Rowan edged toward the back of the assembled knights, counting heads as he went. Fifty, maybe fifty-five… A disciplined, trained force, and here he was still uncertain if he truly belonged.
Colin's voice cut through the courtyard. "Knights, attention!" The murmurs died immediately, all eyes on him.
"This gathering is to announce a short expedition," Colin began, scanning the ranks. "A village near the Outer Shells has reported attacks. We are to investigate, assess, and, if necessary, defend its people."
Rowan blinked, his mind blank. Outer Shells…? The words stirred nothing in him. Around him, low murmurs rippled through the knights"Outer Shells…", "No one survives near there…", "Only the most capable…" hints, fragments, but nothing clear.
Colin's sharp gaze swept over the whisperers. "Quiet," he snapped, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "You are not being sent to the Outer Shells. This is a village near their wake, within our borders. Unprofessional to speculate like children. Keep your conjecture to yourself."
A pause. The knights straightened, silent, the whispers dying away.
"And," Colin continued, voice firmer now, "this is not an official expedition. We are only taking seven knights. You will be selected based on capability, discipline, and reliability. Nothing else."
Rowan's chest tightened. He was still in the dark, unsure what this village or its location truly meant, let alone why only seven would go. He noticed glances exchanged among the knights, hints of knowledge he didn't yet possess, all masked behind professional composure.
Enzo's eyes met his for a brief moment, smirking faintly. Rowan didn't return it. The redhead seemed eager for the assignment danger didn't intimidate him, it amused him.
The murmurs resumed quietly among the knights as Colin's gaze swept over them. Rowan tried to catch fragments, voices low and cautious. Who will be chosen?
Colin raised a hand, and the courtyard fell silent once more. "The first knight for this expedition… is obviously myself." His voice carried authority, leaving no room for doubt or argument.
A few whispers followed some speculation, some disbelief but Colin's stern glance silenced them.
"The second… Enzo." He pronounced the name slowly, emphasizing it as if testing the red-haired knight's composure. Enzo stepped forward, expression unreadable, smirking faintly as he acknowledged the call.
Colin's eyes scanned the rest of the knights. "Sir Kael," he said, nodding toward a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and a faint scar running along his jawline.
"Sir Aldric," another tall figure with sharp, calculating eyes.
"Sir Lorren," a younger knight, lean and wiry, with restless movements as if his body already wanted to be in motion.
A few heads turned toward a stumble of laughter from the back ranks. A heavily built knight, clearly intoxicated, muttered slurred, "Sir Wolfe…" barely audible, not realizing Colin had already called his name or perhaps assuming he had.
Colin's sharp gaze swept over him. "Sit down, Sir Wolfe," he said, voice flat, unamused. The drunk knight mumbled something incoherent, lowering his head, and slouched against the wall.
Finally, Colin's eyes settled on Rowan. "And the last knight… is Rowan," he announced, voice steady. A hush fell over the courtyard as all eyes turned toward him.
Rowan froze, heart pounding, the weight of the decision pressing down. He hadn't expected it hadn't even thought he'd be considered.
Colin's gaze softened slightly. "This selection… was not mine. It was the Master's decision."
The murmurs began almost immediately after Colin announced Rowan's name, low and cautious at first, then growing bolder.
"Rowan?" one knight muttered, eyes narrowing. "Isn't he… the one who couldn't land a hit on enzo?"
"Does the Master really want him on this?" whispered another. "… perhaps he intends to… dispose of him under the guise of a mission."
Rowan remembered the Master's words from a few days ago.
the expedition he had spoken of in passing
the same one he had pondered in the quiet of his room, the same one that had gnawed at the edges of his mind ever since.
"I didn't expect it to be something this dangerous"
Colin raised his hand, the authority in his posture immediately silencing the remaining whispers. "The announcement is over," he said firmly. "Everyone return to your duties or your drills. Do not linger idly."
The knights began dispersing, some muttering under their breath, others casting curious glances at Rowan as they passed. Rowan felt the weight of their eyes but forced himself to keep his posture steady. His injuries still throbbed faintly, reminders of yesterday's spar, but the adrenaline from the announcement and the knowledge of the upcoming mission had sharpened him.
Colin walked directly toward him, eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed Rowan's condition. "You're looking better," he said, his voice carrying a note of approval. "Still favoring those injuries, I see. Have you tended to them properly?"
