-Year 7335, Varzyus – Baroness Lysara Féris's House (same night)-
The intruder's blade glints in the darkness.
She is a few steps away from me, hood still up, the scar on her cheek visible in the moonlight. Lysara's body lies in pieces on the floor between us. The smell of iron and flesh has not yet dissipated.
"Ierály sent me," she says, her voice low, calm. "To observe you. I didn't expect you to be so... efficient."
"To observe me?" I reply, dagger still in hand, blood dripping from the blade. "Or to kill me?"
"I don't know yet."
She moves forward. Fast. Faster than I expected.
Her blade is curved, like a claw. The first strike comes close to my neck. I dodge. The second scrapes my arm — a superficial cut, but enough to feel the burn.
"You're not as strong as you think," she says. "Your body hasn't adapted to this mana yet."
"Maybe. But you're weaker than you think."
I attack.
I don't think. I don't plan. I just attack.
The dagger sinks into her chest. Between the ribs. The sound is wet, muffled. Her eyes widen, her mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
"You should have stayed in the shadows," I whisper.
I pull the blade upward. The flesh tears. Blood gushes. She falls to her knees, then to her side. Her body twitches once. Lies still.
I look at her. At the blood. At my cut arm.
*Did anyone see?*
I listen. Footsteps. Outside. Voices.
Baron Ander Féris. Back earlier than expected.
---
I kneel. Tear my own tunic. Make small cuts on my arm — not deep, just enough to look like a fight. I breathe deeply. Force my face to twist in shock.
The door opens.
Ander Féris enters. Behind him, a servant with a lantern.
"By all the gods..." The baron stops. His eyes fix on Lysara's remains. Then on the dead intruder. Then on me. "What happened here?"
"My lord," my voice trembles. I fake it. "She... she and another man... killed Lady Lysara. I tried to save her, but..."
I show the cuts on my arm. The blood on my tunic. The bloody dagger on the floor.
"I killed one of them. The other fled. Into the forest. I couldn't catch him."
Ander approaches the intruder's body. Kneels. Touches her face.
"Do you recognize this woman?"
"No, my lord. I've never seen her."
"She confessed before she died. Said the other had already fled." — I lie. The lie comes easily, like all the ones I've told before.
Ander stands. His face is pale, his eyes red. Not from tears. From anger.
"You killed her?"
"I killed her, my lord. I defended myself. I defended Lady Lysara."
"You defended my wife. You avenged her." He looks at me. There is something in his eyes — gratitude, yes, but also something else. Despair. "You saved Mira? Was she in the room?"
"She was, my lord. Asleep. She saw nothing."
Mira appears in the doorway. The maid who woke her holds her hand. The girl's eyes are wide, her chin trembling.
"Papa?"
Ander runs to her. Embraces her.
"It's all right, Mira. It's all right. The good man killed the bad ones."
*The good man.*
That's me.
I smile inside.
---
Hours later, in the living room. Lysara's body has been removed. The intruder's too. Mira sits beside me, clinging to my arm. She won't let go.
Ander drinks wine. His third cup.
"I don't know how to thank you, boy."
"Zirinos, my lord."
"Zirinos. Where are you from?"
"Far away. Very far away."
"Far away." He laughs, a bitter laugh. "We are all from far away these days. The king summoned the barons. The kings of Aryster and Ban are on their way. War against Trussum. And I come home to find my wife dead."
"I'm sorry, my lord."
"You're sorry?" He looks at me. His eyes are glazed. "You are sorry, yes. I see it in your eyes. You're not like the other slaves. You are... different."
"I've been told that before."
Ander falls silent. Drinks another gulp.
"I need men I can trust, Zirinos. Men who aren't afraid to kill."
"I'm not afraid, my lord."
"I know you aren't. You killed a woman in cold blood and didn't tremble."
"Trembling saves no one."
"No, it doesn't." He sets down his cup. Stands up. "From today, you are my squire."
"My lord?"
"You will learn to use a sword properly. You will accompany me to Decatry Island. The king and the nobles are gathered to discuss the war. You're coming with me."
"And Mira?"
"She stays with you. You're the only one I trust now."
Mira squeezes my arm. Her blue eyes shine.
"You'll stay with me, Zirinos?" she asks, her voice small.
"I'll stay, Mira. I'm not going anywhere without you."
*Lie. But she doesn't need to know.*
---
Days later. Or hours. Time has lost its meaning.
The carriage creaks along the road to Dennis Decatry Port. Ander rides ahead with the soldiers. I ride inside with Mira. She sleeps against me, her curly hair spread over my tunic.
I think about the intruder. About her companion. Where is he now? Still in the forest? Or already on Decatry Island, telling Ierály what happened?
*Ierály.* The inn girl. The green-eyed servant.
Something tells me she is not just a servant.
---
The boat docks at Dennis Decatry Port. The island is impressive — a dark stone castle, tall towers, flags of various houses fluttering in the wind. Warships anchored. Soldiers everywhere.
"The king is here," Ander says beside me. "And the kings of Aryster and Ban. All the nobles of Endomyar, except those who stayed in their lands."
"And Duke Decatry?"
"He is the host. The island is his. Security is maximum."
We disembark. Mira jumped off the boat before me, her eyes shining at the ships.
"Look, Zirinos! Huge boats!"
"Those are warships, Mira. Not toys."
"I know. But they're beautiful."
Ander guides us through the port, then along a wide road to the castle. Along the way, carriages. Many. Some rich, some simple. Soldiers of various colors — blue and silver from Lunos, blue and purple from Eladir, the black octopus of Graylor, the golden lion of Remadís.
And one carriage, ahead of us, stops.
The doors open.
Three girls descend. One with golden hair, porcelain skin. Another with red hair, a sweet face. Another with platinum-blue hair, distant eyes.
After them, a boy.
Purple hair. A handsome face, but ordinary. White, simple armour. A black sword with red veins.
His eyes meet mine.
For a second, the world stops.
I cannot explain it. There is no magic. No system. Just... a certainty. That this boy is like me. That he came from another place. That our destinies are connected.
He looks at me. I look at him.
Then he looks away. The golden-haired girl pulls him by the arm.
"Come, Ethan. Father is waiting."
*Ethan.*
I file away the name.
But my eyes go to the girls. The golden hair. The sweet red. The platinum blue.
They are beautiful. Very beautiful.
"Who are those girls?" I ask Ander, my voice low.
He follows my gaze.
"They are Duke Decatry's daughters. Ana, Sara and Ariny. The boy is a slave... chosen one of Macano, apparently. They call him Ethan."
"Chosen one of Macano?"
"The same. The first after the duke."
I file away the information.
*Ethan. Chosen of Macano. Weak, apparently. But with potential.*
Mira squeezes my hand.
"Zirinos, you're staring at the golden-haired girl. Are you friends with her?"
"Not yet, Mira." I smile. "But I will be."
We enter the castle. The doors close behind us.
I look back one last time.
Ethan has already disappeared.
He was like me. I didn't know how, but I knew. And those girls... they would be mine.