The air at Fort Oakhaven tasted of wet iron and rot.
Kael adjusted his grip on the hilt of his standard-issue longsword—a weapon more rust than steel. He was nineteen, an orphan with calloused hands and a Novice Level 1 badge pinned to his leather jerkin. It was the lowest rank in the kingdom, a tier reserved for those who were little more than fodder.
"Kael," a soft voice whispered.
He turned. Lina stood in the shadows of the stone archway; her maid's uniform was smudged with soot. In the flickering torchlight, she looked fragile, but her eyes—wide and amber—were the only thing that kept Kael's world from turning entirely grey.
"You shouldn't be out here, Lina," Kael said softly. "The border is restless. The Delkart State has been moving scouts through the mist."
"I just... I had a bad feeling," she said, stepping closer. "Lieutenant Varick asked me to his quarters again tonight. He was... angry when I refused. He said you wouldn't be around to protect me forever."
Kael's jaw tightened. Varick was an Intermediate Level 4, a man who treated the lower-tier guards like livestock. "He's all talk, Lina. As long as I'm on this watch, you're safe."
"How touching," a cold, mocking voice drawled from the battlements above.
Kael spun, pushing Lina behind him. Lieutenant Varick stood there, his green cape fluttering in the damp wind. Beside him stood three figures clad in the midnight-black armor of the Delkart Black Knights—the very enemies they were supposed to be guarding against.
"Lieutenant?" Kael's heart hammered against his ribs. "What is this? Why are the Delkarts inside the walls?"
Varick descended the stairs, his boots clicking rhythmically. He didn't look like a commander; he looked like a predator. "The Delkarts wanted the girl. I wanted the girl. But she only has eyes for a pathetic, tier-zero brat like you."
Varick stopped five paces away, his hand resting on the pommel of his rapier. "I realized that as long as you breathe, she'll never see me as her savior. So, I made a deal. The Delkarts get the 'package' she's carrying, and I get her. You? You get a hero's funeral."
"You sold us out," Kael breathed, his knuckles whitening on his sword. "You're a rat."
"I'm a survivor, Kael. That's a lesson you'll never live to learn." Varick gave a casual nod to the Black Knights. "Kill the boy. Try not to get too much blood on the maid."
The knights moved with the terrifying fluidity of Intermediate masters. Kael swung his rusted blade in a desperate arc, but he was a Novice fighting shadows. A heavy boot caught him in the chest, sending him sprawling into the mud.
Lina screamed as a knight grabbed her hair, dragging her toward the gate.
"Lina!" Kael roared, struggling to rise.
Before he could stand, a cold length of steel slid through his back and burst out of his chest. Kael gasped, the world suddenly losing its sound. He looked down to see the tip of Varick's rapier dripping with his own blood.
"Don't worry, Kael," Varick whispered into his ear, twisting the blade. "I'll take real good care of her. In the next life, try to be born with a bit more talent."
Varick kicked Kael off his sword. The boy slumped into a puddle, the cold rain mixing with the spreading heat of his lifeblood. His vision blurred. He saw Lina being pulled into the darkness, her hand outstretched, her voice calling his name until a blow silenced it.
Fury, cold and absolute, flickered in Kael's dying mind, not like this. I can't leave her with him. I need... heat. I need... power.
As his heart gave its final, stuttering beat, the grey world vanished. A golden light, hotter than a thousand midsummer suns, erupted in the center of his soul.