On a well-structured stony building, the officers of the Knight's Fourth Division stood in a rigid, silent line, their heads bowed low. They weren't given an order to lower their heads; their actions were simply an instinctive reaction born out of the respect and fear they all felt for the tall, muscular, handsome man walking down the long hall. Sunlight fell gracefully through the high windows, illuminating the blue carpet beneath his feet. His heavy footsteps echoed in the hall, and the flames in the torches that hung on the walls flinched as he passed. It was obvious that the strength of this man was incomparable to anyone the knights had ever met.
The man, wearing a dull blue and purple armour without a cape—a stark contrast to the shining armour and flowing capes worn by the others—entered a room. The space was furnished with luxurious furniture and intricate screens. Even the paintings on the wall, depicting gruesome war scenes of humans being devoured by huge monsters resembling snakes, were so artfully rendered they seemed like they were the work of a master. The door to the room closed, and on the well-made oak door, a wooden clipboard was elegantly carved with the words, "Captain of The Serpent's Maw." ****
Thane Cladaron. The name alone was enough to send a chill down a soldier's spine. He was indeed a figure of terror and brilliance. His own men served him out of grudging respect and sheer, visceral fear, knowing his temper was as deadly as any enemy blade.
And when it came to strength, the comparison was always made: Thane Cladaron was said to be the only man whose might on the field rivaled that of the legendary Ven Trueblade.
The knights outside finally let out a collective sigh of relief as they dismissed themselves. The black-haired captain sat down in his chair and began to go through the files on his table. His long hair, which reached his nose, was smoothly pushed back by a cold breeze that entered through the window near his desk, causing the window's screen to automatically slide down.
Soon, another handsome, tall, and mildly skinny young man entered the room, holding several papers in his hand. "Captain, I am here for the report," he said. His voice was free of fear, as this was his usual routine, he knew the captain better than the other knights in their division. He continued giving his report.
"And there is still no message from our spies in Northwood. We fear they have been captured by our enemies. It doesn't seem possible to launch a mission now to get back our land from the Kvothe Kingdom. This ends my report."
"Very well, Mat. You may go and take care of your duties. I have some paperwork to take care of."
"Yes Captain, also, there have been reports that a small boy is fighting on the battlefield, someone we didn't hire to fight," Mat added.
"Huh? Is he stupid? Just throw some coins at him; he'll leave the field."
"That's the thing. He doesn't want coins. He simply wants to eat in the camps."
With a look of astonishment on his face, the captain seemed to realize how cruel it sounded for a child to fight for food. With a judging voice, he asked Mat, "What more do you know about him?"
"He's a lowborn, about 11 years old, with red hair. No education, no training, and bound to die."
The captain sighed. "Okay, leave him to die then." But it was obvious from his expression that he didn't mean what he said. He dismissed Mat and then proceeded to continue his work.
Norvin, of course, didn't understand the ranks of the bestowed on the Knights, nor did he grasp how weak and frail he was compared to the great powers and majestic beasts of the battlefield. But that didn't stop him from continuing in the brutal war beside Remus, fighting side by side to survive each day and make a living for himself.
It had been two weeks or so since he began fighting, and a montage of various scenes always came to him in his dreams, not as nightmares but as constant, haunting reminders of what he must continue to do to earn a meal.
As they reached the camp after the day's exhausting battles, the scene was the same as usual: injured soldiers and knights tending to their wounds, the smell of food wafting through the air, and the low hum of conversation. Norvin had grown accustomed to it all.
Norvin had enough days now to start questioning the mysterious words spoken by others. Each time Remus offered an explanation, Norvin noticed even more unknowns. It was as if Remus enjoyed making things complicated instead of speaking directly.
Norvin knew it wasn't fair to blame Remus, though. Everything in this world—the numen and the ranks assigned was so incredibly linked, and Norvin's mind, unburdened by education and scarred by his past as a slave, was simply too young and lacked the exposure needed to grasp these complex concepts. He was still trying to learn the language of their world.
From what Remus had described and Norvin had understood, Numen was far more than just power; it was the spiritual core of a fallen star that settled inside a person. It was a supernatural, celestial force that seemed to have an intrinsic affinity for the divine nature of the cosmos, a connection so deep it was as if this immense power was fated to fall from the heavens and into human's slumber.
