The sun had already risen above Oksen's eastern wall.
The night's frost was melting on the roofs. Water dripped from wooden gutters, gathered in puddles, and ran toward the square in narrow streams. The settlement gates stood open. Carts passed through them, hunters returned, and farmers entered from the nearby homesteads.
Oksen had been awake for some time.
Kain stepped out of the garrison storage room and squinted against the light.
In the few hours since dawn, his left cheek had swollen even more. His split lip throbbed, his shirt was stained with dried blood and ink, and the print of someone else's boot marked his right sleeve.
Arnwald looked him over.
"Try not to look like a brigand in the square."
"You can put me back in the storage room. It was darker there."
"You looked like a brigand in a storage room."
The captain crossed the yard.
Kain followed.
Six unfamiliar horses stood at the hitching rail. They were not the short northern horses accustomed to snow and stone, but tall imperial mounts with long legs. Saddlebags hung from their saddles, and silver plates bearing the image of a crown decorated their tack.
Two riders in dark green cloaks spoke with the garrison soldiers. A round clasp bearing a winged staff gleamed on one man's chest—the emblem of the Imperial Post.
A closed carriage stood near the gate.
Three seals were displayed on its side:
the crown of the Empire;
the wolf's head of the royal House of Valskar;
the mark of the northern road.
"They came in after sunrise?" Kain asked.
"Once the gates had opened."
"So the courier did not spend the night outside the wall."
"Disappointed?"
"A little. It would be nice to know the state has to wait outside sometimes too."
Arnwald looked back over his shoulder.
"You were nearly cut down for your sharp tongue a few hours ago."
"Not for my tongue."
"Give it time."
They stepped into the street.
People were streaming toward the square.
Craftsmen closed their workshops. Merchants abandoned half-built stalls. Women led children by the hand, while old men followed behind, grumbling that imperial news never brought anything good.
Someone already knew what had happened at the Alseif house.
Kain felt the stares.
Some people quickly looked away.
Others let their eyes linger on his bruised cheek and smirked. A third group watched him with concern, as though attacking the guard were a disease that spread through the air.
Two women beside the fish stalls lowered their voices as he passed.
"They say he tried to take a sword."
"They say he nearly did."
"Frost ta ham. Not a shred of sense in his head."
"At least he protected his sister."
"A dead brother protects no one."
Kain pretended not to hear.
Half of Oksen had already gathered in the square.
The imperial banner had been raised before the landman's house. The royal banner of Valskar flew beside it. Beneath them stood the tall wooden platform normally used for the Thing, the pronouncement of sentences, and the autumn collection of taxes.
Today, an unfamiliar man of about forty-five stood upon it.
He was broad-shouldered, with a short graying beard. His traveling clothes looked plain, but the emblem of the Imperial Post shone on his cloak, and a short sword hung from his belt.
Sigvard Holn, Landman of Oksen, stood beside him with the local priest and two clerks.
Sigvard looked as though he had not slept all night.
His expensive fur cloak was fastened unevenly, his hair had been smoothed down with a wet hand, and dark circles lay beneath his eyes.
Kaspar Veld stood at the edge of the platform.
Kain noticed the ledger in one clerk's hands. A different ledger. Not the one he had soaked in ink.
Kaspar saw him.
No expression appeared on the collector's face.
Arnwald stopped at the steps.
"Stay here."
"And you?"
"Up there."
"To keep order?"
"To prevent you from improving any more state records."
The captain climbed onto the platform.
Kain remained near the front of the crowd.
Toren Hast spotted him a few moments later.
His friend pushed through the people and took a place beside him.
He wore a hunting coat that smelled of smoke and animal fat. Toren had tied his fair hair back with a leather cord, though not very well.
He studied Kain's face.
"I heard you defeated two guards, a collector, an assessor, and a state ledger."
"The ledger proved stronger."
"I can see that."
Toren touched his own cheek, indicating Kain's bruise.
"Does it hurt?"
"Only when I talk."
"At last you have a reason to keep quiet."
Ilva Norn approached from the other side.
She carried a small bag of medical supplies. Her dark hair was braided, and her sleeves were rolled to the elbows.
Ilva looked at Kain.
"Frost og aske."
"Good morning."
"Bend down."
"Why?"
"I want to make sure there is still something inside your skull."
"I already spoke to Halvar. He checked."
