By the time I got home, the sun was already slipping behind the trees, casting long shadows over the stone path. My whole body ached—deep, pulsing aches that settled into my muscles like old friends too stubborn to leave.
The creaky wooden gate gave its usual protest as I pushed it open. The familiar scent of wild mint from Mom's herb garden drifted on the breeze, wrapping around me like a welcome I didn't know I needed. I barely had time to step into the yard before the front door flew open.
"There's my champion!" Mom stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her apron, that knowing grin on her face. Her eyes sparkled with pride—but I didn't miss how quickly they swept over my scrapes and bruises like she was calculating how many salves she'd need.
I winced a little. "You saw that?"
She laughed and walked up to me, immediately reaching up to ruffle my hair, despite my half-hearted attempt to duck away. "Of course I did. I nearly fell out of my seat when you threw that flying kick. Very dramatic. Shame you landed on your face a second later."
I groaned and dropped my pack by the door. "Thanks. Just what I needed after getting folded in half by someone the same height as me."
She tousled my hair again, gentler this time. "Oh, come on, you did great. Better than half those poor kids who didn't even land a hit. You even tagged that girl once—what was her name again?"
"Nora," I muttered, stretching my sore shoulder. The image of her—bloodied, grinning through bruises like it was all a game—still lingered in my head. She was terrifying. And kind of amazing.
Mom raised an eyebrow. "Mmm. Pretty-boy strong, huh?" She grinned and poked a finger into my chest. "But you held your own. That's what matters. Your father's going to love hearing about this."
I paused. Her words hit something deeper.
"When is he coming back, anyway?" I asked.
Her smile softened, and her eyes drifted to the window like she expected to see him walking up the path. "A couple more weeks, maybe less. Depends how long things drag out in the mountains. You know how his assignments are."
I nodded, suddenly quiet. It had been months since Dad left—months since I saw his weathered face and heard that low voice that always sounded like it belonged to someone carved from stone. The thought of telling him everything—the Arcana Core, the attack, my training—made my chest flutter. He'd know what to say. He always did.
Mom stretched and cracked her back, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Alright, don't get too cozy," she said, her voice sliding back into commander mode. "You've earned a short break, sure. But training starts up again tomorrow. Bright and early."
I groaned. "Can't I have one day where I don't feel like I've been beaten like a training dummy?"
"Nope." She winked. "Welcome to being a knight."
I gave her a tired smirk. "Feels more like welcome to being her son."
<-RYN>
By the time I reached the estate, the sky had settled into that soft, dusky purple that always felt too peaceful for what waited behind those iron gates. The air smelled of clipped grass and nightbloom—clean, expensive, and just slightly suffocating.
I knew the scent well. It was the kind that never let you forget where you stood: high-born, polished, and utterly alone.
The wrought-iron gates towered in front of me, flanked by two of Father's private guards. They didn't even glance at me as they opened, which was fine. I preferred it that way.
The stone path stretched ahead like a carpet I didn't deserve to walk. Perfect hedges framed either side, trimmed with the kind of precision only obsessive wealth could afford. Lanterns flickered on, casting golden halos over the marble walkways. And there, in the center of it all, was the Zaren estate.
It wasn't a house. It never had been.
It was a fortress—cold, ornate, beautiful in that intimidating way. High balconies wrapped around domed towers, glass windows gleamed like stars in the walls, and the entire structure sat with the arrogance of something that had never known fear. Guards walked the perimeter like clockwork. Silver-uniformed maids moved about the flower beds in perfect synchronization, tending to roses, arcana-lilies, blood-mint, and skyvines that bloomed like they knew someone would be punished if they didn't.
I stepped out of the carriage and onto the polished stone.
And just like that, the dread returned.
No matter how far I made it—how hard I trained, how much I achieved—this place always made me feel small. Smaller than I already was.
I didn't want to see anyone. Not Father. Not my siblings. Especially not tonight.
I had passed the exam. I had survived something most people didn't. That was mine. And I didn't want their cold approval tarnishing it.
As I crossed the entrance garden, a familiar voice cut through the silence.