With a proper, cultivated grasp of Numen flowing inside one's body, a person could begin to perceive the raw current of energy in their surroundings. This wasn't merely seeing light; it was seeing the vast, chaotic flow of life, in the vibrant pulse of a human being.
The energy that permeated the entire world, flowing through the vibrant pulse of living animals and plants, and even residing in the seemingly inert stillness of non-living nature, the deep, silent reservoir of lakes, and the trembling stability of the very ground, was entirely separate from Numen. This vast, external energy, known as Awen, was considered a divine endowment. Legend held that it was originally sent by the gods themselves, falling from the boundary of the universe thousands of years before.
While Numen was the interior, spiritual current channeled within a person's body, the personal reflection of the cosmos, Awen was the external, pervasive flow that surrounded them, accessible only to those already blessed with Numen.
The true source of a person's power lay in the collision of these two energies. When the focused, internal Numen was purposefully projected outward to meet the boundless, external Awen, a powerful Knot was magically tied. This crucial fusion allowed the wielder to create structured effects such as attacks, defences, or various other forms, out of the surrounding raw power.
The concepts of this two energizes was not entirely clear to Norvin yet.
Norvin continued pondering about the mysteries of the world that he slowly learns from the old man as they sat near the campfire, eating their food as usual, feeling the warmth of the fire, under moonlight.
"The vessel is the manifestation of…" Remus's voice trailed off as he noticed other knights and soldiers gathering in a cluster near their chief's tent.
A loud commotion outside the main tent startled them. The soldiers and commoners began running toward the other side of the camping area. A sense of panic began to spread like a fever.
Both of them stood up in confusion and rushed to get a glimpse of the cause of this commotion. but what happened next was quite unexpected.
"Fall in!" a loud, commanding voice suddenly tore through the rising commotion.
The effect was instantaneous and absolute. Every soldier, knight, and commoner in the immediate area snapped to attention. Hundreds of figures began forming multiple, silent, perfectly straight lines. The murmuring and chaotic energy instantly died, replaced by an eerie stillness.
Standing at the front of this massive, suddenly obedient formation was the Captain. He was an imposing figure, his dull blue and purple armour contrasting sharply with the bright armour of the others. Strapped to his back were two weapons that resembled something ancient and terrifying, massive and oversized weapons sheathed in black leather. Beside him stood Mat, the Prime Nexus officer, his posture rigid and formal, holding his sword pointing it towards the ground while commanding.
Norvin had no idea about the titles assigned to those knights. His only partner for conversation was Remus, who seemed to have no interest in the subject, perhaps because he already knew everything and assumed Norvin did too. But he didn't.
Norvin froze. He didn't know where to go or what to do; he was neither a hired commoner-soldier, nor a knight. He was a chaotic variable in a system built on strict, absolute order.
Suddenly, he heard Remus's urgent, low whisper. "What are you doing? Stand behind me!"
Norvin instinctively obeyed, scrambling to take refuge in the shadow of Remus's uniform and armour.
For the first time since Norvin saw the Captain clearly, now standing against the backdrop of his entire division. The man was a towering monument of controlled power. The Captain possessed something far more dangerous, a cold, absolute calm. His presence didn't just command attention; it seemed to compress the very air, stealing the breath from the lungs of every man present. Norvin felt a strange, primal mix of awe and stark terror. This was not just a warrior; this was a force of nature, a living embodiment of the war's ultimate, unfeeling authority.
"The people of our Roric Kingdom are grateful for your blood. You have done much for your brethren. The children look up to your valour, and the mothers speak of your deeds to their children. Stand proud, and keep your hearts filled with the hopes of the people. We pray for the dead and deceased; may their souls finally find peace."
Mat's words seemed to be chosen carefully, each phrase a spark meant to ignite the embers of courage and hope in the hearts of the people gathered before him.
Many faces in the formation, which had turned to beam while listening to the acclaim, suddenly contorted into frowns as the faces of their fallen comrades flashed into their minds. Mat closed his eyes to pay his respects, and every soldier and knight followed suit. After a profound two minutes of silent tribute, he continued his speech, his voice now regaining its crisp military edge: "You are to end the battle tomorrow. We have bigger worries to mind."
The hundreds of eyes that snapped open were filled with shock and confusion. How could they end a sprawling war simply by tomorrow, as if it were a simple command?
