The clang of steel echoed faintly in the evening air. Rayan's arms ached, his palms raw from the worn hilt of his training sword. He shifted his stance, following the diagram in the book spread open on a nearby stump. "Step forward, weight on the front foot. Guard raised. Thrust." He whispered the instructions to himself, body moving in awkward rhythm.
Two months ago, he had stumbled across that book in a street vendor's stall. Most noble born would sneer at such a thing, a cheap manual written by some half trained mercenary. But for Rayan, it was precious. It gave him structure, a fragment of purpose in a life stripped bare.
When his shift at the city gates ended, he always wandered beyond the outer walls. There, in the fringes of the forest, he drilled the stances. Sometimes he tested himself against small monsters fang rats, thorn lizards, or the bloated toadfiends that lurked near the marsh. They were weak things, barely a threat, but they taught him about fear, about blood, about survival. The scraps he brought back fangs, hides, or glands fetched a handful of coins. Not much, but he saved it, copper by copper, like a man clutching at drifting wood in a storm.
The life of a gate guard paid little. No one expected him to rise beyond that. After all, what was a castrated ex-noble with no magic and no title good for? But still, Rayan trained. He refused to stay a hollow shadow of what he once was.
It was on one such evening, as he returned to his bare rented room, that the letter came.
The parchment was thick, pressed with a golden seal the crest of the Sunreign family. His family.
A summons.
The words were formal, cold. He was to attend a family dinner. His presence was "requested."
Rayan sat on the edge of his bed, letter dangling from his fingers. His chest felt tight, but not with longing. They had never loved him. Not truly. Even before the theft allegations and disgrace, he had been the spare son, the shadow that never shone. His father, stern and unforgiving, had tolerated him. His stepmother had looked past him as though he were part of the furniture. His sibling? He mocked him when the servants weren't listening.
And yet, the letter said he must come. They had even sent clothes finely stitched garments of deep blue silk, tailored to his size. He touched the fabric, its softness almost alien against his calloused skin. Did they expect him to play the noble son again? To dress like their puppet, nodding and smiling across a table where he never truly had a seat?
He thought of tearing the letter apart, of throwing the clothes into the gutter. But no he owed them something. They had raised him, clothed him, fed him. Even if affection had never crossed their lips, duty still bound him.
So, he would go.
The carriage arrived the following evening. Its lacquered wood gleamed black under the dying sun. The driver, a silent man in the Sunreign livery, did not even look at him as he opened the door.
Rayan stepped inside. The cushions were soft, too soft. He sat stiffly, feeling the unfamiliar silk chafe against his skin.
The ride was quiet. Outside, trees crowded the narrow road, their heavy branches casting long shadows. He knew this forest well. It was the same road he had taken six months ago, when he left the estate in disgrace. Back then, the trees had loomed like silent judges, suffocating him with their stillness. They felt no different now.
Rayan let his head rest against the wood of the carriage, closing his eyes. His mind wandered back to that day the humiliation, the jeers, the tearing away of his name. Castrated, broken, cast aside. He had left behind everything his title, his betrothed, his future.
And now he was returning, not as heir, not as noble, but as… what?
The horses slowed.
Rayan opened his eyes and sat upright. The gates rose before him, tall and black, carved with the Sunreign crest. Two guards stood at attention. They recognized him, but neither bowed.
The carriage rolled to a halt.
Rayan stepped down onto the gravel path. The evening air smelled of pine and damp stone. The tall trees on either side seemed to close in, their shade wrapping around him.
He looked ahead. Beyond the gates stretched the long path to the estate's heart. Cold stone walls loomed, familiar yet foreign. He had walked this path countless times before, as a boy, as a son of Sunreign.
But now, standing in clothes they had chosen for him, under the weight of their summons, he felt like an imposter.
This place had once called him its own.
Now, it felt like a prison of memories.
He took a breath, steadying himself. His hand brushed against the hidden calluses of his sword practice, the proof of his quiet struggle. He was not the same boy who had been thrown out.
Rayan squared his shoulders, and walked forward.
Inside, the dinner would wait. Faces from his past, sharp with judgment. Voices that would ask why he had come, though they themselves had summoned him.
But Rayan knew one thing he would not bend easily this time.
They had stripped him of everything once before. He would not let them break what little he had left.
For though he no longer bore the Sunreign name, though he no longer had wealth, title, or magic he had something else.
The will to endure.
And sometimes, that was enough to change everything.