The incident resulted in one permanent change that would shape my early years. A week after the attack, once the castle's immediate security had been tripled and the last traces of the battle had been scrubbed from my nursery, my father introduced me to my new, personal, 24/7 guard.
"Alarion, this is Sir Bob," he said, his formal tone indicating the gravity of this introduction. We stood in the Great Hall, the morning light streaming through the high arched windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and casting long shadows from the massive stone pillars. The silver-and-blue banners of House Wight hung still in the quiet air.
Bob was a mountain of a man. Standing well over six feet tall with shoulders that could have been carved from granite, he possessed the kind of quiet, immovable presence that made rooms feel smaller simply by his entering them. His armor was practical, steel polished to a mirror shine but scarred with the marks of genuine combat a testament to a life spent on the front lines. Despite his imposing frame, he knelt with surprising grace on the cold stone floor, his head bowed in perfect deference, his gauntlet-covered fist resting over his heart.
"Your Highness. It is my honor to serve you." His voice was a low, steady rumble, the sound of rocks settling deep within the earth, holding no flourish, only solid, unwavering conviction.
But it was Bob's story that made his appointment so significant. Born as Robert Millfield, he was the son of a poor tenant farmer from the southern fiefdoms a boy who had grown up with calloused hands and an empty stomach more often than not. His family's small plot of land barely produced enough to pay their taxes to the local lord, let alone feed a growing boy with dreams bigger than his circumstances.
Driven by a desperate desire for something more than a life of grinding poverty, Bob had walked three hundred miles to the capital at the age of sixteen, carrying nothing but a homemade wooden practice sword and a fierce, burning determination. The entrance exams for the Royal Knight Academy were designed to weed out all but the most exceptional candidates grueling physical trials that tested endurance to its breaking point, written examinations on military history and battlefield tactics, and magical aptitude tests that eliminated ninety percent of applicants on the first day.
Bob not only passed he excelled. Through sheer, unrelenting effort and a natural talent that had been hidden beneath years of malnourishment, he graduated at the top of his class three years later. His exceptional performance earned him something even rarer than a royal commission: an invitation to Dragon Valley.
Dragon Valley was a place of legend, a mysterious, mist-shrouded realm where only the most promising knights were permitted to venture. The dragons that dwelt there were ancient, powerful, and deeply selective about the humans they chose to form contracts with. Most knights who made the journey returned empty-handed, their pride wounded but their lives intact. Some never returned at all.
Bob not only survived the brutal trials of Dragon Valley but forged a contract with Aquarius, a powerful Water Dragon whose lineage could be traced back to the founding of the kingdom. The transformation was immediate and dramatic. He returned not just as a Dragon Knight, but as one blessed by the ancient laws of the contract with hereditary nobility Baron Robert Millfield, a title that could be passed to his children and their children after them.
His rise through the ranks had been meteoric. His loyalty wasn't just to the ducal title or even to my father personally, it was to the very system that had allowed a farmer's son to become a peer of the realm. And now, my father had entrusted him with his most precious duty: to be my shield.
"Bob," I said, my three-year-old voice carrying more gravity than it should have been capable of, "I'm glad you're here."
He looked up, his stoic face showing a flicker of surprise that I had spoken to him directly, and with such formality. Most noble children ignored their guards, treating them as little more than animated furniture. "The honor is mine, Your Highness. I swear on my bond with Aquarius that no harm will come to you while I draw breath."
Two years passed in a blur of quiet study and the constant, reassuring presence of Bob. The castle gradually returned to its normal routines, though the heightened security measures remained firmly in place. Extra guards patrolled the halls, stronger wards shimmered invisibly over every door and window, and a general atmosphere of watchful protection followed me wherever I went. Bob was a silent, ever-present shadow, standing guard outside my door at night, following ten paces behind me in the gardens, his hand never far from the hilt of his sword.
