Eight years had gone by since that night when the steel melted in the cold.
The House of Leodrick was flourishing, but it was becoming more fractured. Cedric, who had now become eighteen, had sworn his allegiance and donned the silver suit of armor of a Knight. Liora was a tough duelist at the age of fifteen, while Alric, who was twelve, possessed unnatural talent for working at the forge.
And then there was Leon, an eight-year-old ghostly presence in his own house.
"Uncle Julian," Leon said, kicking back in his mahogany chair in the library, "when can I begin training like my siblings?"
Unlike all other people from the estate, Leon was the only one who used the term "uncle" for the old man, and everyone else just called him "Julian" since they considered him nothing more than help. However, for Leon, Julian was a godsend; he was everything that warmed up a freezing castle, the one ray of sunshine in a storm. In fact, his father had never addressed him even once. For Leon, his father was nothing less than a deity who lived beyond anyone's reach, and Leon could hardly wait until he conquered this inaccessible mountain and won his father's acknowledgment.
"Soon, young master," came the reply to Leon's request in a raspy whisper.
Certainly, many years had taken their toll on the old soldier. His posture had become frail, and his breathing had slowed down.
Leon looked down at the massive, dusty ledger in front of him and sighed. "Uncle, I don't want to read this anymore. Can you bring me another book? Something with pictures?"
Julian smiled weakly, bowing his head. "Of course, young master. Wait here."
As the old man shuffled out, Leon slid out of his chair and crept toward the grand balcony overlooking the training grounds. Down below, Liora was executing a flawless sequence of sword strikes, her blade whistling through the wind. Standing over her was Leofric, his presence as towering and terrifying as ever.
Leon's heart swelled. He leaned over the stone railing, waving his arms. "Hey! Sister Liora! Look over here!"
Liora's eyes flicked upward. A small smile broke through her discipline, and she began to raise her hand to wave back.
"Stop." The sharpness of Leofric's tone echoed like a crack of a whip across the courtyard. Liora came to an abrupt stop. "Is knighthood meaningless to you? Pay attention to your training, forget about him."
Liora let her hand drop. She turned to Leon with a look of deep guilt flashing in her eyes, then bowed her head to her father. "I'm sorry, Father."
Leon let his hand drop. A pain filled his heart. Of all his brothers and sisters, Liora and Alric were the only ones who ever recognized him. The golden boy, Cedric, despised him with the same intensity as their father.
The heavy doors groaned as Julian returned, carrying a thick leather-bound tome embossed with a faded gold crest.
"Here you go, young master. I brought this. It dictates the historical war that forged our realm and many other neighboring kingdoms."
"I don't want to read about the dead," Leon muttered, sinking down into his seat. "Could you find something else for me?"
But my dear boy," Julian responded. His tone was quite unusual, but his eyes did not seem to harden. "This knowledge is crucial to you. Every other child from our noble families knows by heart the very book. This is the essence of what you are."
"Why can't you tell me?" begged Leon, gazing at him with his big black eyes. "I truly dislike history, Uncle."
Julian sighed, lines appearing on his tired face. "All right. Let's walk around the garden and I'll tell you a story."
The midday sun threw long shadows through the rose garden as the old butler and the small boy walked side by side.
"It began in the Year of the Lion, XII," Julian started, his voice adopting the rhythmic cadence of a storyteller. "Back then, the mainland was fractured into two distinct continents, both completely unaware of the other's existence. The continent of Svalor, our ancestral home, sought a peaceful alliance when the borders of the sea were finally crossed. The neighboring continent of Vaeron agreed to the treaties... but they harbored dark, treacherous intentions."
Leon listened intently, his previous boredom forgotten.
"After only one year of fake peace, Vaeron attacked," continued Julian, the darkness growing in his eyes as he recalled. "They attacked in a vicious and unprovoked manner against the city of Davren. They were not honorable soldiers, Leon. They were wild rogues, mutated creatures, lawless scoundrels, and bandits. They weren't just taking over the city; they were slaughtering its people and ravaging everything they could get their hands on from the innocent citizens."
Leon's eyes widened as he grabbed Julian's coat. "Did no one put up a fight?"
"The King of Svalor called upon everything," said Julian. "He sent knights, battle mages, and legions of infantry against it. For a short while, it did work; Svalor held them off... until the dark mages of Vaeron released their ultimate weapon upon the battlefield. Rifts opened up in the sky, summoning ancient, hideous monstrosities. The so-called Magic Beasts that nobody even now understands how they were bound using some sort of corrupt magic. Each of them could annihilate fifty elite knights without taking a scratch. They were invincible, having absolutely no weaknesses."
Julian bitterly shook his head. "In just a few months, Svalor lost its territories; those who managed to survive the carnage became nothing more than prisoners of war, forced to endure endless suffering under their new slave masters. In other words, it was a massacre. All hope was lost, and none of those present thought they had a chance in the world. This was the end of everything. However, then something truly miraculous happened."
Leon's eyes sparkled. "A hero?"
"A knight," Julian corrected softly. "A single knight, leading a desperate, battered squad, marched into the ruins of Davren. Against all odds, they engaged a Magic Beast and slew it. The knight had discovered their fatal flaw—a glowing mana core hidden deep within the right side of their chests. If you shatter that core, the beast dissolves into nothingness, leaving no trace behind."
Julian smiled faintly, looking down at Leon. "They spread the word across the remaining free cities. They gave the continent the one weapon the enemy couldn't crush: hope."
"So, did they win?!" Leon asked, bouncing on his heels.