Suddenly, a commanding, deep voice cut through the tense silence from directly behind them. "Kill their chief."
The effect was instantaneous. Every single knight and mage spun on their heels in perfect, disciplined synchronization, their bodies snapping into a rigid stance of attention. The regular soldiers, Norvin included, flinched at the sound and hastily mimicked the motion. His eyes, however, remained wide open. His gaze had been riveted on the Captain's original position at the front, yet he had never seen or heard the man move. The impossible, untraceable speed sent a shiver down his spine. Was it sorcery? Teleportation? The question hung in his mind, terrifying and unanswered.
A cold dread washed over Norvin. Hiding safely in the last line a moment ago, the synchronized turn had now placed him at the very front, closest to the terrifying figure whose presence seemed to warp the very air.
"Kill the chief, but how?" he thought, a confused, fearful knot tightening in his stomach. He soon found himself alone in this doubt. Around him, shoulders straightened and chins lifted. A low, predatory murmur swept through the ranks as their morale soared, filling every other man with a fierce, almost fanatical confidence now that their Captain had joined the battlefield.
Norvin's attention was so fixed on the Captain that he almost missed the flicker in his peripheral vision. The air beside the commander seemed to shimmer, then darken, coalescing from nothingness into a solid form. One moment there was empty space; the next, Mat stood there. He was perfectly still, not even breathing hard, as if stepping through the fabric of reality was no more strenuous than walking through a doorway. Norvin flinched back, a strangled gasp catching in his throat.
Without a word of greeting, Mat began to explain their intricate and audacious plan. An hour passed under the stark, flickering light of the lanterns. As he spoke, the initial, ferocious confidence began to curdle into a grim uncertainty. Postures sagged slightly; confident expressions were replaced by the hardened masks of men calculating their odds. The plan was not just dangerous; it felt like a desperate, suicidal gambit with no guarantee of survival.
Remus was assigned to Mat's group. As a Fragment- Cipher , Remus was both excited and reluctant. He was assigned to the front lines, receiving a chance to fight alongside Mat, a Vortex- Nexus was a great honour on its own.
Soon, Mat spoke again, "Norvin, we have something for you to do."
Every single soul in the formation was shocked by his words. A boy? Seriously? He wasn't even a soldier! Norvin was devastated. He swallowed his fear and negative thoughts, his face set with a fierce, determined expression and his red eyes burning with a shocking intensity. This expression shocked Mat. The boy didn't even show the fear you would expect from a child who had just been ordered to die. This was also noticed by the Captain. All of the men began questioning Mat in their heads, as no one dared to challenge the decision made by TheTactician of The Serpent's Maw, especially not in front of their Captain.
Remus, being quite older than both Mat and the captain of The Serpent's Maw, was the only one who spoke up out of concern for Norvin. "Mat, he is just a child, not even a real soldier. He doesn't deserve to be doomed in the upcoming battle."
Few men were foolish enough to refer to the tactician of the Serpent's Maw by his given name, but Remus allowed himself the familiarity. The old Knight, one of the longest-serving members of their order, watched the younger man with a calculating eye. He remembered a time, not so long ago, when Mat—now a commander with a formidable presence—was just a boy taking his first orders. Mat had always been an amiable, kind-hearted soul, but command had forged a new firmness in his posture.
Remus let out a slow, quiet sigh, the thought echoing in his weary mind, *'*Ah… today's children grow up so fast.'
Mat turned, his expression softening as he met the old man's gaze. He stood a little straighter, a subconscious show of respect, but his voice was firm and clear. "Ah, Sir Remus. Do not worry. I give you my word that no harm will come to the boy while he is with me. There is a certain task that only he can accomplish for us. But," Mat added, raising a hand slightly, "if the boy wishes to back out, he can. He will always have that option."
"NO!" Norvin shouted at the top of his lungs. He was still standing in the front, and his voice and face conveyed his fierce determination.
Remus looked at Norvin, his face contorted in disbelief. "But Norvin, you heard the plan! You can't even channel numen inside your body. You won't be able to fight in the front lines. This fight is not yours. Don't underestimate the enemy."
"I will fight" the young, determined voice was heard by everyone.
Everyone had already understood who would be the first to die tomorrow. The Captain, however, didn't believe that.