Matthew stopped in front of a heavy wooden door.
"This is it," he said.
Rowan's gaze shifted to the door, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. It looked no different from the others they had passed same dark wood, same iron handle but something about it felt… heavier.
Important.
Matthew stepped aside, giving him space.
Rowan didn't move immediately. His thoughts stirred, slow and uncertain. The master… again. The word carried weight now more than before. More questions. More things he didn't understand.
He glanced at Matthew.
"You're not coming in?"
Matthew shook his head once. "No."
Simple. Final.
Rowan frowned faintly. "Then what exactly am I supposed to"
"Go in," Matthew said, cutting him off not harshly, just… matter-of-fact. "He's expecting you."
That was all.
No reassurance. No warning.
Just expectation.
Rowan exhaled slowly, turning back to the door. His hand hovered over the handle for a brief second, hesitation flickering through him.
What does he want from me?
The question lingered, unanswered.
Behind him, Matthew spoke again quieter this time.
"Don't keep him waiting."
Rowan's grip tightened slightly.
Then, without another word, he pushed the door open.
The door opened with a quiet creak.
Rowan hesitated at the threshold.
This wasn't the same room as before.
Where the last had felt like a holding space controlled, bare, purposeful this was something else entirely.
An office.
Refined, deliberate, and unmistakably owned.
Dark wood lined the walls, polished to a muted sheen. Shelves stretched upward, filled with neatly arranged volumes and sealed documents. A large desk sat at the center, its surface ordered with an almost obsessive precision.
But Rowan's attention wasn't drawn to any of that.
It went to the wall behind the desk.
A crest.
Carved into polished metal, mounted with quiet authority.
A serpent no… a python coiled tightly around itself, its body forming an intricate loop. Its head was raised slightly, fangs just visible, as if caught in the moment before a strike.
Rowan stared at it, something in his chest tightening.
Why does that feel… familiar?
The thought came and went just as quickly, slipping through his grasp like everything else that should have been there.
"Come in."
The voice broke his focus.
Rowan stepped forward slowly, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
"Sit."
He obeyed.
The chair across from the desk felt too deliberate, too intentional placed exactly where it needed to be. Like everything else in this room.
Only then did Rowan look at the man seated before him.
And this time he saw him.
Crimson-red hair, neatly kept, catching the dim light with a subdued intensity. His features were sharp, refined, carrying the weight of years without losing any of their edge. There was a quiet confidence in the way he sat, in the way his gaze rested on Rowan not forceful, but impossible to ignore.
Rowan's eyes lingered.
There was something familiar there.
Not memory.
Something deeper. Instinctive.
Then it clicked.
Enzo.
The resemblance was subtle, but undeniable. The shape of the eyes. The structure of the face. The same underlying sharpness.
But where Enzo was wild unpredictable, almost reckless
This man was composed. Controlled.
Older.
Far more dangerous.
Rowan's gaze shifted slightly then stopped.
The man's hand rested lightly against the desk, fingers relaxed.
On one of them sat a ring.
Dark metal, polished smooth.
And carved into it
The same python.
Coiled. Watching.
Rowan's chest tightened again.
The crest on the wall. The ring on his hand.
This wasn't decoration.
It meant something.
It had to.
The man's lips curved faintly, his gaze settling on Rowan with quiet focus.
"You look better," he said.
Rowan blinked, caught off guard by the comment.
The master leaned back slightly, studying him not just looking, but assessing.
"The difference is… noticeable."
Rowan shifted in his seat. "I ate," he said, the words coming out more defensive than intended.
A brief pause.
"Yes," the master replied. "I'm sure you did."
Something in his tone didn't quite agree.
Rowan frowned faintly.
The master's fingers moved idly against the desk, the ring catching the light for just a second the coiled python glinting before fading back into shadow.
"Still," he added, almost as an afterthought, "some changes aren't quite that simple."
Rowan stilled.
His mind turned on the words immediately. What does that mean?
The master didn't elaborate. Didn't even look like he intended to.
Which made it worse.
Rowan hesitated, then spoke carefully. "…You mean the test?"
A faint smile. Not confirmation. Not denial.
"Perhaps," the master said.
That was all.
The conversation shifted as easily as it had come.
"In a week's time," he continued, voice returning to something more practical, "you will accompany the knights on an assignment."
