Chapter 1: The Outcast of Frosthold
Frost crunched beneath my boots as I crossed the training yard of Frosthold Keep. The sound should have been familiar, even comforting, but it wasn't.
Steel clashed around me while the morning air filled with the echo of iron against iron. Young squires strained with wooden blades as Master Godric Hale, the old armsmaster, barked commands that rang through the courtyard.
"Guard high! An enemy won't wait for you to remember!"
I pulled my rough cloak tighter against the cold, feeling the scratchy wool press into my neck. Everything here reminded me of what I wasn't and what I could never be.
My name now was Aelric Frostborn. In the North, bastards carried that name like a mark that set you apart and made you less in every gaze that lingered too long. But unlike the others, I carried something else—knowledge from another life.
Back then, I had been scrolling my phone, reading medieval fantasy theories. Then came darkness, and I woke up in the frail body of an unwanted child.
On the training ground, my half-brother Joran Frost cut through the air with his wooden sword, moving with quiet grace. His strikes were sharp, steady, and purposeful, while mine were anything but.
"Again!" Hale's growl snapped me back to attention. My arms trembled under the weight of the practice sword, my grip clumsy and my stance weak.
"Focus, boy! Your hands show your fear."
Because I am afraid, I thought. This world isn't a story anymore—it's a place where people bleed and die.
I lowered my head and fixed my feet in the stance he had drilled into me countless times. The wooden blade still felt wrong and heavy in my hands.
That was when Joran approached. His dark eyes, usually distant, seemed calmer now. "You think too much," he said simply. "Swordplay isn't thought—it's reaction."
I glared at him, half bitter. "Easy for you to say. You're good at this."
A faint smile crossed his lips. "I wasn't always. Ask Master Hale how many times I ended face-first in the dirt."
The knight grunted, but there was pride in his voice. "More than he'll admit, but he learned. So can you—if you stop treating the blade like it'll bite you."
Joran stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Train with me tonight, away from the others. I'll teach you properly."
The offer stunned me. Joran—my half-brother, another outcast in this fortress—was extending his hand.
"Why?" I asked quietly.
He glanced at the other boys, then back to me. His answer was barely a whisper. "Because no one else will. Bastards have to protect each other."
Something shifted inside me, and for the first time since waking in this second life, I felt a spark of hope. Perhaps I could learn and grow strong enough to matter. If I mastered both sword and the knowledge I carried from my old world, perhaps I could change what was coming.
Perhaps I could save them all.
[End of Chapter]
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Author: Hello everyone, I am new to writing fanfic so ther will be mistakes, I am trying to improve myself, so if you can give your honest feedback.
It will be very helpful in improving stpry and delivering good content.