Elian arrived at the Vance estate just after sunrise, as he always did—too early, according to the servants, and far too loudly.

  For reasons Kaelen never questioned, Elian had begun showing up almost daily. At first it had been dismissed as enthusiasm. Then as convenience. Eventually, the Count had decided it was simpler to include him in Kaelen’s lessons rather than pretend he wasn’t already part of the household rhythm.

  Kaelen’s relatives were rarely seen at the estate. When they did visit, their presence pressed down on the halls like a held breath. Voices lowered. Servants moved more carefully. Even Kaelen felt it, though he didn’t know why.

  Elara had already been awake long before Elian arrived. Kaelen had seen her earlier in the corridor, speaking quietly with a steward, her expression composed and focused in a way that suggested the day had begun hours ago. She acknowledged Kaelen with a glance and a small nod before returning to her discussion.

  Kaelen heard Elian before he saw him.

  The familiar clatter of boots echoed down the outer corridor, followed by a breathless voice announcing itself to anyone who would listen.

  “I’m here! I didn’t fall off the horse this time!”

  Kaelen paused mid-step, considering this information. He decided it wasn’t worth responding to.

  Elian burst into the training yard moments later, cheeks flushed, hair already unruly, a wooden sword strapped to his back at an angle that suggested it had been fastened in a hurry. He grinned when he spotted Kaelen near the steps, sitting cross-legged with a book resting open in his lap.

  “You’re already up,” Elian said, sounding mildly offended. “That’s unfair.”

  Kaelen turned a page. “You’re late.”

  Elian scoffed. “I’m early. You’re just… wrong about time.”

  Kaelen didn’t argue. He closed the book carefully and set it beside him. “You said that yesterday as well.”

  “And I was right then too.”

  Elian dropped beside him with a dramatic sigh, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his hands. “Father says I’m improving. He didn’t laugh when I said it this morning.”

  “That means you’re improving,” Kaelen agreed.

  Elian beamed. “See? You get it.”

  The servants had learned to expect this routine. Elian sometimes stayed for days at a time now, his presence no longer requiring announcement or adjustment. Someone brought him water without asking. Another servant took the horse without comment. The estate adapted, as it always did.

  The Count passed through the yard shortly after, his steps measured, his presence enough to still conversation without a word spoken. Training halted instinctively until he disappeared through the inner doors.

  Sir Caelum arrived not long after, already in partial armor, the metal dulled by use rather than polish. He nodded once to Kaelen before clapping a hand on Elian’s shoulder.

  “Training,” he said simply.

  He headed toward the Count’s chambers after, leaving the boys behind.

  Elian was already on his feet.

  ---

  The instructor had them running laps around the inner yard first—slow at the beginning, then faster. Elian surged ahead almost immediately, feet pounding against stone with reckless enthusiasm.

  Kaelen followed at a measured pace. He didn’t rush. He didn’t slow either. His breathing remained steady, steps even.

  By the time Kaelen was on his third lap, Elian was already closing in on his fourth.

  “On your left!” Elian shouted as he passed.

  “You’re lagging!” Elian called over his shoulder.

  Kaelen didn’t respond.

  By the fifth lap, Elian was sweating heavily, grin still intact. By the seventh, he stumbled slightly, laughing it off as he corrected his balance. When the instructor finally called a halt, Elian dropped to the ground without ceremony.

  “Done,” he announced, flexing his fingers.

  Kaelen finished last. He set his training weight down carefully, adjusting its position before stepping back. His arms trembled faintly, but his posture remained straight.

  “You’re slow,” Elian said, not unkindly.

  Kaelen glanced at the weights Elian had dropped haphazardly onto the stone. “I didn’t drop it.”

  The instructor said nothing. He merely nodded once before moving on.

  Sword drills followed.

  Elian attacked with enthusiasm rather than finesse, strikes strong but imprecise. Kaelen blocked more than he struck, watching angles, adjusting his footing with quiet deliberation. He lost most exchanges—but learned something from each one.

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  Kaelen saw the opening. Elian had overextended on a wide swing, leaving his left flank exposed. In his mind, Kaelen moved—one step inside, a sharp tap to the ribs.

  But his body lagged

  By the time his foot shifted, Elian had already recovered, bringing the wooden blade back around.

  Thwack.

  The wood struck Kaelen’s shoulder, sending a jolt of dull pain down his arm. He stumbled back.

  “Tch”

  Instructor Vix clicked his tongue. “You saw it,” Vix said. “Clear as day. But your feet were still arguing with the ground while your head was already celebrating.”

