Year 1466 AD, Kingdom of Shersia

  Two years had passed since the raid on the bandit hideout in the unclaimed forests of the border but the stone walls of the orphanage remained constant.

  For Alaric, however, everything had changed the moment the ice lance left his hand that night.

  He didn't speak of it to anyone. Not to Torren, who had given him a silent nod of understanding. Not to Kellan, who had looked at him with a mixture of awe and concern. And certainly not to Lia, whose eyes he had shielded from the gore.

  But he couldn't hide it from himself.

  The memory often visited him in the quiet hours between midnight and dawn. In his dreams, the headless body of the bandit leader didn't fall. It stood there, laughing. And in the corners of his mind, that other voice, the passenger he tried so hard to ignore….would speak.

  It had happened the night after the kill. Alaric had been scrubbing his hands in a basin of cold water, feeling like the blood was still under his fingernails despite the skin being raw and clean.

  You have even become a killer now? The voice had whispered, sily and mocking. How does it feel to be a monster? Truly?

  Alaric had gripped the edges of the basin until the ceramic cracked. Shut up.

  Oh, don't be like that, the alter ego had taunted. You crossed the line. You took a life. You judged him, executed him, and felt nothing but recoil. Maybe you are truly becoming a monster. But..... at least you are doing something. Keep struggling in vain. I like to see you dance.

  That was the last time the voice had spoken clearly. For two years, it had remained silent, leaving Alaric alone with his training and his growing mana reserves.

  Life in the orphanage had moved on. New children arrived, crying on the doorstep or brought in by the city guards, replacing the ones who had grown old enough to leave. The old group, Alaric’s group, was fracturing under the weight of time.

  Rin had officially registered as a hunter. She had joined a local party as a Mage Archer, using her wind magic to guide arrows with lethal precision. She was rarely at the chapel anymore, usually crashing at an inn or camping out on missions.

  Mira had taken a part-time job as a city librarian. It suited her. She spent her days surrounded by silence and paper, coming back to the chapel only to sleep.

  And Kellan.....

  Kellan was gone.

  He had left the previous year. The Royal Knight Academy in the capital was notorious for its difficulty, boasting a mere ten to fifteen percent acceptance rate for commoners. Kellan, with his earth magic and monstrous strength, had smashed through the selection exam.

  Damn show-off..... Alaric thought, a small smile touching his lips as he looked at the letter in his hand.

  He was standing in Father Corwin’s office. The morning light filtered through the dusty window, illuminating the royal seal on the parchment.

  "It arrived this morning," Father Corwin said, his voice deep and steady. "It is your time, Alaric."

  Alaric ran his thumb over the wax seal. It was an invitation to the selection exam in Shersalon, the Royal Capital.

  "I didn't think it would come this fast," Alaric lied. He had counted every day.

  "You are twelve now," Corwin said.

  Alaric nodded. "Yes, I need to pack."

  The preparations for his departure turned the orphanage upside down.

  Lia was the center of the chaos. Over the last two years, she had grown. She was no longer the terrified little girl crying in her bed on her first night. She had taken on the role of a big sister to the newer arrivals, mimicking the way Alaric and Kellan had protected her.

  But when it came to Alaric, she was still a shadow, following him everywhere.

  "You need more socks," Lia insisted, shoving a bundle of wool into his travel bag. "And dried fruit. Sister Elaine says the capital food is expensive."

  "I have enough socks, Lia," Alaric said, trying to remove the bundle, but she slapped his hand away.

  "You don't," she said firmly.

  Alaric let her have her way. He knew why she was doing it.

  He had spent the last two years teaching her. He had given her the primer he used to study magic and taught her every adept level spells in that book.Not only the spells but his method as as well.

  The depletion ritual.

  It was grueling. He made her exhaust her mana reserves until she felt sick, until her head pounded and her body shook. It was a dangerous method if done wrong, but under his supervision, it had worked. Her mana capacity was now far beyond her innate talent.

  She needs to be strong..... Alaric thought, watching her aggressively fold a shirt. When I leave, she won't have me.

  As for Alaric himself, the method had turned him into an anomaly.

  He felt no bottom to his own reserves anymore. If an average mage was a bucket, and a genius was a barrel, Alaric was a lake. He estimated he had twenty times the mana capacity of an average mage his age. It was a terrifying amount of power for a twelve-year-old, and he kept it carefully suppressed.

  "Alaric!" Sister Elaine bustled into the room, her face flushed. "I found the healing salve. You must take it. And this blanket. It gets cold in the mountains."

  "Sister, I can't carry a bed on my back," Alaric joked, but he took the salve.

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  The atmosphere was heavy. When Kellan had left last year, it had been a nightmare. Everyone had cried. Even Alaric, who prided himself on his maturity, had felt his vision blur as the carriage pulled away.

  Now, it was his turn.

  The morning of his departure was gray and overcast.

  The entire population of Saint Elyss’s Rest had gathered in the courtyard. The younger children, many of whom only knew Alaric as the scary-but-cool older brother who fixed their toys with magic, stood in the front row.

  Father Corwin stepped forward first. He placed a large hand on Alaric’s head, ruffling his hair.

  "I have no doubt you will be selected," Corwin said, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion. "You are the brightest spark this chapel has ever seen. But listen to me, Alaric. Do not worry about us. We will be here."

  He pressed a heavy leather pouch into Alaric’s hand.

  "Father, I have money saved from my missions," Alaric protested.

  "Take it," Corwin ordered. "It is an emergency reserve. And remember..... do not hesitate to come back. If the capital chews you up, you return here. This is your home. Always."

  Alaric gripped the pouch, nodding silently.

