The warmth didn't last forever.
It never does.
The morning after felt quieter—not in sound, but in weight. Like the world had reminded us that rest wasn't a destination, only a pause between trials. Class 2-S returned to structure that day, not because the Academy demanded it, but because we needed it.
Steel doesn't care about verdicts.
Doctrine doesn't bend for emotions.
That's why it matters.
We assembled in one of Lionhearth's older training halls—the kind built before rankings mattered, before banners were polished to impress. Stone walls scarred with centuries of strikes. Iron rings bolted into the floor. Light filtering through high slits instead of glass panes.
No one joked.
No one leaned.
Weapons were laid out properly, aligned with care.
I took my place without ceremony, sword resting before me, its chipped edge catching faint light. I could feel eyes on me—not judgmental, not accusatory—but aware. This class wasn't about me.
But everything we were about to hear would circle me anyway.
Sir Aldred entered without announcement.
Boots against stone.
Presence settled immediately.
He didn't look at me first.
He looked at all of us.
"The Swordmaster's Ten Commandments exist," he said, voice steady, "for moments when the world becomes louder than the Code."
That landed.
Then he added, calmly:
"We review them today because one of you was tested by all ten at once."
Eyes flicked toward me.
Not blame.
Recognition.
Sir Aldred planted his staff against the stone.
"Steel is honest," he continued. "It will never lie to you. Words, however…" His gaze sharpened. "Words collide. And when they do, your sword will answer whether you meant them."
I. Draw the Blade Only with Conviction
(Hesitation kills more than Steel.)
Sir Aldred paced slowly.
"Restraint is not hesitation," he said. "And hesitation is not mercy."
He stopped in front of a rack of training blades.
"A knight who freezes tells the world that evil may take its time."
My fingers curled slightly.
I thought of moments where I'd moved without certainty but with belief—where waiting would've cost blood.
Conviction wasn't about being right.
It was about committing when the moment demanded action.
Aldred's voice cut clean:
"If your blade leaves the sheath uncertain, it will return soaked."
II. Stand Where Evil Stands
(If Injustice Rises before you, so must you.)
This commandment tightened the air.
A student—quiet, but brave—spoke up.
"What if standing there disobeys an order?"
Sir Aldred didn't answer immediately.
He let the silence do the work.
Then:
"Then you decide," he said simply. "Whether you serve command… or conscience."
I felt the trial stir in my chest again.
The commandment didn't promise safety.
It promised responsibility.
III. Become the Light When None Exists
(Burn Yourself if you Must.)
The hall grew quieter.
"This commandment is not permission to destroy yourself," Aldred said firmly. "It is acknowledgment that there will be moments where the light costs."
He met my gaze briefly.
I'd been burning.
Too often without knowing where the line was.
Aldred continued:
"A knight who burns endlessly leaves only ash behind. Learn when to shine—and when to step aside."
That struck harder than rebuke.
IV. Walk the Honorable Path
(Victory without Honor is Defeat.)
Aldred gestured to the scars along the walls.
"Many of these came from victories," he said. "And many left nothing worth saving."
Victory meant nothing if it hollowed the reason you fought.
I understood that now.
Innocence wasn't victory.
Honor was what kept things from collapsing when the world tried to bend you into something else.
V. Bear Responsibility for Every Cut
(The Sword Remembers.)
Sir Aldred lifted a damaged blade from the rack.
Chipped. Scarred. Worn.
"This blade remembers every choice its wielder made," he said. "So will yours."
My eyes dropped to my own sword.
The chips weren't flaws.
They were history.
Responsibility didn't end when the fight did.
That was the weight of carrying steel.
VI. The Sword Serves, It Does Not Rule
(Power is a duty, not a Crown.)
This one made me uncomfortable.
Not because I disagreed.
Because I understood it too well.
Influence isn't optional once strength is visible.
Will wasn't a throne.
It was a burden others responded to whether I wanted them to or not.
Aldred's voice hardened:
"Any knight who believes power entitles them to rule has already failed the Code."
VII. Do Not Abandon the Helpless
(The Strong Exist because the Weak must Endure.)
The question came softly.
"What if saving one dooms many?"
Sir Aldred's answer was precise.
"The commandment does not demand you save everyone," he said. "It demands you do not abandon."
Intent matters.
That distinction had defined my life lately.
VIII. Seek Truth before Judgement
(A Sharp Blade without Wisdom is a Butcher's Tool.)
This one cut deepest.
I thought of the trial.
Of voices shouting before listening.
Of being judged louder than I was understood.
Aldred spoke quietly now:
"Truth delayed is still truth. Judgement rushed is always wrong."
I didn't feel vindicated.
I felt… grounded.
IX. Do Not Stain the Blade with Malice
(Hatred Dulls the Edge.)
"Righteous anger is not malice," Aldred said. "Hatred begins when you stop seeing people."
I remembered moments I'd come close.
And what had pulled me back.
The blade must never become an excuse to hate.
X. When the Code and the World Collide, Choose the World
(The Oath Exists to Protect Life, Not Itself.)
Silence.
No one moved.
This was the commandment that explained everything—the trial, the verdict, the innocence.
The Code wasn't meant to protect itself.
It existed to shield life.
Aldred's final words were calm and unshakable:
"Any oath that demands the world bleed for its purity is not an oath worth keeping."
The lesson ended without flourish.
No applause.
No declarations.
Just understanding—quiet and heavy.
Weapons were lifted again.
With purpose.
As I wrapped my fingers around my sword's grip, I didn't feel validated.
I felt anchored.
The Code wasn't a shield.
It was weight—meant to keep me honest when the world tested me again.
And I knew it would.
But when words collided with my sword again…
I wouldn't ask if I was right.
I'd ask if I remembered why I fought.