Morning light spilled across the academy's training yard, sharp and cold, glinting off the steel of waiting weapons.
The students of Class 101 gathered in uneven lines, boots scuffing against the stone.
Some whispered in eager tones, others kept their silence, and a few wore scowls as if the day had already betrayed them.
A voice cut through the murmurs—firm, commanding."Pairs will be assigned. No complaints. Learn from one another."
The names were read aloud, each word striking like a verdict.
"Gareth Valven—Kael Draven."
Gareth's chest tightened. Kael stepped forward, arms crossed, his dark gaze unblinking, a shadow of contempt in the curl of his mouth.
For a moment, the air between them seemed heavier than the morning chill.
"Lyra Dawncrest—Roran valis."
Gasps rippled. Roran, the quiet genius with his ever-calculating eyes, glanced sideways at Lyra, who straightened her back as if refusing to show unease. Her smile was polite, but her hands flexed restlessly by her sides.
"Darius Quell—Seris Alcade."
The quiet girl raised her head slowly, her presence like a whisper of smoke. Draven's grin faltered only for a second before he forced it wider, his usual bravado meeting the silence of his new partner.
Around them, reactions sparked like flint on steel.
A cluster of students laughed, delighted by their pairings.
Others whispered their frustrations, angry glares thrown at the instructors.
Some simply stood in silence, resigned to fate, their expressions unreadable.
The yard became a storm of emotions—excitement, jealousy, irritation, curiosity—all clashing under the pale sky.
The instructor let the murmurs rise and fall before raising his hand. Silence pressed down on the yard like a closing fist.
"You think pairings are simple games? They are not. Each of you has been bound to a partner—and that bond will decide your future. From this day forward, you will be tested not within these walls, but beyond them."
A ripple of unease swept the class. Even the boldest students stilled.
"For the next five months, your mission is this: become wealthy, become famous—or both.
Return to us as names that the kingdom cannot ignore. Gold, renown, reputation—earn them by any means at your disposal. If, after five months, you return with nothing to show…"
The instructor's voice dropped, heavy as an executioner's blade.
"…you will be expelled."
Gasps broke across the yard. Some students straightened with fire in their eyes, visions of glory already burning in their minds. Others froze, terror sinking its claws deep.
Gareth felt his throat tighten. At his side, Kael's expression twisted into a grim smile, the kind that promised he would welcome any challenge.
Lyra's eyes darted briefly to Roran, who merely inclined his head, as though already plotting the path to triumph.
The training yard no longer felt like the heart of the academy. It felt like a crossroads, each student standing on the edge of either greatness or ruin.
Five months. Wealth or fame. Victory or exile.
And there would be no second chances.
Gareth glanced at Kael. For once, neither spoke. Their eyes locked—a truce of necessity, not affection. Gareth gave the faintest nod, and Kael returned it with a curt dip of his chin.
Outwardly, it looked like acceptance. Inwardly, Kael's jaw tightened, fury simmering behind his calm mask.
Lyra, by contrast, let out a small laugh, light and almost relieved. "Well then," she murmured, turning to Roran, "it seems I've been paired wisely."
Roran gave a quiet, almost imperceptible smile, his gaze calculating but not unkind. Together, they looked as though they might actually enjoy the challenge.
Further down the line, Darius Quell shifted his weight, his injuries still marked in the stiffness of his movements. Where others burned with excitement or dread, he stood neutral, calm as stone.
Yet when his partner, Seris Alcade, turned to him with a rare, content smile, something in his guarded expression softened. Injured or not, he accepted the pairing, and Seris's happiness seemed enough to anchor him.
Around them, the yard buzzed with sharp contrasts—rage, joy, resignation, ambition. But for Gareth, the world narrowed to five words carved into his mind:
Five months. Do not fail.
The yard slowly emptied as groups drifted apart, already whispering strategies for survival and glory. Gareth and Kael lingered at the edge, silence stretching like a drawn blade.
