The return to Thornwick took two days. Kaelen spent them studying Caspian Vane. The heir was twenty-three, four years older than Kaelen, and carried the weight of his father's expectations on broad shoulders. He was competent—genuinely so—but he lacked ruthlessness. When one of his knights died of his wounds on the first night, Caspian sat by the body for an hour, silent and grieving. A noble who mourned his men was a noble who could be exploited through loyalty.
He was also hungry for approval. Kaelen noticed how Caspian's eyes brightened when the other knights praised his leadership, and how they dimmed when no praise came. Duke Alaric Vane was a hard man. Caspian had grown up in the shadow of a father who never smiled, never praised, never acknowledged anything less than perfection. That childhood created voids. And voids could be filled.
"Tell me about yourself, Voss," Caspian said on the second evening, as they sat around a campfire. The sky above was a bruised purple, the first stars winking into existence. "A commoner who fights like a Tier 2. That doesn't happen by accident."
Kaelen had prepared his story. He told it with the right amount of emotion—not too much, not too little. The ditch. The hermit who trained him (a lie, but a useful one). The years of secret practice. The hunger and the cold and the determination to rise. He left out the Shard, the true nature of his power, and the fact that he was Tier 3, not Tier 2.
Caspian listened, and Kaelen saw the heir's walls lower. Good. Let him see me as a project. A pet commoner to elevate. His charity will be his leash.
"You should not be a trainee," Caspian said. "You should be a knight-captain. When we reach the city, I will speak to my father."
Kaelen bowed his head. "I am not worthy, my lord."
"Nonsense. You saved my life. The House of Vane pays its debts."
The next morning, they reached the gates of Thornwick. The city was modest—fifty thousand souls packed within stone walls. Kaelen had grown up in these streets. He knew every alley, every sewer grate, every hidden courtyard. But he had never walked through the noble quarter as a guest of the duke's son. That was new.
Vane Manor was a sprawling estate on the northern hill, built of white stone with blue slate roofs. Guards in Vane livery saluted. Servants bowed. Kaelen followed Caspian a step behind, his eyes recording everything: guard placements, watchtowers, the hum of a protective ward around the main house. Tier 3 ward, the Shard noted. Adequate.
Inside, the manor was ostentatious. Tapestries, chandeliers, polished marble floors. Kaelen waited in an antechamber while Caspian informed his father. Three hundred seconds passed before the heir returned. "My father will see you now."
Duke Alaric Vane sat behind a desk of dark mahogany, his hands folded. He was in his fifties, silver at the temples, his eyes cold blue. His cultivation level was Tier 3—the same as Kaelen's hidden level. But the duke had decades of experience, and likely hidden artifacts.
"Kaelen Voss," the duke said, his voice soft. "My son tells me you fought an avatar and saved his life."
"I fought alongside him, my lord. The honor of the kill was his."
The duke's lips twitched. "You are Tier 2. A commoner. How?"
"A hermit trained me in secret, my lord. He is dead now. I sought admission to the knight's college to legitimize my status."
"And you hid your true tier from the examiners."
Kaelen met the duke's eyes. "I was afraid, my lord. A commoner with power is a target."
The duke laughed—short and sharp. "Honest. I like that." He leaned forward. "I have a proposition. My son needs a sworn sword. Not a bodyguard—he has plenty—but a companion. Someone with ambition and intelligence. In exchange, I will sponsor your elevation to full knighthood. You will have a stipend, a room in this manor, and my protection."
Kaelen dropped to one knee. "My lord, I am not worthy, but I will serve your son with every drop of my blood."
The duke smiled. It did not reach his eyes. "See that you do."