"Halvar is a smith."
"And he immediately knew there was nothing to repair."
She took Kain by the chin and turned his face toward the light.
"Pupils are equal. Any nausea?"
"No."
"Dizziness?"
"Only from your tenderness."
Ilva pressed a finger beside his swollen cheekbone.
Kain flinched.
"So sensation is intact."
"You could have asked."
"You would have lied."
On the platform, the landman raised a hand.
The conversations gradually died away.
Sigvard stepped forward.
"People of Oksen! After the gates opened this morning, Senior Courier Markus Eiren of the Northern Imperial Road arrived in our settlement."
A murmur passed through the crowd.
The name meant nothing to Kain, but the title made people listen. A senior courier did not bring wedding invitations or a complaint from a neighboring jarl.
The man with the silver clasp came to the edge of the platform.
He surveyed the square and spoke in Valsk:
"Heil morn, Valskir."
Good morning, people of Valskar.
His accent marked him as an outsider, but he pronounced the words correctly.
Several old men nodded in approval.
"Heil," voices answered from the crowd.
The courier continued in Avaren:
"By command of the Eternal Emperor Alucard Pendragon, Guardian of Mortals, and with the authority of King Haldor Skarn of Valskar, an emergency imperial decree shall now be proclaimed."
The priest raised a hand to his chest.
The people around Kain bowed their heads.
Someone at the front said quietly:
"Sae Imperar veyar."
Others took up the phrase.
"Nai veyar."
Kain repeated the response with everyone else.
As long as the Emperor lives, so do we. Kain had spoken those words since childhood.
At festivals.
Before winter.
When word arrived of the fallen.
When old people said that only the Emperor remembered how many times humanity had stood at the edge of destruction.
Markus Eiren waited for silence.
One of the clerks handed him a scroll.
The courier showed the three seals to the crowd, broke the waxed cord, and unrolled the document.
"In recent months, attacks by the tribes of the Horde have increased along the Empire's northern and eastern frontiers."
The crowd went still.
Kain felt Toren stop smiling beside him.
"Several patrols have failed to return from their routes. Contact with two border forts has been lost. Scouts report that conflict between the tribes of the Horde has ceased and that their actions are being coordinated in a way never observed before."
Someone in the crowd cursed in Valsk:
"Ulv ta det."
May the wolves carry it away.
Markus continued reading:
"At present, there is no reliable evidence that a general invasion has begun. A full military muster is not being declared."
A heavy breath passed across the square.
Not relief.
Only fear postponed.
"However, the Eternal Emperor commands that the border garrisons, royal warbands, and imperial legions be reinforced. Recruitment into the healing, engineering, and logistics services is to be expanded. The training of junior officers and specialists is to be accelerated."
Kain saw Ilva raise her head.
Markus Eiren looked down at the scroll.
"For the duration of this emergency decree, restrictions based on birth, mandatory patronage, and the entrance fee are suspended for admission to the examinations of the Imperial Military Academy."
The square became so quiet that Kain heard a drop of water fall from the roof of a nearby house.
Toren slowly turned toward him.
Kain watched only the courier.
Markus repeated the words, more loudly this time:
"Any free subject of the Empire who meets the age requirements and has not been convicted of a grave crime may present themselves as a candidate for the examinations of the Imperial Military Academy."
Someone laughed, convinced they had misheard.
Someone else called out:
"Anyone?"
"Any free subject," Markus replied without looking up from the text. "Birth shall not constitute grounds for refusing admission to the examinations."
Noise rose among the people beside the market stalls.
"Even a peasant?"
"Without a recommendation?"
"What about payment?"
"He said the fee is waived!"
"As if they'd ever take one of us."
Markus raised a hand.
"The entrance fee is waived. The Academy's standards are not lowered. A candidate must pass examinations of health, physical fitness, literacy, command ability, and affinity with recognized energy systems."
He paused.
"The right to be examined does not confer the right to be accepted."
The noise subsided.
That sounded more familiar.
The Empire opened a door but did not promise that anyone could walk through it.
"Those accepted into state service shall receive provisions, a uniform, and the pay assigned to their branch. A portion of that pay may be sent to the member's family. At the commission's discretion, a family's tax arrears may be deferred for the duration of initial service."
Those final words made Kain look at Kaspar.
The collector stood motionless.