Rowan blinked.
The shift threw him off.
"An… assignment?"
"Yes."
No explanation followed.
Rowan's brow furrowed. "I can barely" he stopped himself, but the thought lingered anyway. I can't even fight.
The master's gaze remained steady.
"That will not be your concern," he said simply.
Which only made Rowan's unease deepen.
"Prepare yourself," the man added.
Not a suggestion.
A certainty.
The master's gaze lingered on Rowan a moment longer, quiet and unreadable.
Then, without warning, he stood.
The movement was smooth, deliberate unhurried, yet commanding enough that Rowan instinctively straightened slightly in his seat.
The man stepped around the desk, closing the distance between them.
Rowan's shoulders tensed.
Up close, the presence was different. Heavier. Not overwhelming but controlled in a way that made it impossible to ignore.
The master stopped just beside him.
For a brief moment, he said nothing.
His eyes moved slow, precise taking in Rowan not as a whole, but in parts. His posture. His breathing. The faint tremor still lingering in his hands.
Then
A pause.
Subtle.
But deliberate.
His gaze settled on something.
Rowan felt it immediately.
Not physically nothing touched him but the awareness of being seen sharpened, like a weight pressing just beneath his skin.
What is he looking at…?
Rowan resisted the urge to move, to check, to ask. Every instinct told him not to break whatever this was.
The master's expression didn't change.
But something in his eyes did.
Recognition.
Faint. Controlled. Gone just as quickly as it appeared.
He straightened.
"…I see," he said quietly.
No explanation followed.
Rowan's chest tightened.
See what?
The question burned at the edge of his tongue but he didn't speak.
The master turned away, returning to his side of the room as if nothing had happened.
"You're excused," he said.
Just like that.
Final.
Rowan hesitated for half a second, the weight of unasked questions pressing against his mind.
Then he stood.
His movements were slower now not from weakness, but from thought.
As he turned toward the door, one thing lingered more than anything else.
Not the assignment.
Not the test.
But that moment.
That look.
What did he see?
The door closed softly behind him.
Rowan didn't move right away.
The corridor stretched ahead, quiet and dim, but his mind was louder than anything around him.
"…I see."
The words echoed, sharper now outside the room than they had been inside it.
His jaw tightened slightly.
What did he see?
Rowan exhaled slowly and began to walk.
Step by step, measured, controlled just like everything else in this place.
That was the first thing.
Everything here was controlled.
The rooms. The corridors. The people. Even the way conversations moved nothing wasted, nothing accidental.
He thought back.
The dungeon. The test. The way they spoke about it.
People don't just walk out of that.
Enzo's voice lingered faintly in his memory.
And yet
He had.
Rowan's brow furrowed.
That didn't match anything else.
His body was weak. His training proved that much. He couldn't swing a sword properly. Couldn't keep his balance. Nothing about him suggested survival at least not of something significant.
So either
He wasn't as weak as he seemed…
Or the test wasn't what he thought it was.
Rowan's steps slowed slightly.
Then there was the master.
The way he spoke. The way he looked at him. Not surprised. Not impressed. Just… certain.
As if Rowan already fit into something he didn't understand.
And that word
Sigil.
It came up again. Not explained. Not questioned. Just… assumed.
Rowan's fingers curled slightly at his side.
If it matters… then I should know it.
But he didn't.
Which meant one thing.
His memory wasn't just incomplete
It was missing something important.
Something specific.
Rowan stopped walking.
His gaze lowered slightly as the pieces began to settle not into answers, but into structure.
He didn't know who he was.
He didn't know why he survived.
He didn't know what a sigil was.
But he knew this
Everyone else here did.
And they weren't going to tell him.
Not directly.
His eyes lifted again, sharper now.
So he'd have to learn it himself.
Carefully.
Watch how they speak.
Listen to what they assume he already knows.
Avoid saying too much.
And most importantly
Don't let them realize how much he's missing.
The thought settled firmly in his mind.
Because if they already expected something from him…
Then not meeting that expectation could be dangerous.
Rowan exhaled slowly and started walking again.
There was another problem.
The assignment.
A week.
That wasn't long. Not enough time to get stronger not enough to fix whatever was wrong with his body.
So strength wasn't the answer.