Finally, Gareth broke it."We need a plan. Five months isn't long. If we waste even a week, we'll—"
Kael cut him off, voice sharp. "Don't lecture me, boy. I've seen more coin and spilled more blood than you've dreamed of. I'll decide the path."
Gareth's eyes narrowed. "And end up with both of us expelled? No. We need something that actually works. Fame or wealth—it doesn't matter which, but it has to be fast."
Kael stepped closer, his shadow cutting across the flagstones. "You think you can command me? You're alive only because I allow it. Don't mistake survival for strength."
Gareth met his glare, unflinching. "Then prove your strength by listening. Not everything can be solved with a sword."
For a moment, tension coiled between them, hot and brittle. Kael's hands flexed at his sides, his teeth grinding, yet he didn't lash out. He turned away with a sharp exhale, voice low and venomous.
"Fine. Speak your plan. But if you falter, I'll drag us to victory my way—and you won't like it."
Gareth steadied his breath, forcing the edge out of his tone."There's someone we can ask. Captain Ryn. He's seen every sea, every trade, every trick to turning nothing into coin. If we want to be rich—or at least not fools—he's the one who knows how."
Kael scoffed, folding his arms. "Begging advice from an old salt? Pathetic. But fine. If you want to waste time chasing stories, lead the way. Just don't expect me to bow like a child."
They left the academy grounds, the clamor of their classmates fading behind them. The streets beyond were alive with morning bustle—merchants barking prices, smiths hammering steel, hawkers thrusting wares under noses. Yet one scene caught Gareth's eye and held it.
A cluster of children had claimed a corner of the street. Sticks for swords, ragged cloth for banners, they shouted and laughed in their makeshift battle."Board them!" one cried."No quarter!" another yelled, leaping onto an overturned barrel that served as their ship.
Their voices rose in wild chorus, chanting the names of dreaded pirates, their laughter carrying like waves against the stone walls.
Gareth slowed, his chest tightening with something he couldn't quite name. The sight felt harmless, almost joyful—but beneath it stirred an echo.
Kael smiled at the sight, his eyes glinting with something Gareth hadn't seen before."Pirates," he said, almost fondly. "Even in play, they worship the sea—plunder the boats of their enemies. And they look amazing."
City S towered in the distance, vast and sprawling, its skyline a crown of spires and banners. But Gareth and Kael did not walk its crowded markets or hear its roaring streets. Their path veered away, toward the edge of the great forest where another town lay hidden among the trees.
This place was different—quiet, shadowed by towering oaks and ancient pines, where birdsong replaced the clang of forges. The houses here were not humble cottages but broad, high-roofed manors of timber and stone, each one standing like a fortress in the green.
Warriors moved silently along the lanes, men and women scarred, disciplined, watchful. This was no town of merchants or sailors—it was a place where strength was kept honed, away from the chaos of the world.
At the center stood the largest of the houses, its wooden walls carved with runes of storm and steel. The doors were heavy, iron-banded, and when they opened, Captain Ryn filled the frame. His presence was a storm in itself—broad-shouldered, his face marked by old battles, his eyes sharp as drawn blades.
"You came," he rumbled, voice low, steady. "Good. Step inside."
The interior was as stern as the man—map-lined walls, weapons displayed like trophies, the hearth burning low. Ryn sat at a long table, leaning forward on his scarred hands.
"There is work for you," he said. "Deliver this letter to a merchant in Aurensport. No delays, no questions. Complete it, and you will earn a thousand gold."
The number shook the air—enough to buy fifty mansions, enough to live like kings.
Ryn's grin was sharp, predatory. "But to walk this path, you'll need to look the part."
He pulled open a heavy trunk. Inside, folded in dark layers, lay their new attire.
A black T-shirt, fitted close, woven of fine, unyielding cloth.
A long trench coat, midnight-black, silver-lined, its tails sweeping like a command of shadows.
Round goggles, silver-black, gleaming like twin moons.