But Sigvard Holn lowered his head slightly.
Dozens of people began talking at once.
For some, the decree meant war.
For others, money.
For still others, a chance to escape debt by sending a son or daughter somewhere they might never return from.
Markus continued:
"An imperial selection commission will arrive in Oksen in three days. It will register and conduct preliminary examinations of volunteers."
He handed the scroll to a clerk, took another sheet, and listed the branches:
"Garrison Service."
"The Northern Warbands of Valskar."
"The Imperial Legions."
"Healing Service."
"Engineering and Logistics Services."
"The Imperial Military Academy."
Kain listened to the final name longer than the others.
Not to the words.
To the possibility itself.
The Imperial Academy lay so far from Oksen that it had seemed almost imaginary when he was a child. The heirs of Houses studied there, along with the children of officers, wealthy merchants, and people whose names opened gates before they had time to knock.
Kain knew no one who had studied there.
He knew no one who had even taken the examination.
And yet the courier had just said:
any free subject.
"Registration will open today at noon," Markus announced. "The commission may reject a candidate or assign them to another branch if their abilities are better suited to a different path."
The man rolled up the sheet.
"Now I will repeat the essential points in Valsk."
He spoke more slowly, choosing simple words.
He did not translate the entire decree word for word. He explained it.
The Horde was gathering at the borders.
There was no general war yet.
The Empire was preparing.
It needed warriors, healers, craftsmen, clerks, and people capable of learning.
Birth would not bar anyone from the examination.
But weakness would not be excused by poverty.
When Markus reached the Academy, he said:
"Akademi-dar er opp. Ei for hus. Ei for gul. For kraft, mind og vil."
The door of the Academy is open.
Not for House.
Not for gold.
For strength, mind, and will.
The sentence was not free of errors, but the people understood.
Kain did too.
Toren leaned toward him.
"Don't even think about it."
"I haven't said anything."
"You look as though the Academy is standing behind the courier."
"Where will you go?"
Toren looked at the warriors near the platform.
"The warband."
"Will your father allow it?"
"He thinks hunting beasts and hunting the Horde differ only in the size of the tracks."
"That isn't an answer."
"Then yes, after a long conversation in which he insists otherwise."
Ilva had not taken her eyes from the notice for the Healing Service.
Kain asked:
"What about you?"
"If the commission accepts me, I'll join the healers."
"Your mother already teaches you."
"My mother can deliver a child, set a bone, and treat winter fever. That is not enough in war."
"Nothing is ever enough in war."
"Which is why people are needed."
The landman spoke from the platform again.
"After the decree, several urgent cases of the local court will be heard. All other residents may leave. Those wishing to register must report to the administrative house after the noon bell."
The crowd began to break apart.
Some hurried home to discuss the decree. Others remained beside the platform to await the court. Several young people were already arguing about where each of them might be accepted.
Kain was about to leave with Toren, but Arnwald pointed to a place in front of the platform.
"You stay."
"I've already heard the good news."
"Now you'll hear yours."
Kaspar Veld handed the damaged ledger to the clerk.
It had been brought in a cloth-wrapped box like the body of a dead official.
Kain stood before the platform.
Marta appeared from the direction of North Street.
Mia walked beside her, holding the returned blanket to her chest. A dark scrape marked the girl's cheek. Liska had apparently been left at home.
Marta took her place beside her son.
"How are you?"
"Better than the ledger."
"Not for long."
She spoke in Avaren.
Not Valsk.
Which meant she was still angry.
Sigvard Holn sat at the table.
"Kain Alseif, sixteen years of age, free resident of Oksen. Charged with assaulting two members of the garrison, resisting lawful collection, attempting to seize a weapon, and damaging a tax register."
"I wasn't trying to steal the sword," Kain said.
"What were you trying to do with it?"
"Keep it from striking me."
The clerk raised his pen.
"Shall I record that as an admission of attempting to seize the weapon?"
"Record it as an admission that I did not want to be cut down."
Sigvard rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Kain."
"My lord."
"I have known you since you were a child."
"Then you know I don't steal swords."
"I know you act first and discover your reason afterward."
Someone among the people who had remained gave a quiet laugh.
Sigvard looked at Arnwald.
"Captain?"
"Alseif struck first, after his sister was forcibly pulled away from the property and fell."