  Instructor Vix watched both of them, arms crossed.

  “Elian,” he said at one point. “Power is wasted if you don’t know where it’s going.”

  Elian flushed but nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “And Kaelen,” Instructor Vix added, eyes shifting. “You hesitate.”

  Kaelen inclined his head. “I think first.”

  Vix’s mouth twitched. “Just don’t think yourself into a corner.”

  “Let’s end here. We’ll resume tomorrow,” Vix said, already turning toward his next duties.

  The words lingered longer than the lesson.

  —

  Later, they sat in the study, ink and parchment spread between them. The private instructor—a thin man with sharp eyes and little patience for noise—paced before the desk.

  “Border geography,” he said. “Again.”

  Elian groaned. “We did this yesterday.”

  “And the day before,” the instructor agreed. “Which is why you should know it.”

  He sketched a rough map, outlining mountain ranges and narrow passes.

  “These routes are patrolled. These are not.”

  Elian leaned back in his chair, legs swinging. “Why don’t monsters use the roads?”

  “They do,” the instructor said dryly. “When they can survive them.”

  Kaelen frowned, studying the map.

  Kaelen traced a finger along the thick black line marking the Northern Wall.

  “And this red mark?” he asked, tapping a small dot dangerously close to the line.

  “Is this us?” The instructor hesitated. “That is Vance Manor. Yes.”

  Elian leaned in, squinting. “We’re really close to the black part.”

  “That is the Abyssal Reach,” the instructor corrected. “And yes. That is why your father does not pave the roads, Sir Elian. Paved roads are fast. We want the monsters to be slow.”

  Kaelen looked at the red dot. It looked less like a home and more like a barrier. A stopper in a bottle of poison.

  “If the patrols are here,” he said slowly, pointing, “why is this route still open?”

  The instructor paused.

  “Because we need it,” he said.

  Kaelen tilted his head. “Then why not patrol it more?”

  Silence stretched.

  “That’s… a fair question,” the instructor admitted after a moment. “Because resources are finite.”

  Elian looked between them. “So we just hope nothing bad happens?”

  Kaelen shook his head slightly. “No. We plan for when it does.”

  The instructor’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer than necessary.

  Elara stood near the doorway, listening without comment. When Kaelen glanced up, she met his eyes and gave a small nod before moving on.

  —

  The afternoon brought movement through the estate.

  Knights returned in groups smaller than they had left in. Armor was scorched. Weapons bore unfamiliar nicks. A healer was summoned, her magic humming softly as sigils flickered briefly in the air.

  Kaelen watched from a distance.

  “What’s that smell?” Elian asked, wrinkling his nose.

  “Sulfur,” Kaelen said. “And iron.”

  Elian blinked. “How do you know that?”

  Kaelen shrugged. “It’s different.”

  Elara spoke with the healer in low tones nearby, her posture straight, hands folded neatly in front of her. Only when she thought no one was watching did her fingers tighten briefly.

  No one explained further.

  Sir Caelum returned late, removing his gauntlets before greeting them. Elian ran to him, nearly colliding with his knees.

  “You’re back!”

  “I said I would be,” Caelum replied.

  Lady Seraphina followed, cloak dusty, expression calm but tired. She smiled faintly when she noticed Kaelen watching.

  “Did you behave today?” she asked.

  Elian puffed up. “Mostly.”

  “That’s good,” she said, glancing toward Kaelen. He nodded once in return.

  ---

  A visiting envoy arrived near dusk, boots held carefully above the mud as if afraid it might stain him permanently.

  “I don’t know how you live this far north,” he said, shaking his cloak. “Demons, monsters—surely it’s not worth it.”

  Sir Caelum’s response was immediate. “Someone has to hold the line.”

  The envoy laughed nervously and did not press the matter.

  Kaelen noticed how servants avoided the man’s eyes.

  ---

  As the sun dipped low, Sir Caelum knelt in the courtyard, sharpening his blade.

  Lady Seraphina tied the cord around his wrist, fingers steady.

  Elian handed over the wooden sword.

  Kaelen watched from the same place he always did.

  Above them, the Count stood at the balcony, watching until the gate closed. Then he turned away.

  The courtyard felt right.

  ---

  That night, Elara checked on Kaelen before retiring. She adjusted the blanket, pressed a brief kiss to his hair, and lingered a moment longer than necessary.

  Kaelen lay awake longer than usual.

  The day replayed—not in noise or faces, but in patterns.

  Strength.

  Control.

  Silence.

  Duty.

  Tomorrow would be the same.

  He didn’t know yet how wrong that thought was.