"I have, sir," Rowan replied, keeping his voice steady, though he flexed his shoulders and wrists slightly, testing them. The aches were still there, but manageable.
Colin's gaze lingered on him a moment longer, then he gestured toward a nearby training area. "Good. Since you're on your feet again, I expect you to join the exercise drills. Push yourself. Don't let your injuries dictate your limits."
Rowan nodded, masking the flutter of anxiety and excitement that ran through him. As he stepped toward the training ground, he felt the familiar tension of anticipation in his chest. Every motion reminded him of his weaknesses but also of the careful, deliberate thought he could use to compensate.
The knights around him went about their routines, some lifting weights, others practicing sword swings or defensive maneuvers. Rowan fell into the flow, participating where he could, feeling the burn of muscles he hadn't used in a while. Each movement brought a small, grounding clarity, a focus that eased the shadows lingering in his mind from the cryptic dreams and doubts.
Colin observed from a short distance, occasionally nodding or calling out corrections, while Enzo lingered at the edge of the drills, smirking, clearly enjoying the discomfort of watching Rowan test himself. Yet, even under Enzo's gaze, Rowan felt a growing determination.
This was a chance to gather information not just about his body and abilities, but about the knights, the hierarchy, and perhaps, if he paid close attention, a hint of the Master's intentions.
Colin stepped forward as Rowan was midway through another drill, his eyes sharp as he watched Rowan's movements. "That's enough for today," he said firmly, a trace of concern in his tone. "You've been pushed hard what Enzo put you through yesterday wasn't light, and with the expedition coming up in just a couple of days, I need you at full strength. Don't make me pull you back because of recklessness."
Rowan froze for a moment, muscles aching from the previous day's sparring. "Understood, sir," he replied, nodding. The soreness reminded him that some of the hits from Enzo had been far worse than he'd realized.
Colin gave a brief, approving nod. "Rest. Tend to your wounds properly. You'll need every ounce of strength for what's coming. And Rowan," he added, his voice sharp, "don't underestimate this. The expedition isn't a drill. I won't have you going in underprepared."
Rowan's mind raced. Two days. That was all the notice he had for an expedition that could involve real danger. He had barely recovered from Enzo's sparring, and now he needed to prepare for something completely unknown.
With Colin returning to the other knights, Rowan flexed his shoulders carefully, testing the soreness that lingered. He decided it was time to prepare mentally and gather knowledge before the expedition.
He moved through the corridors, scanning for Matthew. There, near the barracks exit, Matthew quietly attended to some duties. "Matthew," Rowan called softly, careful not to draw attention. "Could you… show me the way to the library? I want to brush up before the expedition."
Matthew's hooded gaze lifted briefly, unreadable. He inclined his head once, silently signaling Rowan to follow.
As they walked through the quieter halls of the estate, Rowan's thoughts tumbled his lingering soreness, the suddenness of the upcoming expedition, and the unknown challenges that lay ahead
Matthew led Rowan through the corridors,their footsteps echoing softly against the stone floors. The further they went, the air grew cooler and carried the faint scent of old parchment and dust—a smell that made Rowan's chest tighten with anticipation. At last, they arrived at a large wooden door carved with intricate symbols, long faded by time.
"This way," Matthew said, pushing it open and slipping inside without a word.
The library was vast, far larger than Rowan had imagined. Rows upon rows of towering shelves stretched into shadowy corners, each packed with tomes of every size. The vaulted ceiling arched high above, supported by stone columns etched with faint, curling runes. Sunlight filtered in through narrow stained-glass windows, scattering fractured colors across the polished floor, and the air hummed with a quiet energy, as if the books themselves waited to be read.
Rowan stepped in, letting the door click shut behind him. His eyes scanned the shelves, each lined with books that seemed older than the estate itself. He ran his fingers along the spines, noting titles in languages both familiar and strange. Some books were small and leather-bound, others enormous and imposing, their pages yellowed and brittle.
And then, near the back corner, a single tome caught his eye. Its cover was dark, almost black, with faint silver markings etched in a pattern he couldn't immediately recognize. The title gleamed subtly in the dim light: "The Dawn Era."
