Years passed without sound, without color, without pause.Caleb's shadow clung to every corner of the house like a stain that could never be scrubbed away.
Clive no longer swung his wooden sword at the tall grass while imagining three-headed monsters.That belonged to childhood.A time before the world ripped his family apart.
Now he struck the old fence post behind the house.Each blow rattled the worn wood.Each swing carried the weight of words he could never force out loud.Each strike was a prayer that had never been answered.
The skin on his palms split and peeled.Small beads of blood made the wooden hilt slippery.But he kept going.Until his breath felt like a blade sawing up and down inside his lungs.
He no longer trained to play.He trained to survive.
From the doorway of the storage shed, Connor leaned against the half-rotted frame.His eyes narrowed as he watched his younger brother punish the post as if it were something unforgivable.
"You can hit that post until it falls apart," Connor said.His voice was flat, almost bored. "It still won't save you when you face a real monster."
Clive didn't stop.He didn't even look at him.
The next strike landed harder.The post groaned.
"I won't stand by," Clive growled. "I'm going to get strong."
Connor scoffed. "For what? To please nobles who'll send you to die like Caleb?"
He spat on the dirt.Connor's hatred never pointed at just one thing.It seeped like poison into everything: the kingdom, the authorities, the army, the veterans who returned with half their bodies.
He hated all of it.
*******
Inside the house, Lena sat at the edge of Caleb's empty bed.Her hands clutched the coarse cloth of an old shirt, worn thin from being held and squeezed so many times.
She no longer cried.Her tears had dried years ago.
She only stared at the window, at something no one else could see.
*******
Meanwhile, Gregor returned from the fields.His back sagged, from age or from the weight of the wheat he carried.The moment he put down his sickle, his eyes searched for Clive.
And there he was, behind the house, striking the post until his breaths broke into ragged gasps.
"Enough!" Gregor barked.
Clive froze.Half a second.Only because he was out of breath.
"You've trained too much for today," Gregor said, his voice sharp. "Help your mother prepare dinner."
Gregor's expression wasn't anger.It was fear.Fear that had hardened, buried deep inside him, yet surfaced every time Clive lifted a sword.
Every swing Clive made reminded Gregor of Caleb.And the shadow of his eldest son haunted every decision he made.
*******
Night fell.
They ate in the silence that had become routine.Only the soft clink of spoons against wooden bowls filled the room.
Clive tightened his hand under the table.The cracked skin stung.New calluses had formed, hard like soil long deprived of rain.
They were not the hands of a child.They were the hands of someone walking toward a path where survival was never guaranteed.
*******
Two more years passed.
Connor would turn seventeen in a week.Clive felt the household tighten like barbed wire wrapped around all their chests.
The dining room felt smaller, heavier.Even the air seemed unwilling to move.
Gregor finally cleared his throat and said, "I've arranged something."
Lena lowered her head, the tip of her napkin trembling between her fingers.
Gregor continued, "Our land. The livestock. I sold almost everything."
Clive stopped chewing.The piece of bread in his mouth tasted like dust.
"A merchant captain from the South," Gregor said. "He can take two young passengers. No names. No traces. Across the sea."
Clive went still.The words felt like spitting on Caleb's grave.
"You two," Gregor said, looking from Connor to Clive. "You'll leave before the conscription notice comes."
"No," Clive said.
Not a whisper.Not a protest.A decision.
Gregor's face flushed. "What do you mean no? You think this is a choice? I sold our family's livelihood for your lives!"
"Caleb didn't have a choice!" Clive shot to his feet, knocking his chair back. "He left because the system forced him. And he died because of it."
Clive shook his head hard. "If we run, we trample on his grave."
Gregor slammed the table. "You want to die uselessly like him?"
"I'm going in," Clive said. "I'll survive. I'll find out what happened to Caleb. I'll climb the ranks. And once I'm inside, I'll break the machine that swallowed him."
Silence crashed over the room.As if every object held its breath.
Connor, who had been watching quietly, finally spoke.His voice was like a sharpened blade.
"Father is wrong. And Clive is wrong."
Both of them turned toward him.
Connor continued, calm but firm, "Conscription will only make you a pawn. Freeblade. That's the answer."
