“Quite the entrance, lad,” came a stern, gravelly voice that carried the weight of authority and just a hint of dry amusement. The sound cut through Gai’s disorientation like a blade, grounding him in the moment. His breath hitched as he glanced up, recognizing the speaker immediately. Sir Maric. There was no mistaking the man—broad-shouldered and imposing even in repose, his weathered face bore the marks of countless battles, etched with lines that spoke of both harsh discipline and hard-won wisdom.

  Gai scrambled to his feet, steadying himself by gripping an entry cupboard. His fingers brushed against its rough wooden surface, finding comfort in its solidity as he pushed himself upright. His legs trembled slightly—not from injury but from the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. He took a moment to survey his surroundings, trying to mask his unease.

  The room was larger than Gai expected, but its sparse furnishings made it clear no one called it home. A narrow pallet hugged the stone wall, its straw mattress indented in just one spot. At the end of it, a wool blanket was folded with the kind of care only years of routine could teach—square corners, not a thread out of place. By the heavy door sat an open chest. Gai couldn’t help but note the meticulous order inside: plain tunics and breeches stacked neatly, jars of preserved food lined up beside carefully sorted tools for whatever minor repairs or chores might arise. In the centre stood a small oak table and two sturdy chairs—functional, nothing more. Sunlight slanted in through narrow windows bound in iron, throwing long bars of shadow across the wooden floor. The golden light did little to ease the sense of confinement; those iron bars meant business.

  Sir Maric lounged at the table as if he owned the place, one arm sprawled, the other wrapped around a battered wooden cup half full of something dark and decidedly not water. Between them sat a squat bottle, its amber liquid catching a stripe of sunlight and flashing gold across the room.

  “Don’t just stand there gawking,” Maric said, voice rough but with a glimmer of warmth. He nodded to the empty chair across from him. “Sit before you fall over again.”

  Gai paused a fraction too long before trudging forward. Every footstep seemed to announce his nerves to the world. He dropped into the wooden chair, keenly aware of how awkward he must look—too young, too unsure, as if he’d wandered into the wrong story.

  Maric either didn't notice or couldn’t be bothered to comment. Instead, he grabbed another cup, gave it a healthy dose from the bottle, and slid it across with a curt nod. “Drink.”

  Gai eyed the cup like it might bite first. The scent drifted up—smoky, sharp, not entirely unfriendly. He took a careful sip. The burn hit him instantly and he broke into a fit of coughing that seemed determined to last forever.

  Maric let out a booming laugh that echoed around the stone room. “There we go! Now you’re alive.” He slapped the table with enough force to rattle the bottle—but not enough to risk spilling any. “Nothing like strong drink to remind you you’re still breathing, eh?”

  Gai wiped at his watering eyes and managed a shaky grin, still recovering from the drink’s fire. “Sir…” His voice betrayed him with an embarrassing crack, so he coughed, tried again. “Uh, sir—why am I here? And… what are you doing here?”

  The whole afternoon had been a mess—one moment he was in the yard, and the next, yanked away and dumped into this unfamiliar room without a word of explanation. The question of what he was doing here refused to let go. He couldn’t help but remember the only other time he’d crossed paths with Sir Maric: a brief run-in during his first week of training. Maric had managed to be both intimidating and impossible to read, making an impression without saying much at all.

  Maric leaned back in his chair then, studying Gai with an intensity that made him squirm. His sharp eyes seemed to pierce right through any fa?ade Gai might have put up, stripping him down to bare nerves and raw honesty.

  “I’ll tell you why you’re here,” Maric said finally, his tone softer now but no less commanding. He swirled his drink absently before taking another sip. “Because I like you.”

  Gai blinked in surprise. Of all the things he had expected Maric to say, that wasn’t even on the list.

  “I liked you from the start,” Maric continued, leaning forward slightly as if confiding some great secret. “First day I saw you—scrawny little thing trying so damned hard not to look scared out of your wits—I knew there was something different about you.” He chuckled softly at the memory before fixing Gai with another piercing look. “Then you went and got yourself a zero on your ability testing.”

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  The words landed like a slap across Gai’s face despite their matter-of-fact delivery. He felt his cheeks flush with shame as memories of that humiliating day came rushing back: standing in front of his peers as Gerald had reported his result—zero potential for magical aptitude.

  Maric caught the look on Gai’s face and waved him off, like he was batting away an annoying gnat. “Oh, spare me the wounded pride,” he grunted. “You’re not the first to land flat on your face. Trust me, I’ve seen worse.” He hesitated, eyes flicking somewhere past Gai, his voice dropping a notch. “Though it’s been a long time since anyone managed a perfect zero…” He let that hang before shrugging it off and knocking back another sip.

  “But here’s the thing,” Maric said suddenly, cutting through the momentary lull. “Most would’ve packed up and faded into the background after that. But you didn’t.” He pointed at Gai, firm and sure. “And now look where you are—one of fifty left standing out of five thousand hopefuls.” Maric leaned back with a faint, satisfied grin. “That takes some real backbone.”