Curiosity prickling at the edge of his mind, Rowan pulled the book from the shelf. The weight of it surprised him it was heavier than it looked, as if filled with the weight of countless stories and knowledge. He flipped it open, the pages smelling sharply of old parchment and ink.
Rowan tucked the book under his arm, glancing around the library as if its walls themselves might hold answers to questions he hadn't yet formed
Rowan carefully opened The Dawn Era, its pages worn and faintly musty. The text, written in a precise, formal script, immediately drew him in:
"Long before the rise of the present kingdom, the lands now known as Euria were seemingly uninhabited by humans. From distant coasts, brave settlers arrived by sea, crossing treacherous waters to claim and tame this new world. They encountered many hostiles resisting their settlement, though history has preserved little about these adversaries."
Rowan's eyes flicked down the next lines, absorbing the meticulous account of conquest and establishment.
"The campaigns were led by a commander named Orion, whose vision and determination laid the foundations of the kingdom. Those who helped build and secure the earliest settlements of Euria their names have are immortalized in history.Their efforts established the noble houses and enduring structures that shaped the kingdom's early years. The victories were hard-won, and the echoes of toil and blood marked every river and hill, a reminder of the price of civilization."
Rowan paused, tracing the edge of the page with his fingers. The book provided no clarity on why the lands had been uninhabited or what these unknown forces had been yet something about the quiet, unseen resistance unsettled him.
He leaned back slightly, holding the book closer, the weight of the history pressing into his thoughts. Orion… the early builders… a land without humans… The connections were unclear, but a thread of curiosity and unease had taken root, tugging at the edges of his fractured memory.
Rowan set The Dawn Era down carefully, his mind still turning over the story of Euria's earliest settlers. His fingers brushed against another book on the shelf, slightly larger, its leather cover embossed with faint gilded lettering: The Foundations of Euria.
He pulled it free, the spine creaking in protest. Opening it, he discovered a detailed record of the kingdom's first ruler.
"The first king of Euria was Orion, the commander whose leadership guided the initial group of settlers. Only fifty-seven individuals accompanied him to this new land. Each of these pioneers went on to establish what would become the noble houses of Euria, forming the backbone of the kingdom's governance and military might."
Rowan's eyes scanned the pages, noting names, titles, and subtle annotations about the responsibilities each house inherited. It was precise, almost clinical, yet the underlying story was staggering: a mere fifty-seven people had shaped an entire kingdom.
"Every act, every decision of these original settlers bore weight, not only for survival but for the foundation of legacy. Those who helped build the early kingdom whether through governance, craftsmanship, or strategic conquest were granted authority and lands that would echo through generations."
Rowan's mind shifted, trying to reconcile the numbers and the weight of history. Fifty-seven people each a progenitor of nobility. The thought made him shiver. Was this why the master's sigil feels so… important?
He traced the edge of the gilded letters with his finger. Something about the symmetry of power, the selective elevation of a few, resonated eerily with the rigid hierarchy he had seen in the barracks. And somehow, the memory of the sigil the one he had glimpsed on the master's ring stirred a vague, uneasy recognition.
Rowan leaned back slightly, letting the information sink in. He knew the book wasn't just history; it was a map of influence and authority, and perhaps, a key to understanding the place he had been thrust into.
Rowan blinked, stretching his stiff fingers as he closed The Foundations of Euria for a moment. The quiet of the library pressed in around him the soft rustle of parchment, the faint scent of old ink but then a strange awareness struck him.
He glanced at the small, gilded clock on the wall near the far window. Nearly a full day had passed. Hours had slipped by unnoticed as he poured over the history, tracing the rise of Orion and the fifty-seven pioneers, the foundation of noble houses, the careful structure of early Euria.
His stomach tightened with a mix of hunger and surprise. He had been so absorbed, so desperate to understand, that he hadn't even realized the passage of time.
How long have I really been here? he thought, the question echoing in his mind. And how much of this place and myself have I yet to uncover?
Rowan rubbed his eyes, closing the book slowly, the weight of the knowledge and the day pressing on him. He felt the first real pang of urgency: if he was to survive, to understand, he needed to learn quickly, and he needed to start making sense of the world around him before the next test or the next danger came.
Five days passed in a blur.
Rowan awoke each morning to the stern voice of Colin, guiding him through drills that left his body screaming in protest. Sword strikes, footwork, shield maneuvers repeated over and over until muscle memory began to fight back against pain. Every missed step, every miscalculated swing was a lesson burned into him.