A black watch, its face etched with intricate compass marks.
Deep forest-black pants, cut for movement and silence.
And, at the bottom, swords of new dark steel, their blades etched with faint patterns that shimmered in the firelight.
When the two emerged from the back chamber, transformed, even the warriors who stood nearby paused to look. Their hair was slicked back, their coats swaying with each step, goggles resting against their brows, weapons at their sides. They no longer looked like students—they looked like predators dressed in shadow, dangerous and unyielding.
Ryn rose, his eyes gleaming."Good. Now you look like men worth sending. Go. Deliver the letter. Earn your gold. Fail…" His voice dropped like a hammer. "…and do not return."
The heavy doors opened, spilling them back into the forest air. The town's great houses loomed behind them, watching silently as they passed. Beyond the trees, the road stretched—toward City S's walls, and beyond them, the long way to Aurensport.
The forest town faded behind them, its tall houses standing silent as sentinels among the trees. The path wound between ancient trunks, shafts of sunlight cutting through the canopy. For a time, neither spoke, their new coats whispering with each step.
Then Kael broke the silence.
A grin split his face, sharper and more alive than Gareth had ever seen. His voice carried a spark, almost boyish beneath his usual iron."Do you even realize who that was? Ryn the The Burning Verdict ,The Ashen Dawn or The Crimson Judicator ."
The name's seemed to vibrate through the air, like a title whispered across battlefields and firesides alike. The man who never bent, who never broke. A warrior spoken of in tavern songs, in hushed tones among veterans. A living legend.
Kael's eyes burned with excitement, his usual scowl replaced with restless energy."To stand in his house, to hear his voice… damn, I've dreamed of this since I was a boy. The tales didn't lie—he's everything they say and more."
Gareth glanced at him, surprised by the sudden spark. He'd seen Kael angry, cold, unrelenting—but never awed.
"Legends are still just men," Gareth muttered, though inwardly he felt the weight of the meeting too. Ryn's presence had been like stone shaped by storms, unmovable, eternal.
Kael only laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "Say what you will, Valven. Meeting him was worth more than any gold."
The road stretched onward, the forest giving way to the open lands that led toward City S. The letter burned like a hidden weight in Gareth's pocket, and the memory of Ryn's piercing gaze lingered like a scar.
But beside him, Kael's excitement was undeniable, his energy like a storm barely contained.
They had left the forest town with more than just new weapons and clothes.They had left with the mark of a legend.
The carriage finally lurched to a stop, wheels grinding against the cobblestones of the outer road. When the doors swung open, the two stepped out, stretching like men freed from chains.
Kael groaned, rolling his shoulders. "Five days, man. I swear my spine's turned into stone."
Gareth cracked his neck, smirking. "Your spine was already stiff. Don't blame the road."
Kael shot him a look, then laughed. "Says the guy who snored so loud I thought we were under attack every night."
"Better than whining every time the wheel hit a bump," Gareth fired back, tugging his coat straight.
Kael shook his head, grin spreading. "Tch. Brothers suffer together, huh?"
"Guess that's the price of partnership." Gareth smirked. "At least we didn't kill each other."
Kael clapped him on the back, heavy but not hostile. "Not yet."
The gates of Luminara loomed tall, carved with spirals of sun and flame. The city stretched out in color and sound—banners fluttering, bells chiming, incense curling in the air. And there, at the steps of the main plaza, stood a figure draped in white and gold.
Priest Calladus.
The man's reputation stretched across kingdoms, his blessings said to bring fortune in battle and clarity in storms of doubt. He turned as Gareth and Kael approached, eyes warm, voice like velvet over steel.
"Gareth Valven," Calladus said with a faint smile, "Is the road well. And you boy beside gareth. May the sun's judgment steady your blades."
He raised his hands, a soft glow spilling from his fingers as he blessed them both.
Kael's jaw dropped. He shoved Gareth lightly from behind, grinning like a boy. "Another one? First Ryn, now Calladus? What, you got a collection of famous people hiding in your pocket?"