"Was the girl threatening the guard?"
"No."
"Did the guard use excessive force?"
Arnwald looked at the man standing at the edge of the square.
"Yes."
The guard clenched his jaw.
Kaspar intervened:
"That does not excuse the assault."
"No," the captain agreed. "It does not."
"Nor the damage to the ledger."
"Nor that."
Sigvard turned to Kain.
"Do you admit that you struck the guard?"
"Yes."
"Do you admit that you tried to take his sword?"
"I tried to keep him from using it."
"Kain."
"Yes."
"Did you damage the register?"
Kain looked at the black stain spread across the pages.
"The register fell."
"After you knocked two guards into the table."
"Then yes."
"Do you regret it?"
Kain felt Marta hold her breath beside him.
He could give the right answer.
Say that he had lost his head.
That he respected the law.
That it would never happen again.
But he remembered Mia on the ground.
"I regret the damage to the ledger."
Sigvard closed his eyes.
"And the assault?"
"I didn't want to start a fight."
"That is not an answer."
"If anyone throws my sister to the ground again, I won't promise to stand and watch."
Marta said quietly:
"Kain, nok."
But it was too late.
Kaspar exhaled through his nose.
Sigvard looked at Arnwald.
"Are you prepared to take responsibility for him?"
"Until the commission arrives."
Kain turned his head.
"What commission?"
Arnwald did not even look at him.
"Have him serve his sentence by preparing the training ground. He'll be occupied from dawn until dark."
"I haven't agreed to that," Kain said.
"Are you debating the form of your punishment, or asking to return to the storage room?"
Kain fell silent.
Sigvard tapped his fingers on the table.
"The ruling."
The clerk prepared to write.
"For assaulting members of the garrison: twelve days of public labor. For damaging the tax register: a fine of two silver coins, payable through labor if necessary."
Marta went pale.
Kain asked:
"Two more?"
"The cost of the ledger, copying the records, and certifying the new page," Kaspar replied.
"Your ink is very expensive."
"Enough," Sigvard said. "For the duration of his labor, Kain Alseif is placed under Captain Skell's authority. For the first three days, he will help prepare the site for the commission."
The landman paused.
"As he has committed no grave crime and his sentence does not include imprisonment, he retains the right to present himself as a volunteer."
Kaspar raised his head.
"After attacking the guard?"
"The decree lists the grounds for refusal," Sigvard replied. "This offense is not among them."
Arnwald finally looked at Kain.
"Which branch will you choose?"
Kain looked at the imperial banner.
Then at the scroll in the clerk's hands.
At the words that still seemed to hang over the square:
the door of the Academy is open.
"The Academy."
Marta turned toward him.
"No."
Kain looked at her.
"What?"
"You are not going to the Academy."
Sigvard cleared his throat.
"You may continue this family discussion after the court has concluded."
"Is the ruling final?" Marta asked.
"Yes."
"Then we are finished."
She took Mia by the hand and walked away.
Kain followed.
"Marta."
She did not stop.
"Mama."
Marta turned the corner of the administrative house. Only then did she release Mia's hand and face her son.
"You will not apply to the Academy."
"Why?"
"Because they will not accept you."
"Then what are you afraid of?"
"That they will."
Kain fell silent.
Mia looked from him to their mother.
"Go home," Marta told her daughter. "Check on Liska and do not let her out of the yard."
"But—"
"Kom heim, blod min."
Mia held the blanket to her chest and reluctantly left.
Marta waited until the girl had gone far enough away.
"Do you understand where you are trying to go?"
"The Academy."
"Do not repeat its name as though that explains everything."
"You taught me to read. To count. To know the law. Now the Empire says I can take the examination."
"The Empire says it needs people."
"What difference does that make?"
"An enormous one."
"Not to me."
Marta looked at his bruised cheek.
"This morning, you nearly died in your own yard."
"Because I don't know enough."
"So your answer is to go somewhere people will try to kill you every day?"
"My answer is to learn how to fight back."
"Against whom?"
Kain wanted to say Kaspar.
The guards.
The landman.
Everyone who could enter their house and take whatever they believed they had a right to.
But his answer came out differently:
"I never want to stand and wait while someone stronger decides what happens to us."
Marta looked away.
"Strength does not free you from other people's power."
"But it makes them think twice."
"That is what every boy believes before his first grave."