Not yet.
Information was.
Understanding.
If he couldn't fight
Then he needed to know.
Know the place.
Know the people.
Know himself.
His steps steadied slightly as the thought formed more clearly.
And then…
Rowan's gaze hardened faintly.
I figure out how to get out.
That night, sleep came reluctantly.
And with sleep came the dream.
At first, it was peaceful. Quiet.
Then, something shifted.
A chill brushed the back of his neck. A whisper of heat and shadow crawled at the edges of his mind.
His muscles tensed even as his eyes remained closed.
And somewhere, beneath the surface of awareness, something dark began to stir.
By the time morning came, Rowan would awaken with the same dull ache pressing behind his eyes, the same tension coiling in his chest, but the dream itself the visions, the heat, the shadow would slip from him entirely.
Only the residue remained
The morning light shone pale and uneven across the room. His body ached in places he didn't remember straining, and a tight knot of tension coiled in his chest. A cold sweat clung to his skin, and his breathing was shallow, uneven, as if he had been running in his sleep.
He tried to stretch, to shake off the lingering weight pressing on him, but it stuck, stubborn and persistent. Something had unsettled him in the night something wrong.
Only the aftereffects remained: fatigue, unease, a prickling at the back of his neck, and a faint, unshakable sense that he was being watched.
A soft knock at the door broke the quiet.
"Sir," came Matthew's calm, steady voice. "Breakfast is ready, and the master requested you after you've prepared."
Rowan swallowed, pushing the lingering tension down and forcing himself to stand. He dressed quickly, every movement deliberate, almost mechanical, as if preparing his body for a challenge he didn't yet fully understand.
Matthew waited patiently, silent but expectant, as Rowan adjusted his posture. Once he was ready, Matthew gestured toward the corridor. "This way."
The walk to the training barracks was quiet, save for the echo of their footsteps on the stone floor. Rowan's mind was elsewhere, cataloging everything he remembered from the last day, everything he knew and everything he still didn't. Learn, observe, survive, he told himself. Understand this place… and myself.
By the time they reached the barracks, the air was filled with the metallic clash of steel and the rhythmic shouts of knights in training. Rowan's stomach tightened as he took in the sight of disciplined movement, precise footwork, and controlled strikes.
Colin's sharp voice cut through the noise.
"Rowan!" The instructor's gaze landed on him, assessing, commanding. "Here. With me. Footwork first. Grip. Strike. Follow my lead and don't think react."
Rowan hesitated briefly, muscles tense, then moved forward, trying to match Colin's rhythm. Every swing felt awkward, uncoordinated; every step felt foreign. He forced himself to continue, determined to survive, to understand, to become something more than the weak, fractured man who had been trapped in the darkness.
In the background, Rowan caught a flash of red hair.
Enzo. Already observing. Already sneering.
Rowan swallowed hard, bracing himself for what would come next.
Rowan swung the practice sword, each strike awkward and unrefined. His movements were stiff, uncoordinated a sharp contrast to the fluidity of the knights around him. Colin's eyes were watchful, correcting each misstep.
From the corner of his vision, Rowan noticed a familiar figure approaching: Enzo, red hair catching the morning light, confidence radiating from every measured step.
"Well, well," Enzo said, voice smooth, carrying that same arrogance Rowan remembered. "Still struggling, I see. Experience is the best teacher, you know. You want to improve? Spar with me. I'll show you how a real knight moves."
Rowan stiffened, recognizing both the challenge and the implicit threat. He didn't respond immediately, weighing whether the confrontation would give him more insight or just make him a target.
Enzo smiled "When they told me one survived… I was astonished. Thought I might actually find someone worthwhile in this dump."
Rowan stiffened. There was a weight to the comment, an undertone he couldn't ignore. Enzo wasn't congratulating him, wasn't mocking him outright yet the implication was clear: Rowan's survival was unexpected, significant,and perhaps a challenge to assumptions.
"Come on," Enzo continued, stepping closer. "If you want to learn, spar with me. Stop swinging like a child and start moving like a knight."
Rowan's grip tightened on his sword. He didn't fully trust Enzo, but he had to observe, learn. Every word, every motion could be important.
Enzo's smirk lingered as he turned toward the training area, giving Rowan no more clues. "Shall we?"