After training, he would make his way to the library. Matthew, ever silent and patient, showed him to sections filled with histories, strategies, and tomes that smelled of dust and ink. Rowan devoured them, learning not only the rise of Euria and the conquests of Orion, but also maps, formations, and accounts of battles that tested both mind and body.
He began to see patterns in combat and strategy, piecing together knowledge that his own body and instincts could begin to act on. Each evening, his arms ached, his back ached, yet he could feel himself improving slowly, unevenly, but undeniably.
Evenings blurred into nights, nights into early mornings. Meals were consumed in silence, sleep taken in broken stretches. And yet, every time he returned to the barracks, to the training yard, to the library, he felt the weight of the world pressing closer and the pull of the unknown, waiting just beyond the borders of his knowledge.
By the fifth day, Rowan paused mid-strike, noticing for the first time a subtle difference in his movements: balance, timing, and anticipation had begun to sync. And yet, the questions gnawing at him the ones about his past, about the Master, about the lands beyond were sharper than ever.
Rowan had barely settled into the rhythm of drills when Colin's voice cut through the yard.
"Rowan. With me."
The tone wasn't loud but it carried enough weight to make Rowan stop immediately. A few nearby knights glanced over, curiosity flickering before they returned to their training.
Rowan stepped forward, steadying his breath as he approached. "Sir."
Colin studied him for a moment, eyes sharp, measuring. Then, without a word, he reached into the inner fold of his cloak and pulled out a small object.
A charm.
It rested in Colin's palm simple in form, yet deliberate in its design. A small piece of dark metal, etched with faint lines that curved in patterns Rowan couldn't immediately follow. It wasn't ornate, but it carried a quiet weight.
Colin held it out.
"For you."
Rowan hesitated for half a second before taking it. The metal felt cool against his skin.
"A precaution," Colin continued. "You're not ready for a wyrmblade."
Rowan's grip tightened slightly.
The word wasn't unfamiliar.
He had seen it in the library buried in passing lines across multiple texts. Wyrmblades. Weapons tied to the great houses of Euria. Not just forged steel, but something more something bound to lineage, authority… and perhaps something deeper he hadn't fully grasped yet.
They weren't given lightly.
They weren't given to people like him.
"Those blades," Colin went on, voice even, "are not just tools. They require more than skill to wield properly. More than strength."
Rowan nodded faintly, eyes dropping briefly to the charm in his hand.
"So instead," Colin said, "you'll carry that. It will offer some measure of protection. Don't lose it."
Rowan looked back up. "Protection… from what?"
Colin held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary.
"…From things you rather r not ever encounter"
The answer settled heavily.
Rowan didn't press further. He simply nodded. "Understood."
Colin gave a short nod in return. "Good. Keep it on you at all times. The expedition isn't training. If something goes wrong, hesitation will cost you more than a mistake here ever could."
Rowan closed his fingers around the charm, feeling its weight settle into his palm not heavy, but significant.
Another piece.
Another unknown.
But this time
It was his.
Rowan turned the charm over in his hand as he stepped away, its surface catching the light in faint, shifting patterns.
It didn't hum.
Didn't glow.
Didn't react.
Just… sat there.
How am I supposed to use this?
He frowned slightly, pressing his thumb against the etched lines as if expecting something anything to happen. Nothing did. No warmth, no resistance, no indication it was anything more than a piece of metal.
Yet Colin's tone hadn't left room for doubt.
Protection.
Rowan exhaled slowly and slipped the charm into his inner layer, securing it close to his chest.
Guess I'll find out when it matters…
By the time Rowan reached the barracks courtyard again, everything had changed.
The casual rhythm of training was gone replaced with something sharper.
Purposeful.
The knights stood assembled, no longer in training gear but in full armor.
Dark, polished plates covered their bodies, each piece laced with deep red along the seams, the color threading through the armor like veins beneath steel. Across their chests rested the same crest a coiled python, etched with precision, its form almost alive in the way it curved and coiled across the metal. Draped over their shoulders were thick red pelts, heavy and unmoving, completing the image of something far more than soldiers.
They looked like war.
Rowan slowed, his breath catching slightly as he took it in.
Then his eyes dropped
To their weapons.
