Silver scraped against porcelain.
Twenty feet of polished oak separated Noctis from the rest of his family. At the far end of the table, Lord Cassius Umbra carved his roast. Thick red blood pooled on the pristine white plate.
"Tomorrow is Bastian's Taming Trial," Cassius said. His voice echoed in the freezing dining hall.
Bastian chewed a massive chunk of meat. Fat dripped from the corner of his mouth. "You sure about letting the cripple stay in the house tomorrow, Father? What if the other nobles see him?" He pointed his carving knife at Noctis. "What the fuck is he going to tame? A kitchen rat? The roaches under his bed?"
Lady Isolde took a slow sip of her red wine. Her dark eyes completely bypassed Noctis. She treated him with less regard than the rug beneath her boots.
Cassius set down his cutlery. His steel-gray eyes locked onto Noctis. The same look he gave dog shit on the street.
"You stay in your room tomorrow, Noctis. This family doesn't need additional complications. Especially not a humiliating mistake like you."
Noctis gripped his fork. The cold silver bit into his skin. He forced a swallow, the meat tasting like dead ash in his mouth.
There was no arguing. Arguing meant the cowhide whip in the cellar later tonight. He kept his head down, staring at his plate while Bastian's suppressed laughter scraped against his ears.
Midnight smelled of thick dust and burnt-out wax.
The stolen lockpick grated inside the keyhole. The heavy mahogany door of the Forbidden Library creaked open, revealing total darkness.
Noctis struck a match. The sickly yellow light illuminated towering shelves that stretched to the ceiling. This was where House Umbra hid the history censored by the Luminos Church and the Vanguard. The secrets of the past.
His fingers traced the cracked leather spines. He stopped at a pitch-black cover. Faded gold ink spelled the title. Chronicles of the Primordial Era: Volume III.
He pulled it out. The brittle pages smelled of rotting paper. Under the flickering match, his eyes scanned the ancient text.
It detailed the Great Collapse. Mountain-sized monsters that once ruled the world. Something called the Catalyst. Noctis's pulse hammered against his ribs. Something in the text felt familiar, a relentless itch in the back of his skull.
Iron boots hit the floorboards behind him.
"Looking for a manual to tame those roaches?"
A mana orb flared to life, blinding Noctis for a second. Bastian stood in the doorway, flanked by two massive family guards. Bastian rested a hand casually on the hilt of his training sword.
"Little bastard. The balls on you to sneak in here."
Noctis snapped the book shut. He backed up until his spine hit the bookshelf. "I was just reading, Bastian."
"You were stealing family artifacts." A feral grin stretched across Bastian's face. This wasn't about the book. This was an excuse. Bastian looked at the guards. "Drag this piece of shit to the Judgment Room. Father needs to see what his bastard is up to tonight."
One guard stepped forward. Hands the size of dinner plates grabbed Noctis's collar, lifting him entirely off the floor and choking off his air.
The stone floor of the Judgment Room froze his knees.
Pale gray dawn bled through the stained glass windows, casting the Umbra Wolf crest in harsh light. Cassius towered before his high chair, his face like carved granite.
The ancient book lay on the wooden table between them.
"You never learn." Cassius's voice dropped low, heavy with lethal promise. "Crippled. Manaless. And now a thief."
"I didn't steal anything." Noctis forced his head up. His breathing was ragged, his chest aching from the guard's grip. "I just needed answers about why I—"
Cassius's iron-tipped boot slammed into Noctis's solar plexus.
Ribs cracked. Air blasted from his lungs. He collapsed to the stone, curling into a ball as a violent coughing fit took over. Fresh blood splattered the white marble floor.
Bastian leaned against the corner wall, flipping a silver coin between his fingers. He watched the scene with absolute satisfaction.
"House Umbra does not tolerate thieving parasites," Cassius said coldly. He shifted his gaze to Gregor, the captain of the guard. "Take him to Deadwood Forest. Leave him at the Execution Bound."
Noctis's eyes went wide. The agony in his gut vanished under a wave of cold terror.
Deadwood Forest wasn't a standard exile. It was a slaughterhouse. A cursed zone crawling with starving, mutated monsters. Even Rank 3 Tamers avoided it. Dumping him there without a weapon or a beast was a delayed death sentence.
"Father... please." Blood dripped from Noctis's chin. He forced himself upright, kneeling. "Give me a chance. Throw me in the Warrens. Not there."
Cassius stepped closer. He crouched, bringing his face inches from Noctis's. The smell of expensive wine and copper hit Noctis's nose.
"You are no son of mine," Cassius hissed. "You are an embarrassment I let live far too long." He stood up and turned his back. "Get this bastard out of my sight."
Rusted iron cuffs bit into his wrists, chafing the skin raw.
Gregor tossed him into the back of an open wooden cart like a sack of dirty grain. The rough wooden planks splintered against Noctis's cheek.
The massive iron gates of Mansion Umbra slammed shut with a heavy thud behind them. No servants came to see him off. No one cried. Elara, the old maid who used to smuggle him bread, had likely been locked in the servants' quarters.
The cart lurched forward. Wooden wheels screeched over the marble roads of the Noble District.
Noctis leaned against the wooden rail. He stared blankly as the city of Valyria passed by. The giant crystal tower, The Spire of Dominion, pierced the morning sky in the distance—a glowing symbol of the Beastmaster Vanguard's absolute power.
The cart rolled down the hill, cutting through the bustling Merchant District. The sharp smell of spices mixed with monster dung from the trading guilds.
Then they crossed into the Outer Ring. The Warrens. Slums reeking of piss, sweat, and desperation. Leaning, crooked buildings stacked on top of one another. This was where people without magic or beasts died slowly in the gutters.
The rules of this world were brutally simple. Own a strong beast, and you were a god. Possess no affinity, and you were dead meat waiting to rot.
The cart rattled past the city borders, hitting the muddy dirt road.
Ahead, a thick black mist hung over a canopy of hollow, rotting trees. The stench of decaying carcasses and acidic soil crept in on the morning wind, choking the lungs.
Deadwood Forest. The dumping ground of civilization.
Gregor whipped the draft horse hard. "Enjoy your last ride, boy," the captain muttered, spitting into the mud.