Gareth rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Please, don't sound jealous."
Kael laughed. "Jealous? You're walking around like you're royalty."
"Relax," Gareth said, smirking as they walked past the priest. "Stick with me and you'll meet more."
For a moment, both of them laughed freely, the rivalry replaced with genuine camaraderie.
And then the sound of drums swallowed their voices.
The streets of Luminara were alive with celebration—the Day of the Divine. Dancers spun with ribbons of fire, veiled singers lifted their voices to the heavens, and children with painted masks darted through the crowd.
Kael was the first to vanish into it. He grabbed a skewer of flame-roasted meat, devouring it with a grin. Gareth tried something stranger—blue-powdered bread stuffed with sweet cream, sticky on his fingers.
They played games at stalls, tossing rings at gilded horns, Gareth winning once, Kael three times, and neither admitting how much it mattered. A pack of dogs gave chase when Kael tried stealing a roll from a cart, both of them sprinting through alleys with laughter chasing just as loud as the barking.
By nightfall, the streets shimmered with lanterns that floated skyward, carrying prayers for the ascending spirits and for the awakeners of the veil. Gareth and Kael stood side by side, silent for once, watching as the night filled with drifting stars.
When the last of the music quieted, they returned to their carriage.
Kael sighed, leaning back as the wheels began to turn again. "Not a bad stop."
Gareth smirked. "Better than five days of your complaining."
Kael chuckled, shaking his head. "Shut up, bro."
The carriage rolled on, carrying them toward Aurensport, the next chapter of their journey.
The carriage rattled along the forest road, wheels grinding over roots and loose stones. Branches arched above like the ribs of some colossal beast, their leaves drinking in the moonlight. Beyond the glass, the woods seemed endless—silent, save for the hiss of wind through needles and the distant call of owls.
Inside, Kael slouched back against the padded seat, arms crossed. For a long while, neither spoke. Then Kael's voice broke the hush, low and unguarded.
"Five days of this," he muttered, staring out the window. "And I still can't tell if this forest is keeping us safe… or watching us."
Gareth followed his gaze. The trees were old, their trunks thick and gnarled, their shadows swallowing every gap between them.
"They say this forest was planted by kings long before the kingdoms we know. Every tree watered with the blood of battles. Maybe that's why it feels… alive or that's what Teacher Ryn told me about."
Kael smirked faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course he'd know some cursed tale about it."
"Knowledge keeps you alive," Gareth replied, half teasing.
Kael was quiet, then leaned forward, his tone heavier. "You ever wonder what we're walking into, Valven? I mean, Aurensport—riches, fame, all that."
"But under it? Every story I've heard says that city eats men alive."
"Merchants, pirates, zealots, cutthroats. You don't climb to the top there without stepping on bones."
Gareth considered this, fingers tapping the hilt of his new sword. "Maybe that's what we need. plus, I have bad memories here and memories worth treasuring here too, we'll be more than just students chasing gold. We'll be names worth remembering."
For once, Kael didn't argue. His eyes lingered on Gareth, sharp but thoughtful. "You sound like him, you know. Captain Ryn."
Gareth allowed a faint smile. "And you sounded like Priest Calladus when you bowed your head without being asked."
Kael snorted, shoving Gareth's shoulder lightly. "Don't spread that around. If anyone asks, I only did it out of respect for the robes."
Gareth laughed quietly, then his voice softened. "You think we're ready for this?"
The question hung in the carriage like smoke. Kael leaned back, his smirk fading into something more serious. "Doesn't matter if we're ready. The road doesn't care. The city won't care. All that matters is we don't break."
For the first time, Gareth saw no anger in Kael's eyes, no rivalry—only fire, steady and unyielding. He nodded. "Then we won't."
The carriage rolled on, past the dense trees that seemed to whisper around them, as if the forest itself listened to their pact and then, something moved.