Wyrmblades.
For a moment, he forgot to breathe.
They weren't uniform.
Each one was different.
Some were long and narrow, built for precision. Others were broader, heavier, meant to break through defenses. A few curved, their edges catching the light in a way that made them feel… sharper than steel should be.
But all of them carried the same presence.
Not just weapons
Something more.
Rowan's gaze lingered, drawn to them despite himself. The fragments of knowledge he had gathered in the library surfaced again tied to the great houses… more than just blades…
And then
Enzo.
Rowan's eyes shifted.
Resting against Enzo's shoulder was something that barely resembled a standard sword.
A massive dadao.
Wide.
Heavy.
Ridiculously oversized.
The blade alone looked like it could cleave through a man without resistance, thick and brutal rather than refined. It wasn't elegant it was overwhelming. Built for dominance, not finesse.
Enzo held it like it weighed nothing.
Of course he did.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he caught Rowan staring.
Rowan didn't look away immediately.
He couldn't.
For the first time
He truly understood the gap between them.
And the fact that he was about to step into the unknown alongside people like this…
Made the charm at his chest feel just a little more important.
"Rowan."
Colin's voice cut through the tension of the courtyard.
Rowan turned immediately. "Sir."
Colin stepped toward him, holding a set of armor folded neatly over his arm. Unlike the others, it wasn't worn yet but the design was unmistakable. Dark steel, laced with deep red along its seams, the same coiled python crest etched across the chest.
"For you," Colin said simply, handing it over.
Rowan took it, the weight settling into his arms. It was heavier than he expected not just physically, but in what it represented.
"Get it on," Colin added. "We don't leave anyone behind because they weren't ready to stand with the rest."
Rowan nodded. "Understood."
A few moments later, Rowan stepped out again.
The armor fit.
Not perfectly but enough. The red lacing traced along his frame, the python crest resting cold against his chest. The weight pressed down on him, unfamiliar but grounding. Real.
He glanced down at himself.
For a brief moment
The image shifted.
Cold stone.
Darkness.
A body too weak to stand. Skin drawn tight, movements slow, uncertain… broken.
He could almost see it the version of himself that had been left in that cell.
And now
Steel.
Standing.
Breathing steady.
Not strong. Not yet.
But no longer helpless.
Rowan exhaled quietly.
I'm… different.
The thought didn't bring pride.
Just clarity.
OPEN.
Cold air drifted in from beyond the estate walls, carrying with it the faint scent of earth and distance of something waiting.
Colin stepped forward first. "Mount up."
The knights moved without hesitation.
Steel shifted. Leather creaked. One by one, they climbed onto their horses with practiced ease, the red-laced armor catching the light as they settled into formation. The coiled python crests gleamed faintly across their chests, unified, unyielding.
Rowan moved toward one of the spare horses, gripping the saddle before pulling himself up. It wasn't graceful but it was steady. Good enough.
He adjusted slightly, feeling the weight of the armor, the sword at his side, the charm resting against his chest.
Then
A stumble.
Rowan glanced to the side.
Sir Wolfe.
The man reeked of alcohol even from a distance, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. He grabbed at the saddle, missed, and nearly lost his footing entirely before catching himself against the horse with a dull thud.
"…bloody thing…" Wolfe muttered under his breath, words slurring together. He tried again, this time managing to haul himself halfway up before awkwardly dragging the rest of his body over.
He sat there for a moment, swaying slightly.
Then his head turned.
His eyes landed on Rowan.
A crooked grin spread across his face.
"Oi… you," he muttered, voice low but thick. "You're the one, yeah?"
Wolfe leaned a little too far in his saddle, as if trying to get a better look at him. "Heh… funny that… they picked you…" he chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Either you're… somethin' special…"
He paused, blinking slowly.
"…or this is gonna be a real short trip."
A rough laugh escaped him, though it carried no real humor.
Rowan held his gaze for a second longer, unreadable.
Then looked away.
At the open gates.
At the road stretching beyond.
Unknown.
Unforgiving.
Colin's voice rang out. "Move."
The horses began to stir.
Hooves struck stone.
Then dirt.
The formation shifted forward, steady and deliberate, passing through the gates and out into the open.
Rowan didn't look back.
The estate faded behind them
And ahead
Only the path forward remained.