"They fought like demons," Julian recounted. "For four long years, the tide was changing. They chased down the demons and forced the invaders of Vaeron across the sea. Everything came down to a siege on the castle-town of Camber. All of the Magic Beasts were wiped out, but still there remained the Supreme Commander of Vaeron—arguably the most powerful woman knight in the world."
Julian gazed out into the distant mountains. "The vanguard of Svalor attacked her without warning, and she killed many of them before she finally gave in from exhaustion. But what they did was worthwhile because they drained her energy. Then, the knight who brought hope to Svalor stood up. He was the only one we had left; any other man would've had no luck at all."
"He raised his sword and attacked her. A fight ensued, a deadly battle between two swords until both warriors grew too tired to continue. She fell to her knees, and the knight of Svalor struck off her head."
"The war was over," Julian murmured. "Svalor annexed Vaeron, dismantling its corrupt monarchy. They imprisoned the warlords but offered the innocent citizens of Vaeron a chance at a new, peaceful life within our borders. To symbolize the union of the two halves, the land was renamed... the Continent of Svaron. The Great Svaron War."
"What happened to the knight?" Leon asked, his voice full of awe. "The one who killed her?"
"He was heralded as a savior, a living legend," Julian said, his tone turning strangely ambiguous. "But history is written by the victors, young master. No one truly knows what became of him or his squad after the dust settled. Some say the tales we tell are a beautiful lie, hiding a darker truth. But the secrets of the past belong to the dead."
Julian bowed politely, checking the pocket watch at his vest. "I must return to my duties now, young master. Please, return to your chambers."
The excitement of the story carried Leon all the way back to his bedroom. He pushed the door open, humming to himself, only to freeze instantly.
"Stop."
It seemed that the cold voice had come from the darkest corner of his room.
Leon squinted as he saw that Cedric stood by the wardrobe. He was wearing his shiny armor made of silver. He had also draped his heavy cloak over his shoulders.
"W-who? Oh, Cedric… you're leaving for the royal capital tomorrow, right… my brother?" Leon said, smiling hopefully.
Cedric's jaw tightened as he glared angrily into Leon's eyes. "No, don't call me that."
"W-Wait, what? Why are you even here?"
"As I was leaving today, I realized that I must make things perfectly clear with you." Cedric stepped out of the darkness and into the light. "Forget about it, and don't go dreaming about becoming a knight when you are one with us."
Leon clenched his hands at his sides. While pain surged through him, there was a spark of determination that had been lit inside of him. "But I am also part of the Leodrick line!"
"Wrong!" Cedric shouted, invading Leon's personal space as he stood tall over him. "Do not dare believe you're a part of this lineage, boy. All you have done in your life is cause sorrow for our family."
"I will become a knight!" Leon roared back, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. "And I will make Father proud of me!"
Those words—make Father proud—shattered Cedric's remaining restraint. His mind flashed to the memory of their mother, the beautiful, laughing woman who had been ripped away from him, replaced by this useless, talentless brat. His eyes widened with an terrifying rage.
"What did I even do?!" Leon sobbed.
Cedric rushed forward, slapping Leon hard in the chest with his armored hand.
Leon was slammed backwards, his little body making impact on the wooden floor in a violent way, gasping as air was forced out of his lungs. His hands and arms slid down, skidding against the wooden flooring.
"You are nothing," hissed Cedric. He looked at his little brother as if he was no more than a pest. "None of us here sees you as a Leodrick at all. Father gave me the express order to inform you personally of something that he could not even look at when telling you: you will never be trained as a knight in this household. You will never have the position of warrior here. Ever."
Leon lay on the floor staring up at Cedric, tears streaming from his eyes. "But... I haven't done anything! Why does Father hate me? Why do you hate me?!"
"Shut up and do as you're told," retorted Cedric, spinning around to walk away from the sobbing boy. "Insolent, cursed little brat. Don't know why Father doesn't throw you out in the sewers like the garbage that you are."
Furiously swinging his arm, Cedric charged out of the room, slamming the massive wooden door with such force that the whole place shook.
Leon slowly made his way to the bed and pulled the cover over himself. He cried softly into his pillow, his whimpers echoing in the dimly lit room as he lay there feeling completely and utterly alone.
The following morning, the whole estate was abuzz with the flurry of activity as they prepared for Cedric's exit, but Leon moved downstairs with lethargic, slow-paced steps. The boy's eyes were visibly puffy and bloodshot.
Julian was arranging some papers in the grand hall when Leon caught sight of him. "Uncle Julian…" he murmured, tugging at Julian's sleeve. "Please... tell me. What have I done wrong? Why is everyone hating me?"
Julian stopped. He looked down at the boy, his old eyes drowning in a profound, agonizing pity. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He couldn't do it. He couldn't shatter the boy's world.
"Do not mind Master Cedric's words, young master," Julian said softly, his voice trembling as he gently patted Leon's head. "Go back to your room. Rest."
Disappointed and hollow, Leon turned around and began to walk down the quiet, secluded eastern corridor of the manor.
"Step aside, Master Leon."
His attention was captured by a voice of someone else. Leon noticed the old guard who served on the estate, whose hand touched the handle of the sword. The man didn't give a look full of contempt, but rather a glance full of some evil mockery.
"Why did you hold me?" Leon asked, his voice cracking.
The guard leant himself against the pillar, his mouth curled into an expression which indicated that he knew more than Leon himself. "Last night I saw Master Cedric leaving your apartment. Do you want to know why Master Cedric and His Grace view you in such manner? As if you carry the plague?"
Leon felt his heart beating against his ribcage. He made one step forward, raising his voice, almost crying out. "WHY?! Answer me!"
The guard lowered his head closer to Leon's, his eyes shining with an expression of delivering deadly information. "Because, little master, it is related to your birth."