obeyed slowly, picking up his wooden weapon. His movements were clumsy, reluctant.
"Guard position," Kael ordered.
Mika assumed the basic stance. Kael did the same, facing him.
"Attack."
"Kael, I don't..."
"Attack."
The blow came weak, predictable. Kael blocked easily and countered, his sword impacting Mika's side with a hard blow that made him stagger.
"Again."
Mika attacked again. Kael blocked and struck, this time on the shoulder.
"Faster."
The training turned brutal. Kael attacked mercilessly, his blows hard and precise. Mika could barely defend himself, backing away step by step. From the other side of the yard, Master Torin watched. His arms crossed, expression inscrutable. He did not intervene.
Finally, Kael swept Mika's legs. The boy fell onto his back with a dry thud.
"Get up."
Mika was breathing heavily, sweat mixing with tears he wouldn't admit to.
"Get up," Kael repeated, his voice like cold steel.
Mika got up. Slowly. Painfully. And they continued.
Evening 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 remains...'
The stable door was ajar, lamplight filtering through the crack. Kael pushed the door and entered. Ser Aldric was sitting on a bench, cleaning his sword with methodical movements. White bandages wrapped his torso under his unbuttoned shirt, dark spots filtering through in places. 'Gareth's broken ribs.'
Aldric tensed when he saw Kael. His hands stopped mid-movement.
"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 rumble in the confined space.
"To talk about what happened," Kael replied, walking toward the center of the stable.
"And about what comes next."
Aldric set the sword aside, standing up slowly. It hurt. It was noticeable.
"We already talked to your father. It's over."
"Over?" Kael stopped a few steps away.
"No, Aldric. It's just beginning."
The knight frowned.
"I don't know what..."
"The story holds up," Kael interrupted him.
"But only because I controlled it. Because I spoke with Varen. Because I kept everything in place."
Aldric looked at him cautiously.
"And?"
"And that means your life, your position, your reputation..." Kael paused, letting the words sink in.
"Everything depends on that story. On my story."
"Be careful, boy," Aldric warned, his voice dropping dangerously.
"I am still a knight of this House."
"A knight who blackmailed serving girls," Kael replied with cold calm.
"A knight who is now involved in five deaths. Three throats cut with surgical precision, according to Varen's words."
Aldric paled slightly.
"Do you think Varen will be so... understanding if new details surface?" Kael continued.
"If someone mentions that Gareth, a first-layer Master, was there. That perhaps it wasn't all defense like we said?"
"That doesn't..."
"Gareth could return, Aldric," Kael took a step forward.
"At any moment. And if something goes wrong, if the story unravels, who do you think will be the scapegoat? Varen Drayvar's son, or the nameless knight who killed three men?"
Silence. Long and heavy.
Aldric clenched his jaw. His hands closed into fists, but he didn't say anything.
"I need people I can trust," Kael said, softening his voice slightly.
"Competent people. Useful people."
He paused, letting Aldric process.
"You killed three men in seconds. That requires skill. Experience," Kael looked him directly in the eye.
"You are useful, Aldric."
The knight let out a bitter laugh.
"Useful? For what? For a child playing at politics?"
"For someone who is going to change things," Kael corrected.
"Someone who is already changing things."
Aldric studied him. There was something in his expression. Fear, yes, but also recognition. Understanding of the reality he now lived in.
"I am a knight of House Drayvar," he finally said, his voice drained of strength.
"And you will remain one," Kael nodded.
"But now, you are also my man. My sword. When I need you, you will answer."
"And if I refuse?"
"You won't."
It wasn't arrogance. It was certainty. Cold and absolute.
Aldric closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. When he opened them again, there was something different in them. 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 looked at him for a long time. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Yes..." his voice cracked slightly. He swallowed.
"Yes, my lord."
The words fell into the stable air like stones in still water. Kael nodded once.
"Good."
He turned toward the door, then stopped.
"Oh, and Aldric," he said without looking at him.
"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 manor. The stars shone 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 toward 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 from the sea, carrying the smell of salt and storm. Kael breathed deeply, letting the air fill his lungs.
'The game has just truly begun,' he thought, walking toward the manor 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.