"Halvar said almost the same thing."
"Then at least one adult in Oksen has not lost his mind."
"And he still teaches me."
"He teaches you not to burn out your own heart."
"Then why are you against this?"
Marta gripped the edge of her shawl.
"The Academy will put you on record."
"I'm already on record. In the tax ledger."
"Not like that."
"Then how?"
She said nothing.
Kain remembered how she had asked him about the Call that morning. How she had feared not the court or the punishment, but something else.
"You think they'll test my blood?"
Marta's eyes snapped up.
He knew he had guessed correctly.
"Why does that frighten you?"
"Because the Academy tests everything."
"And what will it find?"
"I don't know."
"You do."
"No."
"Then tell me about my father."
Marta stepped back as though he had struck her.
"Not now."
"You always say 'not now.'"
"Because right now you are angry, and you seize every door simply because it has opened."
"This door may never open again."
"And it may slam shut behind you."
Kain clenched his fists.
"I'm going anyway."
"I am your mother."
"I know."
"As long as you live in my house—"
"You mean the house they were taking chairs and food from this morning?"
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Marta went pale.
Kain regretted them at once.
But he did not apologize.
She asked quietly:
"Do you think I don't know we're poor?"
"That isn't what I said."
"Do you think I don't see you working instead of studying? Mia wearing patched boots? Me counting every copper after market?"
"Then understand why I want to leave."
"I understand."
"It doesn't look like it."
"Understanding is not the same as agreeing."
Marta looked toward the square, where the imperial banner still flew.
"Anger passes. Duty can take a person's entire life and still leave them believing they did too little."
Kain remembered Halvar.
First decide what you want to achieve.
"I want you and Mia to stop fearing every knock at the door."
"Then begin by giving me no reason to fear that you will be carried home on a shield."
They stood facing one another.
People passed around them. Some greeted Marta. Others pretended not to notice the argument.
At last, she said:
"You have already decided."
"Yes."
"Then why are you arguing with me?"
"Because I wanted your permission."
For a moment, her expression softened.
"Lill ulv," she said quietly.
Little wolf.
She had not called him that in years.
"You always ask permission only after you have made your choice."
By noon, a line had formed outside the administrative house.
The registration table stood beneath an awning. Two clerks sat behind it: one completed forms in Avaren, while the other explained their contents in Valsk to anyone who did not understand the imperial language well.
A list of branches hung on the wall.
Garrison.
Northern Warband.
Imperial Legion.
Healing Service.
Engineering Service.
Imperial Military Academy.
Kain arrived with a wooden shovel on his shoulder.
Arnwald had made him clear the old training ground until the bell. Only then had the captain allowed him to register.
"Return immediately," Arnwald warned him. "You still have eleven and a half days of punishment left."
"What if I enlist?"
"Then you may work with a sense of higher purpose."
More than thirty people stood in line.
Kain had known some of them since childhood.
Fishermen's sons.
The wheelwright's daughter.
Two sawmill workers.
A young widow who could read and keep accounts.
Three former hunters hoping to join the scouts.
Others had been brought by their families. Mothers straightened their sons' clothes. Fathers explained what to tell the clerk. Brothers argued over who had to remain at home.
Toren stood near the front.
When his turn came, the clerk asked:
"Branch?"
"Northern Warband."
"Experience with weapons?"
"Bow, spear, short sword."
"Call of the Blood?"
"I hear it."
"Spark?"
"No."
The clerk marked his answer.
"Can you read?"
"Slowly."
"Write?"
"If the reader isn't in a hurry to understand."
"Does that mean poorly?"
"It means legibly for the patient."
The clerk sighed.
"Father's name?"
"Hast Erik."
"Mother's name?"
"Signa Eriksdott."
Toren made his mark beside the entry and stepped away.
"Your turn," he told Kain.
"A warband warrior already?"
"For now, I'm only someone who wrote down that he wants to become one."
"It suits you."
Ilva was next.
"Branch?" the clerk asked.
"Healing Service."
"Training?"
"Five years under Ingrid Norn."
"Can you stop bleeding?"
"Yes."
"Set bones?"
"Simple fractures."
"Read?"
"Yes."
"Write?"
"Better than you."
The clerk looked up.
Ilva smiled.
"My mother kept the landman's birth and death records while you were still learning not to spill the inkpot."
