An elegant-looking carriage rumbled over a deep rut in the road. It's wheels groaned under the strain. Heat radiated from friction bolted to the back of the cabin.
Silas wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He stared at the massive man sitting across from him.
Kael, his bodyguard, was built like a boulder. His formal tunic strained against his thick chest with every bump of the carriage. He did not seem to care about the sweltering heat. He was grinning instead.
"Wind. I am telling you, young master. It has to be wind."
Silas sighed. They had been having this argument for three days. Ever since they left the quiet borders of the Crane Barony, Kael had been trying to predict his future affinity.
"I jumped into a pile of hay, Kael."
"You fell from a thirty foot watchtower." Kael leaned forward. The carriage groaned under his weight. "No broken bones. Not even a bruise. The wind caught you. I saw it."
Silas laughed. The heat inside the cabin was suffocating, but Kael's energy was relentless. "The hay was ten feet deep."
Kael waved a thick hand. "Details. What about the river? Three years ago. You dropped your hunting knife."
Silas rolled his eyes. He leaned his head against the thick glass window.
"The current was wild," Kael continued. He lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "You reached in. The water just parted for you. Plucked it right out. Water affinity. Count Valerius would pay a fortune for that."
"My sleeve was soaked," Silas said. "And I slipped on a mossy rock right after. Then nearly drowned."
"You survived." Kael crossed his arms. "Water. Or wind. Maybe both. You have always been lucky. Luck favors you."
Silas did not feel lucky. He felt roasted by the heat.
The reinforced glass on the carriage made it even worse. It just trapped the midsummer sun inside. The cabin felt like an oven. The heavy wool of his formal trousers was scratching painfully against his legs.
He looked at his own hands. Normal hands. Thin fingers. No hidden strength. He did not have thick calluses from swinging heavy swords. He didn't have burn scars from trying to temper his mana channels, like some of the soldiers back home.
He did not want a wind affinity. He definitely did not want water. He might as well not have an affinity at all.
The Kingdom of Koinos did not reward gentleness. Koinos ran on strength. The entire civilization was built around the concept of power. The nobles ruled because they could generate the most might. They tempered their bodies from the inside out. In this world, power reigned supreme.
The King sat on an obsidian throne in the distant capital. He was guarded by his Archons. The Archons were monsters in human skin. Kael used to tell stories about them around the fireplace back home. He said an Archon could break a steel sword just by gripping the blade. He said their footsteps left footprints in solid stone. They conquered whole provinces by turning entire armies to ash.
"I'll probably just have an Earth affinity," Silas said. "Like father. It builds strong walls. It's reliable. It's safe."
"Don't count your chickens before they hatch."
The voice cut through the cabin. Cold and sharp.
Silas slumped his shoulders.
Baron Crane sat on the front bench. He faced forward. He hadn't turned around once since they left the estate. His back was rigidly straight. He wore a heavy wool coat pinned with a silver crest. It was a crest of a stone keep. The symbol of the Crane family. Steady. Unmoving but unremarkable.
He tapped his cane against the floorboards. Once. Twice.
"Bloodline is a guide, Silas. Not a promise," his father said. His voice was tight. "The awakening takes what it wants. It does not care about your plans. Prepare for anything."
"Yes, Father," Silas said. He let out a long breath. He sounded bored. He usually was. This time though, he was mostly just hot.
He closed his eyes and tried to picture home. The Crane Barony was so far away now. It was a quiet place. It sat nestled deep in the northern foothills, far from the capital and the endless border wars. The air there was always crisp. Thick pine needles blanketed the forest floor. The stone walls of his family estate were always cool to the touch, even in the dead of summer.
He spent his days reading in the shadowed library or walking through the silent woods. He liked the quiet. He did not care about political power. He did not care about military hierarchy. He just wanted to go back to his books.
He opened his eyes. The reality of his situation pressed in on him again.
"The testing stone in Orestes is an ancient relic," his father continued. He still stared straight ahead at the wooden partition separating them from the driver. "It was found much before the last border expansion. It measures the raw conceptual affinity in your blood. It does not care about your name. It does not care that you are my son. It measures worth in raw numbers. Rank one to rank six."
Silas swallowed hard. "And if I rank high?"
"If you hold a weak affinity, a rank one or two, you will be sent back to the estate. You will manage the grain shipments and collect taxes," the Baron said. His tone was completely flat. "If you hold a strong affinity, rank four or higher, you will be taken."
"Taken where?" Silas asked. His stomach twisted.
