The field was wide and uneven, the soil stubborn under the wooden plow. I was small then, my hands barely able to keep steady on the handle as Father guided it from behind. The sun was warm, the kind that made sweat sting the eyes and dust cling to skin. I remember complaining, my arms aching, my steps uneven.

  Father laughed, not loud, just enough to be heard over the wind.

  "Life is like this, Alaric," Tomas said. "Sometimes the ground is soft, sometimes it fights you. You will fail. Many times. But listen carefully."

  The plow stopped. He leaned closer, his voice serious.

  "No matter what failure happens in any step of your life, never give up on your dreams. Never feel shame for falling. The moment you feel shame for trying, you betray who you are."

  I did not fully understand then. I only nodded and pushed the plow again.

  The main hall of the regional church was crowded, voices overlapping in nervous murmurs. The results board had been placed at the front, already surrounded by a dense crowd of candidates. Alaric stood still for a moment, his father’s words echoing in his mind.

  Whatever the result is… don’t look away.

  He moved forward, pushing gently through the crowd until he reached the board. His eyes went immediately to the lower section of the first page.

  Fifteenth place.

  He scanned upward.

  He forced himself to keep reading, moving higher.

  Twelfth. Tenth. Eighth

  No familiar name.

  His chest tightened slightly as he continued.

  Sixth, fifth

  Still nothing.

  Did I… miss it?

  Neither his name nor Jarik’s appeared.

  For a brief moment, disappointment crept in.

  So this is where it ends?

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Then his eyes reached the very top.

  First place.

  Alaric of Saint Elyss’s Rest.

  The words didn’t register at first. He read them again.

  Then again.

  His breath caught.

  …I did it?

  The tension drained from his body all at once, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest. His hands trembled slightly as relief and joy settled in.

  But the thought of Jarik immediately followed.

  Alaric turned just as Jarik pushed his way through the crowd toward the second page. Jarik’s eyes scanned the list quickly, his expression tight.

  Then it changed.

  Jarik’s shoulders dropped, and a wide grin spread across his face.

  “Nineteenth!” Jarik said, half laughing. “I made it!”

  Alaric moved instantly, reaching him. He looked at the page himself.

  Jarik of Norvale. Rank 19.

  “You really scraped through,” Alaric said, smiling.

  “Barely counts as scraping,” Jarik replied, laughing. “But I’ll take it.”

  They hugged briefly, the tension of the past four days finally breaking.

  Later, the hall quieted as the head of the regional church stepped forward. His voice was steady and measured.

  “I regret that we cannot recommend every candidate,” he said. “The church is limited to three hundred recommendations across the kingdom each year. Only twenty are allocated to Larethin.”

  He paused, letting the weight of the numbers sink in.

  “To those selected, congratulations. To those who were not, this does not define your worth.”

  He then instructed the successful candidates to return to their residences and await summons for the Royal Knight Academy entrance examination. Those aged twelve or above would be called within the year. Those younger would be summoned once they met the minimum age requirement of 12 years.

  Alaric listened quietly.

  Four more years…

  He glanced at Jarik.

  Jarik scratched the back of his head. “Guess I’ll be waiting three.”

  “At least we’ll both be going,” Alaric said.

  That afternoon, they boarded the same caravan heading back toward the border town. The ride was calmer than before, the tension replaced by light conversation and shared relief.

  When they reached the town, Jarik gathered his things.

  “Norvale’s this way,” Jarik said. “I’ll tell them… I’ll tell them it worked.”

  “You earned it,” Alaric replied. “We’ll meet again. Royal Knight Academy.”

  Jarik smiled. “Don’t be late.”

  They parted ways.

  When Alaric returned to Saint Elyss’s Rest, the chapel gates creaked open as usual. Elaine was sweeping the front yard when she looked up.

  She froze.

  Then the broom dropped.

  Before Alaric could speak, Elaine rushed forward and wrapped him in a tight embrace.

  “You’re back,” she said, voice unsteady.

  Alaric smiled and nodded. “I passed.”

  The rest of the day passed in quiet celebration. A simple feast was prepared, laughter filling the hall. For the first time since leaving, Alaric felt the weight lift from his shoulders.

  He had taken his first real step forward.

  And this time, he had not fallen.