A young boy sat in his room. He was eight years old. He tried to feel his mana. Before, it was a warm river inside him. Now, it was a cold, slow trickle. He tried to make the symbol of a Rook appear on his hand, a trick he used to show his parents.
Nothing happened.
Instead, a faint, unfamiliar glow appeared on his arm. The mark of a Knight's sword. It felt wrong. It felt weak.
"This… Why doesn't this work?" The boy's voice shuddered, close to collapsing.
His mother, Maela, walked in. Her smile was strained. "It's alright, sweetie. You're still strong."
Arthur saw the sadness in her eyes. Behind her, his father stood in the doorway. Garron looked tired, the usual laugh lines around his eyes gone.
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A few weeks later, Arthur stood before the City Lord. His father was beside him. Before, these visits were happy. The Lord would praise him, call him "Eldermoor's future."
Today, the Lord's office was cold.
"My Lord," Garron started, his voice tight. "The Valewyns were there. There must be an investigation."
The City Lord did not even look at Arthur. He waved a dismissive hand. "Garron, what's done is done. A Fate cannot be stolen. It has simply settled on a more stable vessel. It is a tragedy, but the city must invest in guaranteed strength."
The Lord's words were final. He turned away, picking up a scroll.
Arthur knew what it meant. He was no longer valuable. They were no longer welcome.
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At the Everglen Academy training grounds, Arthur struggled. The other Apprentice Knights were faster, stronger. He practiced a basic sword stance. The wooden training sword felt heavy in his hand.
His body felt weaker than before. It was as if all his strength was ripped away from him, and nothing felt right.
It was like learning how to walk from scratch. Everything felt wrong. The world around him just felt different.
Suddenly, he felt a cold stare behind him.
Alaric Valewyn walked up, two of his friends with him. Alaric's own tower mark glowed faintly on his neck, a constant reminder.
"Well, look here," one of the boys sneered. "The fallen prodigy."
Alaric smirked. He walked around Arthur. "Still trying, Greymark? It must be frustrating, remembering what you used to be."
Arthur said nothing. He gripped his sword tighter.
The other boy shoved Arthur, hard. Arthur stumbled and fell, his training sword clattering on the ground. The boy kicked it away. "Oops."
Alaric just laughed. "See? You can't even hold a sword. You're just a broken toy with a Knight's mark. Worthless."
They stood over him, ready for more.
"That's enough, Alaric."
A new voice, firm and clear, cut through the air. A young boy with stylish blue hair stepped forward. Orion Starr.
Alaric turned, annoyed. "Starr. Sticking your nose where it doesn't belong? Defending this… failure?"
"I'm defending a fellow student," Orion said. He stood between Alaric and Arthur. "The Starr family doesn't kick people when they're down. It's dishonorable."
Alaric sneered. Fighting a Starr over a "worthless" Greymark wasn't worth the trouble. His family was rich, but the Starrs had military respect.
"Whatever. I'm bored of this," Alaric said. He turned and walked away, his goons following.
Orion waited for them to leave. He then turned to Arthur and offered his hand, pulling him to his feet. A friendly, cheerful grin was on his face. "Those guys are real jerks, huh? Don't mind them. My name's Orion."
Arthur, who had only felt coldness and seen bullies for weeks, was surprised. He looked at the outstretched hand, then at Orion's smiling face.
He took it. "Arthur."
Arthur's eyes snapped open.
He was in his room at the academy, not on the dusty training grounds. He was drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. The memories, so vivid, so real… it was all just a dream. A nightmare of the past.
He sat up, taking a deep, shuddering breath. The faint morning light was just beginning to filter through his window.
He had just grabbed one of the four spots. In a week, he was going to be heading toward the capital.
His hands played with his pendant. Looking down, he could see a faint scar near his chest. So faint only he could notice.
"Remember, boy… reveal that mark to no one."
Ezriel's last words echoed in his mind. So much happened in the last month that Arthur wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. As if he was in a story.
Then, he felt it.
A sudden, intense heat bloomed from the faint scar on his chest. It wasn't painful. It felt like a star igniting deep within him. He gasped, his hand flying to the spot.
The ancient coin from Ezriel, tucked away safely in his pocket, began to vibrate with a low, resonant hum, pulsing in perfect time with the heat in his chest.
Something had just awakened.