"Well, well. If it isn't the ghost son himself."
I glanced toward the training yard and saw Mike leaning against the archway, arms crossed, that ever-present smirk tugging at his scarred face.
I smirked faintly. "Still calling me that?"
"Only out of affection," he said with a chuckle.
Mike. Towering, gruff, weathered like a war monument—but somehow warmer than anyone else in this estate ever managed to be. He was the first one to put a practice blade in my hand, the first one to show me how to channel my Arcana into something useful. He'd trained me in secret when no one else thought I was worth the time.
"I passed," I said simply.
His eyes lit up. "The Academy exam?"
I nodded once.
He laughed, loud and full. "Well, I'll be damned." He crossed the distance and grabbed my shoulder, shaking me with pride. "You really did it, Ryn. You hear that, Gwen?! The boy passed!"
Word spread faster than I expected. Within minutes, the front steps were swarming with people—maids, kitchen hands, a few of the stable boys. They came pouring out like warmth in human form.
"You passed?! I knew you would!"
"Wait—when did he leave?!"
"I thought the Master forbade it—"
"Shh! He passed! That's what matters!"
Among them was Gwen. Short red hair, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever. She'd been like a sister to me for as long as I could remember. She was the one who smuggled food when I skipped meals, who slipped bandages under my pillow after beatings no one else noticed.
"Took you long enough," she said with a small smile. "But I'm proud of you."
I looked at all of them—people who smiled when I walked into a room. People who missed me when I was gone. People who cared.
And maybe I was selfish, but… this felt like family more than anything that shared my blood.
I stepped up onto the marble steps and cleared my throat. "Actually… there's something I need to say."
The chatter died down. Gwen tilted her head slightly, already reading the shift in my tone.
"I'm going to tell my father," I said. "About the exam. About the camp. I'll be joining the military training next month."
Gasps. Gwen's arms dropped. Mike's expression darkened.
"You sure that's a good idea?" Mike asked carefully.
Gwen's voice was softer, but firmer. "Ryn… are you really ready to face him over this?"
I let their concern wash over me—but didn't let it anchor me.
"I'm done hiding," I said. "I've spent too long pretending I don't want more. Pretending I don't belong. If I'm going to change anything… it starts now. I'm not going to be the ghost son anymore."
Gwen studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Then we'll stand behind you."
Mike chuckled, arms crossed again. "Stubborn like your mother."
And just like that, the warmth vanished.
I flinched. Mother was a word rarely spoken in this house. A ghost in more ways than one.
"You… remember her?" I asked, the words catching in my throat.
Mike's face softened. His gaze dropped, like he was pulling the memory from somewhere deep.
"I was there," he said quietly. "She was weak after labor. Barely able to speak. But when they placed you in her arms, Ryn… she held you like you were everything. Like you were the reason she was still breathing."
My chest tightened.
"She smiled," Mike continued. "Even as her eyes started to fade. She smiled because of you. Said you were her miracle. Blonde hair like hers. Dark gray eyes. She said you had her soul."
Something cracked inside me.
All my life, they told me I killed her. That my birth ended hers.
"They never told me," I whispered. Tears making it way down to my cheeks
"They didn't want to," Mike said gently. "To them, you were a scar. A reminder of what they lost. But not to her. Not to me."
My fingers curled at my sides. My eyes burned, but I didn't let them fall.
He clapped a hand on my shoulder, firm and steady. "She'd be proud of you, Ryn."
I lowered my head while cleaning off my tear-filled eyes, saying thank you.
"Thank you very much"
<-LISA>
The next morning, the medical ward felt far too calm for how much chaos had gone down the day before.
Sunlight filtered through tall windows, casting long stripes across the marble floor. The soft clinks of glass vials, the low murmurs of healers passing instructions, and the occasional groan from some poor cadet getting patched up again—it was all familiar. Comforting, even. Like the quiet after a storm.
I sat upright on the edge of the cot, bandages still wrapped around my ribs and shoulder, the ache in my body dull but constant. Across from me, Nora sat just as stiffly, her own arms wrapped in gauze. A crystal pulse monitor blinked once, then went dim as the nurse unhooked it from my wrist.