The second clerk laughed quietly.
The first pushed the form toward her.
"Sign here."
Ilva wrote her name in a steady hand and stepped over to Toren.
Kain placed the shovel beside the table.
The clerk looked at his face.
"Name?"
"Kain Alseif."
The pen stopped.
"That Kain Alseif?"
"Depends on what you heard."
"Assault on the guard."
"Then yes."
The clerk found a separate sheet.
"Do you have permission to participate?"
Kain handed him a copy of the court ruling bearing Sigvard's seal.
The man read it.
"Public labor. Fine. Placed under the captain's authority. Eligibility retained."
He placed the document beside him.
"Age?"
"Sixteen."
"Free subject?"
"Yes."
"Place of birth?"
"Oksen."
"Mother?"
"Marta Alseif."
"Her place of birth?"
Kain hesitated.
"Osmantis."
The clerk looked at him more closely.
"Father?"
"I don't know."
"His name is unknown?"
"Unknown to me."
The man dipped his pen in ink.
"Branch?"
Kain looked at the list.
The garrison was familiar.
He could stay in Oksen. Earn pay. Help his family. Learn from Arnwald and Halvar.
The warband was closer to the life he had known since childhood.
The clan oath.
Toren beside him.
The Blood of the Gods.
The Imperial Legion would give him food, pay, and a place in the ranks.
But all those roads had existed yesterday.
The Academy had appeared today.
Kain pointed to the final line.
"The Imperial Military Academy."
The clerk raised his eyebrows.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Experience with weapons?"
"I trained under Halvar Renn."
"That is not an answer."
"Sword. Knife. Some spear."
"Aura?"
"No."
"Call of the Blood?"
Kain remembered Halvar's words.
Do not lie to me.
"Possibly."
The clerk stopped writing.
"Does 'possibly' mean you heard it or you didn't?"
"I've heard it, but I cannot call it consciously."
"Spark?"
"No."
"Literacy?"
"I read and write Avaren. I can do arithmetic. I know some Valskar law."
"Valsk?"
Kain looked at him.
"Ik tal Valsk fra barn."
I have spoken Valsk since childhood.
The second clerk smirked:
"Oksen pronunciation."
"And yours sounds like someone who has sat beside the landman too long."
"We'll record fluent," the first clerk said. "Other languages?"
Kain remembered his mother's lullabies.
Words his body understood, though his mind did not.
"A few words of Osmar. I cannot speak it."
"Trade?"
"I've worked on the road, at the sawmill, and in the warehouse. I help the smith."
"Illnesses?"
"No."
"Old injuries?"
"No."
Ilva coughed.
Kain looked back.
She pointed at his face.
"That's recent."
The clerk wrote something else.
"Reason for applying?"
"Is that required?"
"For the form."
Kain looked at the line behind him.
At people hoping to earn pay.
At parents trying to decide which child they could afford to release.
At the state list, where the words stood neat and identical for everyone.
"My family is in debt," he said. "There is little work in Oksen. And I don't want to spend my whole life waiting for other people to decide what I am allowed to do."
The clerk studied him.
Then he wrote a shorter version:
"'Family circumstances and a desire to serve the Empire.'"
"That isn't what I said."
"The form has limited space."
He turned the sheet toward Kain.
"Write your name or make your mark."
Kain took the pen.
His name already stood on the first line of the list.
Kain Alseif.
Beside it:
Imperial Military Academy.
He signed.
Marta was watching from the other side of the street.
Kain had not seen her arrive.
She stood beside the weaver's shop, holding a basket of mended clothes. Their eyes met.
Marta did not smile.
She did not look away.
She merely touched two fingers to her forehead, then to her chest, and lowered her hand, palm down.
An old Osmantian gesture.
My thoughts are clear. My heart is calm. My strength is held in check.
Kain did not know whether it was a blessing or a warning.
Probably both.
He picked up the shovel.
"Well, future undecided Academy cadet?" Toren asked.
"I've decided."
"That's what I meant."
Ilva looked at the list.
"Your name is first."
"Because everyone else is smarter."
"Or because normal people still discuss decisions with their families."
Kain looked at the sun.
It stood high above the rooftops.
That morning, he had awakened a debtor.
By noon, he had become an offender, a laborer, and a candidate for the Academy.
The day was not over.
But his old life had already begun to recede.