  Sister Elaine didn't even try to speak. She just grabbed him, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. She was sobbing openly, her tears soaking the shoulder of his tunic.

  "I will miss you," she choked out. "Be safe. Eat your vegetables. Don't fight with nobles."

  "I will, Sister," Alaric whispered, feeling a lump form in his throat. I can't cry here. Not yet.

  Elaine finally let go, stepping back to wipe her face with her apron.

  Rin stepped up next. She was wearing her leather hunter gear, a bow slung over her shoulder. She punched him lightly on the arm.

  "Look at you, big shot," she grinned, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Going to rub shoulders with noble ladies now."

  "I'll try not to embarrass you," Alaric said.

  "You better not," Rin said, her voice wavering. "If you act like a stranger when I visit the capital, I swear, Alaric, I will find the biggest plaza in the city and shout about the time you wet the bed when you were five."

  Alaric laughed. It was a weak, wet sound. "I wasnt even here when I was six."

  "Details," Rin sniffed. She pulled him into a hug. "Don't forget to write, you idiot."

  When she pulled away, there were tears tracking through the dust on her cheeks.

  Mira was next. She stood quietly, clutching a book to her chest. She didn't say much. She just stepped forward and hugged him gently.

  "Tell me stories," she whispered. "When you write. Tell me what the library looks like."

  "I will," Alaric promised. "I'll describe every shelf."

  Finally, there was Lia.

  She stood at the end of the line. She wasn't crying. Her face was set in a determined expression that looked too old for her features.

  "Lia," Alaric started.

  She didn't let him finish. She launched herself at him, burying her face in his stomach, her arms wrapping around his waist with desperate strength.

  It wasn't like when he went on missions. This was different. She understood the permanence of it.

  "Don't go," she muffled into his shirt, her brave face crumbling instantly.

  Alaric sank to his knees so he was eye-level with her. He gently pried her arms loose, but held her hands.

  "I have to," he said softly. "But listen to me. You are going to be fine. You are strong. You have the fire."

  "I don't want fire," Lia sobbed. "I want my brother."

  "I will always be your brother," Alaric said, his own voice cracking. He reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek. "I will write to you every week. I promise. And when I get vacation time, I will come back. I'll bring you sweets from the capital."

  Lia sniffled, looking at him with wide, wet eyes.

  "And," Alaric added, "once I am settled..... if you ever decide you want to leave this place, you can come to the capital. You can stay with me."

  Lia’s eyes widened. "Really?"

  "Really," Alaric smiled.

  "Promise?"

  "I promise."

  Lia threw her arms around his neck one last time. "Okay. Go. Before I stop you again."

  Alaric stood up. He looked at the faces of the people who had been his world for the last twelve years.

  "Goodbye," he said.

  He turned and walked through the gate.

  He forced himself to walk steadily. He forced himself not to look back. He kept his breathing even until he turned the corner of the street, out of sight of the chapel.

  Then, the emptiness hit him.

  It felt like a physical blow to the stomach. The silence of walking alone was deafening.

  He stopped in the shadow of a building, leaning against the brickwork. He covered his face with his hands.

  It’s just water..... just biological reaction.....

  But he couldn't stop it. He cried, silently and alone, mourning the end of his childhood.

  Torren was waiting for him at the town’s southern gate. The veteran hunter had arranged passage with a merchant caravan heading to the interior.

  "You look like shit," Torren said kindly.

  "Thanks," Alaric muttered, climbing onto the back of the wagon.

  "Keep your head down, kid," Torren said, slapping the side of the wagon. "And show them what a border rat can do."

  The caravan lurched forward. The wheels creaked against the cobblestones.

  Alaric sat near the back, watching the town shrink in the distance. He watched the spires of the church fade into the mist until they were just gray smudges against the sky.

  Goodbye, home.

  The journey took eleven days.

  They traveled through the dense forests of the borderlands, through the rolling hills of the central plains, and finally into the developed heartland of the Kingdom.

  Alaric spent the time meditating, refining his mana, and ignoring the curious glances of the other travelers. He felt suspended in time, caught between the life he had left and the life he was traveling toward.

  On the eleventh day, the driver shouted.

  "There she is! Shersalon!"

  Alaric moved to the front of the wagon.

  He had expected a city. He had seen cities in his old world, skyscrapers of glass and steel, sprawls of concrete. He expected a medieval city to be impressive, but smaller.

  He was wrong.

  The Royal Capital of Shersalon rose from the plains like a mountain of stone and white marble.

  The outer walls were massive, towering 10 meters into the air, thick enough to march an army across the top. They stretched to the left and right as far as the eye could see, a seamless belt of grey stone.

  But the city didn't end at the walls. It spilled out of them. A sprawl of houses, markets, and temporary camps clung to the outside of the fortifications like barnacles on a whale. Thousands of chimneys pumped smoke into the sky, creating a haze that hung over the valley.

  The road leading to the main gate was choked with traffic. Hundreds of caravans, carts, horses, and pedestrians formed a river of humanity flowing toward the entrance.

  Ten percent of the country's population lives here..... Alaric recalled the statistic. seeing it was different from reading it.

  The noise hit him before they even reached the gates, a low, constant roar of voices, wheels, and industry.

  As the caravan joined the queue, passing under the shadow of the colossal gatehouse, Alaric looked up. The Royal Knight Academy was somewhere in there. The King was in there. The future was in there.

  He touched the pouch of coins at his belt. He felt the hum of his mana, vast and deep, beneath his skin.

  He was a big fish in the small pond of the borderlands. But here?

  As he looked at the sea of people, at the knights in shining armor patrolling the walls, and the mages walking with staffs glowing with power, Alaric realized something terrifying.

  The tutorial was over.