Rowan squared his shoulders, bracing for what came next. He may not have been ready, but he had to survive, adapt, and understand what his presence here truly meant.
Spar start
Rowan tightened his grip, chest heaving, as Enzo advanced, sword poised with lethal confidence. Each step Enzo took was measured, precise, an intimidating display of skill Rowan could not match physically.
The first clash of blades rang out. Rowan barely managed to parry, twisting awkwardly to avoid a slicing strike that would have caught him squarely on the shoulder. Colin's voice called corrections. Rowan kept swinging,partying and dodging, every move poorly.
Every strike was clumsy, every block late. Enzo moved like a predator, his strikes precise and deliberate, almost lazy in their perfection.
quick sidestep, a feint Rowan barely reacted in time. Then a sharp bite of steel against his arm sent pain lancing through his body, forcing him to stumble back. He gritted his teeth, vision narrowing as the sudden pain lit something in his mind.
Rowan's chest heaved, muscles trembling. Every swing he tried missed, every block came too late. Pain throbbed in his arms, his side, his shoulders. His mind raced, a storm of panic and doubt.
I can't… I'll never survive this… I'm weak… worthless…
He stumbled backward, vision blurring as Enzo's blade flashed toward him again. Rowan flinched, almost collapsing under the weight of fear and frustration. The world seemed to close in, every strike a hammer on his skull.
Then a moment. A flicker. He stopped thinking about survival in terms of strength, in terms of winning or losing. He stopped trying to fight "worldly," in the way he thought a trained knight should.
He shifted his gaze, outside himself, noticing a tiny twitch in Enzo's shoulder, the way his eyes narrowed before a lunge. It was subtle, almost imperceptible but it clicked in Rowan's mind.
He raised his sword instinctively, stepping to meet the strike, heart hammering. The blade struck him across the arm, biting hard, but for the first time, he had actually met it with proper defense. Pain shot through him, but the motion was correct he hadn't just blocked; he had engaged.
Another strike came. He twisted, deflected but not perfectly. Another, nearly too fast but his instincts had sharpened just enough to angle the sword correctly, his body starting to obey his mind rather than panic.
Again, and again, he faltered, hit, staggered but each time, something inside him clicked a little more. Each almost-success was a building block, a glimpse of control he'd never had before.
Finally one moment of pure clarity. He saw the flash of Enzo's movement before it happened, mirrored it instinctively, and met the strike squarely. Steel clanged against steel, the impact echoing. For a heartbeat, time seemed suspended.
Enzo froze mid-motion, eyes widening in genuine surprise, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Huh," he murmured, almost to himself. "Finally."
Rowan staggered back, chest heaving, sweat and blood mixing, but inside, a spark of confidence ignited. He hadn't bested Enzo but for the first time, he had kept up, even if just for a fraction of a second.
Rowan staggered back, chest heaving, mind still buzzing from the small victory. A spark of confidence flared he had met Enzo's strike for the first time, had even felt the rhythm, however briefly.
Enzo's lips curled into a faint, sharp smile. "Getting a little full of yourself, aren't you?" he murmured, voice low, almost playful but the glint in his eyes was anything but.
Before Rowan could react, Enzo closed the distance in a heartbeat, almost as if he had teleported
The next strike hit with surgical precision the strike hit across his side, a brutal arc that knocked the wind from him. Pain lanced through his ribs; he stumbled, knees buckling.
Another strike came, sharp and precise, this time catching him across the temple. Stars erupted in his vision. His grip on the sword faltered, muscles screaming, mind blanking. He tried to breathe, tried to focus, but every nerve felt set aflame, every movement slowed.
The world tilted. Enzo's shadow loomed over him, blade raised, a smirk playing on his lips. Rowan's knees hit the ground. Darkness pressed at the edges of his vision. He tried to stand, tried to think, tried to move but his body refused.
Not… enough… Rowan thought, panic choking the last coherent thought in his mind.
The world spun, the sound of Enzo's steps echoing in his skull. Pain. Humiliation. The overwhelming realization that no cleverness, no observation, no epiphany could yet save him from the reality of this strength.
And then black.
The last thing Rowan felt before unconsciousness claimed him was the cold steel of the ground beneath him and the smirk of a man who had made him see just how small he truly was.