"To the capital. Or drafted directly into the Count's personal vanguard." The Baron gripped the silver head of his cane. His knuckles turned white under his leather gloves. "The King demands perfection. He demands absolute power. This kingdom must be fed constant talent. The Archons are always hunting for high ranking talent."
"But remember, talent isn't everything. Plenty of people have high-ranking affinities but are sent back from the capital, deemed to be useless in battle. On the other hand, many low-ranking soldiers have increased their affinities through training and become nobles."
"Understood." Silas rubbed his sweaty palms on his knees.
"And prepare to meet the Count," his father added. "He commands thirty thousand men, and he does not tolerate fools. Stand straight. Look his men in the eye. Speak when spoken to. Show no weakness. The Count despises weakness."
"Yes, Father."
Silas tugged at his collar again. The heavy cloth dug into his neck. The heat was getting worse. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
He looked out the window.
The rolling green hills were completely gone. They had passed hours ago. Now, the earth was scarred and black. Huge craters dotted the landscape. There was no grass. There were no animals. Just unbearable heat.
A massive wall of black stone loomed ahead. The city of Orestes.
It's walls stretched hundreds of feet into the air. The air outside shimmered with intense heat. Smaller structures clung to the outside of the main wall. They were outposts for guards, who in heavy iron armor patrolled the perimeter.
The carriage rattled violently. The wheels transitioned from the packed dirt road to thick iron cobblestones. Sparks flew past the window as the iron ground against iron.
The temperature inside the cabin spiked again. The back of the carriage whined loudly as the driver pushed the horses harder.
The pedestrians did not look like the people back home. They marched with rigid, military discipline. The Count was a military man, and the whole world would know it.
Silas felt the sweat pooling in his boots. The leather seat burned his thighs through his trousers. He felt like he was suffocating in a burning box. He needed air. He needed cold.
He just couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed the lapels of his heavy dress coat, pulled it off, and threw it onto the empty seat beside him.
It was not enough. His shirt was completely glued to his back.
He reached for his collar. He fumbled with the tight top button. He twisted the stiff fabric until the button finally gave way. He pulled the collar open and gasped for air. He ran a hand through his dark hair. It stood up in messy spikes.
"We have reached the inner courtyard, My Lord."
The driver's voice yelled down from outside.
The carriage brakes shrieked loudly. The heavy iron wheels locked against the metal road.
The carriage lurched forward with sudden violence. Silas slammed his hands against the leather seat to steady himself. Kael braced his thick arms against the walls.
Panic flared in Silas's chest.
He looked down at himself. He was in his shirtsleeves. His collar was completely undone. His formal tie hung loose and crooked over his chest. He looked like a beggar. He looked like a stable boy caught sleeping in the hay.
"Silas." His father snapped.
Baron Crane finally turned around. His eyes widened. The blood drained from his face instantly.
"What are you doing? Put your coat on. Now."
"It was too hot," Silas choked out.
He lunged for the dark wool coat. He grabbed the sleeve and tried shoved his left arm in. The heavy material caught on his damp shirt. He twisted his shoulder, pulling violently to get it over his back.
He reached for his collar with his right hand. He found the tiny pearl button. His fingers were slick with sweat. He tried to force it into the buttonhole. It slipped.
Heavy footsteps approached the carriage from the outside. Crisp. Measured. They sounded like polished leather shoes striking stone.
"Father, wait, it's stuck," Silas hissed.
He tugged at the coat again. It hung halfway off his right shoulder. Kael reached over to help. But the massive man's thick fingers only tangled the tie further.
The brass latch on the carriage door clicked loudly.
The door swung open.
Hot, soot filled air rushed into the cabin. It smelled like burning oil.
A man stood framed in the doorway. He wore a pristine black tailcoat. There was not a single crease in the fabric. A silver watch chain caught the sharp light of the smoldering sun. He stood perfectly still. His eyes were cold and sharp.
He looked like he could snap Kael in half without wrinkling his cuffs. He did not sweat. In fact, he didn't seem to feel the heat at all.
He bowed smoothly from the waist.
"Welcome to Orestes, Lord Crane," the man said. His voice was smooth and completely hollow. "The Count extends his hospitality."
The man stood straight. His gaze shifted slowly from the Baron to Silas.
Silas froze.
He was halfway out of his seat. One arm in his heavy coat. One arm completely bare. His white shirt was wide open. His hair was a bird's nest. His fingers were still hopelessly pinching his collar.
He stared up at the immaculately dressed man.
"Good afternoon," Silas squeaked.
Behind him, Baron Crane let out a slow, painful breath.
His heavy leather glove slapped against his forehead.