  They sat in a dense, loaded quiet—no one reaching for words at first. The pause stretched, not awkward but definitely weighty, until the sounds from outside started creeping in: hammers banging out some poor horseshoe, voices tumbling over each other in bits and pieces, traders advertising stale bread or miracles. Gai let his attention drift, picking up those scraps of life while he gathered himself.

  Eventually, he managed to look up at Maric, voice barely above a whisper. “Why does it matter to you? All of this?”

  Maric’s mouth ticked upward, just slightly; there was something tired—almost mournful—behind it as he topped off his drink and considered Gai for a long second.

  “Because grit,” he said at last, weighing the word like it might slip away if he wasn’t careful, “beats any bit of magic. Every time.”

  A different kind of tension settled between them then. Maric leaned forward on his elbows—closer now, his stare unwavering and sharp enough to pin Gai in place. Light from a stubby candle danced across Maric’s face, making every scar and crease stand out clear as day—a man carved by years of command and too many hard calls.

  Maric drummed his fingers on the table, his gaze heavy. “Let’s talk about the real issue here,” he said, voice dropping just enough to cut through the quiet. “You’ve managed to get yourself recommended for the castle guard—by a ranger captain, no less.” He let that land for a moment, eyebrows raised. “A ranger captain,” he repeated, tone dry as old parchment. “Someone who shouldn’t even know your name, let alone put it forward.”

  Gai felt those words thud into him, leaving him stiff in his chair. He didn’t dare break the silence, not with Maric’s eyes still fixed on him. The candlelight jittered across the walls, making everything feel more uncertain.

  Maric’s chair groaned as he leaned closer, his presence pressing in. “Doesn’t matter if you have any idea how this mess came to be,” he went on, voice low but certain. “That’s not my concern.” He narrowed his eyes at Gai, mouth twisting. “But starting tomorrow—you are.”

  Gai’s throat was still raw from the drink, but his mouth had gone desert-dry. He almost managed a word—some kind of explanation, maybe an apology—but Maric just kept going, not giving him an inch to squeeze in.

  “You’ll be joining my guard,” Maric declared with finality, each word striking like a hammer on an anvil. “And you’ll be alongside recruits and veterans far more suited to the role than you. Men and women who’ve earned their place through blood, sweat, and discipline.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing. “You will have to fight for every inch and every bit of respect.”

  Gai tried to steady himself after that—he’d known it would be tough, but hearing it laid out so bluntly put a pit in his stomach. Even so, he forced his shoulders back and locked his hands together where Maric couldn’t see them shaking.

  He cleared his throat. “Sir,” he ventured quietly, voice thin but clear enough between them, “do you know why I was picked for the guard at all?”

  The question landed and hung between them. Maric’s eyes narrowed, his jaw working ever so slightly as he studied Gai—measuring him, maybe weighing how stupid the question really was. For a tense moment, he just watched, silent. Gai tried not to fidget.

  At last, Maric slowly leaned back, folding his arms across his chest with the leather of his gauntlets creaking in protest. “No,” he said after what felt like an eternity, suspicion lacing every word. “But I’m about to.”

  He let that hang there, a blunt promise and a threat in one. Then Maric stood so fast his chair screeched against the floor, making Gai flinch upright without thinking.

  “I’ll have someone fetch you once the first round of the tourney is over.” No room for argument in that tone—just solid command. Maric strode to the door without looking back. “And don’t get too comfortable here, lad.”

  The heavy wooden door swung closed behind him with a definitive thud that seemed to reverberate through Gai’s very core. The metallic click of the lock sliding into place felt like an exclamation point at the end of their exchange—a reminder that whatever freedom Gai might have thought he’d had was now firmly under Maric’s control.

  For a good while after Maric left, Gai just sat there, frozen in place. The room felt even bigger now—emptier, colder, like someone had cracked a window wide open and let the warmth escape along with any sense of certainty.

  He nursed what was left in his cup, but the liquor’s heat barely touched the chill settling over him. His mind spun on uncomfortable questions: Who had decided he deserved this chance? Why him, and what was he expected to prove—or survive—to keep it?

  His gaze drifted to the open window. Faint sounds drifted in: distant metal clanking as armour was put away for the night, low voices of guards trading end-of-day stories near the edges of the coliseum. A few forgotten weapons caught the last bit of sunlight on the ground outside.

  Night crept in quietly, settling over everything until the room was more shadow than light. Above, a handful of stars showed themselves through the iron bars, pale and distant, keeping watch as the world outside fell silent.

  But even with his nerves shot and Maric’s blunt words still rattling around in his head, something else stirred—a stubborn streak that made Gai set his jaw instead of slumping further. He couldn’t name it fully; it wasn’t pride or foolish confidence. But whatever tomorrow brought, he wasn’t planning to back down.

  He placed his empty cup aside and stepped up to the window. The evening air cooled his face as he looked out at the coliseum ground: high walls outlined against a sky now scattered with stars.

  He gripped the iron bars of the small opening and squared his shoulders, breathing in the cool air. “I’m not going down easy,” he said, softly at first. But then he tried it again, louder this time, imagining Maric or any of the others who’d doubted him standing on the other side of the wall.

  “I’m not going down easy.”

  It felt good, saying it out loud. Like marking a line in the sand he dared someone to cross.