"Discharged," she said with a cheerful smile. "Try not to land face-first into any more boulders."
I threw my head back with a groan. "No promises. Boulders seem to love me."
Nora snorted, a rare sound from her. I counted that as a win.
We rose from our cots slowly—limbs stiff, sore, but functional. War-torn, I liked to think. A little broken, a little bent, but still standing.
As we made our way toward the hallway, I glanced sideways at her. Something had been bothering me since yesterday, and I couldn't shake it.
"So... where do you live?"
She didn't answer right away.
"I don't," she said finally. "Not right now. Planning to stay in the dorms until training starts."
Her voice was neutral, steady. But there was a distance in her eyes that hadn't been there before. I could feel it.
I frowned. "You can bunk with me if you want. My master's not strict. Honestly, I don't think she'd notice unless we stole her wine stash. She barely notices when I sneak snacks."
I tried to make it light, playful, like always. But underneath, I meant it. The dorms were loud, crowded, and lonely in their own weird way. Nora didn't deserve that. Not after what we'd just gone through.
She gave me a small smile—genuine, but soft. "Thanks. But… I think I'd rather be on my own."
There it was again. That wall she kept between herself and the world. Not sharp like a blade, just… quiet.
I nodded, trying not to let my disappointment show. "Suit yourself. Just don't disappear on me."
"I won't."
We clasped forearms, warrior-style—one of those gestures that said more than a dozen words could.
For someone who claimed to be alone, she didn't feel like it in that moment.
As I turned and walked off, my boots tapping softly against the stone, I didn't look back.
But I knew she was still standing there, watching me go.
And maybe—just maybe—she didn't want to be alone as much as she thought.
[Nora]
The garden behind the medical ward was quiet, touched with the kind of hush that only early morning could bring. I stood by the flowerbed, my fingers brushing the edge of a white blossom. Soft. Fragile. It didn't belong here, not really—not in a place built for pain and healing.
But I didn't belong anywhere either. So maybe we matched.
The flower's scent was gentle, like rain on parchment. I breathed it in and closed my eyes. For a moment, I let myself forget the weight in my chest, the bruises under my skin, the way the world always felt like it was waiting for me to run.
A voice broke the silence behind me.
"That flower's called Whisperleaf," the man said. "It only grows near healing wards. Its fragrance is said to calm the mind and slow the heart rate."
I turned, not startled exactly, but... surprised. Most people didn't approach me like that—softly.
He was tall. Dark hair, cropped short. A worn coat with the insignia of an instructor. And his arm—metal, mechanical, gleaming faintly beneath the fabric. His presence didn't shout. It... settled.
"It's beautiful," I said. I wasn't sure why.
He nodded. "Much like you, it thrives under pressure." Then: "You're Nora?"
I nodded slowly. He didn't say my last name. I was grateful for that.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
I hesitated. My hand dropped from the flower, and I shifted my weight slightly. "Thalrim. It's a farming town. Used to be, anyway."
[James]
Thalrim.
The name sat heavy in the air, and I felt the echo of it settle in my chest. I remembered that report—burnt fields, missing families, a border dispute that was hushed too quickly. A place swallowed by smoke and silence.
I watched her eyes as she spoke. Quiet, but not empty. This girl had seen loss. Maybe even become it.
"That place was raided years ago," I said, more gently now.
She nodded. "My parents ran a small farm. Did some research on the side. Something about mineral veins in the mountain range. I don't remember much."
There was a firmness to her voice, like she had decided a long time ago what parts of the past she was allowed to carry.
I felt a twist in my chest. "Such talent," I murmured, mostly to myself, "from a forgotten place."
She didn't flinch. She just watched me—eyes clear, but tired.
I straightened, shifting my tone.
"Come," I said, turning toward the main path. "You'll be joining the training camp. There's a long path ahead."
[Nora]
He didn't wait for me to answer. Just walked, confident and quiet, like someone used to people following.
I glanced once more at the Whisperleaf.
Maybe I didn't belong here.
But I was still growing anyway.