He looked at Clive. "We join an independent freeblade company. We train until we're the best. With strength and reputation, we can strike back. We can take revenge without bowing to the kingdom."
Lena broke the silence with a small sob.She covered her mouth.
"Don't," she whispered. "I can't lose all of you."
Clive looked at her.A part of him cracked seeing her cry.
But behind the window, he could almost see Caleb.That thin smile before he left, the smile of someone who knew he might die yet walked forward anyway.
"Mother," Clive said. "If we run… it means they've already won."
Lena whispered, "So you choose to make me lose another son?"
Her words slid in like a slow knife.
Gregor clenched his fists. "The decision is made. The money is paid. You will get on that ship."
"I won't go," Clive said. "Force me, and I'll jump off the deck in the middle of the ocean."
Connor clicked his tongue. "My plan makes more sense. Freeblade. It's the middle path."
Gregor shook his head sharply. "There is no middle. This is life and death."
But Clive had already stopped listening.His choice was carved into stone.
He would walk Caleb's path.But he would walk it to the end, not stop at an unmarked grave.
*******
Three days before the royal envoys arrived, the late afternoon sun burned across Clive's back as he split wood in the yard.The rhythm of the axe steadied the chaos in his head.Kreeeak.The axe bit through the log.Clive drew a breath, ready to swing again.
Then he heard footsteps.Two sets.Not his father's heavy stride.Not his mother's soft one.
Clive turned.
Connor stood there.Beside him was a stranger.
The man was not a farmer.Not a royal soldier.Something about him was different.The way he stood.The way he observed everything around him.Like a predator that had lived too long inside shadows.
His clothes were simple, worn dark-brown leather.But a long sword hung at his hip, its black leather grip frayed from years of use.His eyes were steel-gray.
"Clive," Connor said. "This is Raimon."
Raimon did not smile.He did not nod.He only stared.
A stare that weighed a person not with morality, but with survival potential.
"Is Father inside?" Connor asked.
"Yeah."
"I want them to hear this."
Connor inhaled deeply.
"Raimon is a Freeblade. From Les Errants."
Clive frowned.The name wasn't foreign.A shadow faction.An independent company of hired swords whispered about like a dark legend.
"I brought him here," Connor said.
Clive looked at his brother. "What for?"
"To show there's a better way than conscription or running."
Raimon finally spoke.His voice was low and rough, like stone grinding against stone.
"Your brother says you carry a grudge," he said. "Grudge is expensive. It requires skill. It requires freedom. In the army, you're just a number. They train you not to survive, but to stay in formation."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Les Errants has no formation."
Gregor appeared at the doorway, Lena behind him.
"What is this?" Gregor asked sharply.
Connor didn't flinch. "This is a solution, Father. An opportunity. Not an escape."
Gregor looked Raimon up and down.Cautious.
Connor continued, "Freeblades like him are trained to survive monsters in the dark. Not parade beasts in a royal training yard."
Lena stepped forward a little. "And they… will they be safe?"
Raimon held her gaze for a long moment.
"I promise no safety. But I can offer a chance. Something the kingdom never gives."
Clive felt something shift inside his chest.This wasn't running.This might be the only way to strike the system from the outside.
"Why would Les Errants take us?" Clive asked.
"Because I see potential," Raimon replied.He pointed at the cleanly split piles of wood.
"You know how to channel anger. That matters. Many die because they can't."
He turned to Connor.
"And he has instinct. The instinct to find the right people."
Gregor stepped closer.
"You want my sons to fight for you?"
Raimon shook his head.
"I don't need children. I need people willing to learn how to become survival machines. If they fail, they die. If they succeed, they become assets."
His gaze locked onto Clive's.Cold.But honest.
"You want the truth about your brother," Raimon said. "Les Errants can take you closer to it than any kingdom."
The evening wind blew gently.The scent of burning wood from a neighbor's house drifted through the air.
Clive looked at Connor.Connor nodded.Slow.But certain.
"Three days," Clive whispered. "The royal envoys arrive in three days."
Raimon finally showed something that could be called a small smile.A smile that comforted no one.
"Then we have two days to decide," he said. "And one day to disappear."
"If you choose my path."