It was during this time, between the ages of three and five, that I began to truly understand the scope of the world I'd been born into. While my body grew, my mind, aided by Tes, devoured knowledge. My favorite classroom was my father's study, a grand room with a fireplace large enough to stand in and walls lined with ancient maps and leather-bound books.
"Tes, bring up the world map," I'd think, while physically playing with a set of carved wooden soldiers on the floor. In my mind, a perfect, high-resolution map would appear, labeling the Seven Kingdoms.
"Let's start with home," I instructed. "The Arcane Sovereignty of Aerthos."
"The Seventh Kingdom," Tes confirmed. "The newest and most volatile of the great kingdoms, founded on the principle of pure magical might. It is a land of towering mage spires, ruled primarily by the political and military influence of two rival ducal families."
I moved a wooden lion knight, representing my family. "House Wight. The Shield of the Kingdom and Wardens of the North. Our strength is the Azure Dragon King contract and our duty to contain Dungeon Breaks."
Then I moved a black-painted soldier. "And House Black. The Shadow of the Kingdom. Masters of espionage and arcane matters. Led by a human Tier 9 Mage." This was the chessboard right outside my door.
My studies then expanded outward. "Show me our neighbors. The elves."
"The Verdant Conclave of Sylvanheim, the Fifth Kingdom," Tes projected, highlighting a vast, ancient forest to the east. "They contract with nature spirits, which act as living, portable Mage Towers, allowing them to bypass the need for dungeon cores. Their most powerful can ascend to Tier 10, becoming High Elves capable of 'World Tear' magic that can rewrite landscapes." A significant strategic advantage.
Westward, across a turbulent sea, lay another human power. "The Cinderfall Hegemony, the Third Kingdom. Built on volcanic plains, their strength comes from Phoenix contracts. Their contracted knights can resurrect from death, a process that consumes a portion of the shared lifeforce between them and their Phoenix. This makes them fearless and incredibly difficult to defeat permanently." An army that couldn't truly be killed. Terrifying.
"And the greatest human power?"
The map zoomed out, showing the oldest and largest kingdom. "The Lumina Imperium, the First Kingdom. A theocracy built on the worship of Angels. Their knights are holy warriors, and their Emperor holds a sacred contract with the Gold Dragon King." Their power was structured in angelic tiers: basic Angels for healing, Greater Angels for defense, and the mighty Archangels who could deliver divine judgment. A true superpower, held in check only by its own internal politics and the might of the other kingdoms.
The non-human powers were just as formidable. To the north of Aerthos, beyond the mountains my father guarded, were the Dwarves and Gnomes. "The Adamant Forge-Kingdom of Khaz'Modan, the Sixth Kingdom. Carved into the world's tallest mountains. The High Dwarves are unmatched craftsmen, the Gnomes master alchemists." Their power wasn't in flashy magic, but in the superior quality of their weapons, armor, and alchemical warfare.
Then there were the wildlands. "The Savage Clans of Valerius, the Fourth Kingdom. A vast territory of various Beastkin clans united under the Lion Beast King. They eschew complex magic for overwhelming physical power, numbers, and natural durability." Brute force on a kingdom-wide scale.
Finally, Tes highlighted a realm of perpetual twilight. "The Obsidian Dominion, the Second Kingdom. Home to Demons and exiled Dark Elves. They are protected by the Black Dragon King, who settled there in defiance of the other kingdoms but holds no formal contract with its people." A rogue Dragon King. A variable so dangerous it was a constant source of anxiety for every other ruler.
All of this weighed on my mind as I grew. This world was a delicate, violent balance of immense powers. I had seen the scars on my father's body from his dungeon raids. I now understood that those dungeons he fought weren't just threats, they were the very source of power that elevated our rivals, House Black. My father risked his life to contain a threat that his enemies harnessed for their own ascension.
The power I possessed through Tes was immense, but it was a secret I had to guard with my life. I was still bound by the body of a child, dependent on others, unable to openly use my abilities without raising questions that could endanger my entire family. I was a caged lion, watching the global chessboard, learning every piece and every rule, waiting for the day I was big enough to make my own move.