Immersed in a sea of fury, Gabriel's every stroke with the sword was a cathartic release of his pent-up anger. Each swing and jab, though eliciting sharp twinges from the wounds he had self-inflicted the day prior, only spurred him on. The tangible pain served as a momentary distraction from his profound inner torment. These surface cuts were fleeting, they’d heal as his skin knitted itself back together, leaving no physical scars behind. Yet, the deeper wounds—those scars of revelation etched into the very fabric of his soul—were indelible, destined to linger for eternity.
His interactions had been minimal, limited to terse exchanges. Lakan had directly inquired about his well-being, Jonan had sought to draw him out with humor, and Ryn, ever the philosopher, had spun a tale of wandering brothers. Yet, none could thaw the ice encasing his heart. Everyone, including Velar, seemed to understand intuitively the need to give him space, perhaps discouraged by the unyielding coldness in his gaze.
Thus, he unleashed his wrath upon the training dummy with unmatched fervor. All else faded into insignificance; his world narrowed to the rhythmic cadence of delivering relentless strikes. A background noise, growing steadily louder, failed to penetrate his focused state. To Gabriel, nothing mattered but the dance of steel in his hands, seeking vengeance.
Even as the noise escalated into an insistent din, Gabriel remained oblivious, his sword continuing to descend with relentless intensity. Only when a sharp pain exploded across his back, propelling him forward into the very dummy he had been battering, did his trance break.
Whirling around, he found Soltis, his master, glaring at him with eyes wide with incredulity. “Are you not listening to me?” Soltis's voice, laden with frustration and disbelief, cut through the haze of Gabriel's focus. “I said form up!”
A primal instinct surged through Gabriel, his vision tinting with red as he unleashed a guttural snarl, redirecting his fury toward a new adversary: Soltis. Gripping the hilt tightly, he brandished his sword at his master. Soltis, taken aback by the unexpected aggression, leaped backward in shock. However, his astonishment swiftly faded as he closed the distance between them with deliberate strides, launching a swift strike aimed at Gabriel's head.
Gabriel dodged just in time, his sword inadvertently connecting with Soltis's midsection. The master grunted but quickly rallied, attacking with a ferocity previously unseen by Gabriel. A precise jab to Gabriel's kidney landed before he could evade, sending waves of pain through his body. In a desperate counter, Gabriel attempted a wild swing aimed at his teacher's neck, but Soltis skillfully ducked beneath it, then executed a swift leg sweep, toppling Gabriel to the ground.
Hitting the floor with a thud, Gabriel rolled to avoid further strikes and swiftly regained his footing, ready to engage once more. But as he prepared to launch another attack, he felt an ominous power surging within him.
With a fierce lunge at Soltis, sword aimed with deadly intent, Gabriel imagined dismembering the man tendon by tendon, severing the very supports of his being. The reality that his weapon was merely wooden faded from his mind as he attacked with the wildness of a predator, indifferent to the harm he inflicted or received. To Gabriel, Soltis seemed ethereal, effortlessly evading each vicious strike. Yet, with every miss, a deeper fury enveloped Gabriel, a sinister grin spreading across his lips as he struck with unrestrained force.
As the battle raged, a peculiar sensation awakened within him, a dark desire for vengeance that threatened to consume him. In a moment of startling clarity, Gabriel released his grip on the sword, letting it clatter to the sand below. His eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, scanned the scene before him as he shook his head, as if to dispel a trance.
What have I just done? What’s wrong with me?
Soltis's incredulous outburst mirrored Gabriel's internal turmoil. “What's wrong with you? You think you're a warrior, do you?” The man's spittle flecked Gabriel's face, a tangible symbol of his disgrace. Overwhelmed by shame for his actions, Gabriel made no move to wipe it away.
“I'm sorry, Master. I… I lost myself,” Gabriel murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You're sorry, you little shit! How dare you attack me!” Soltis's fury escalated. “You abandoned all discipline—no control at the onset of the fight and reckless throughout. We do not train you to behave like a wild beast, lashing out mindlessly. And then, the moment you face adversity, you retreat in fear. You are a coward!”
The words said so long ago by his father echoed in his mind. I am not weak.
“You scampered away like a sewer rat at the first sign of defeat. Had we sought after refuse, we'd have scavenged the gutters,” Soltis continued, his words sharp as knives.
Yet, this time, Gabriel refused to lower his gaze in defeat. The resurgence of anger was clear in his eyes, a silent challenge to Soltis's authority. Noticing the defiant spark, Soltis issued his punishment with a venomous sneer. “You are to be stripped of your weapons. Run until you can run no more, until you collapse from exhaustion, scum. And then, rise and run again.”
As Gabriel took in his surroundings, he noticed a complex tapestry of emotions reflected on the faces of those around him. Some bore sneers, dripping with scorn, while others looked on with a pity that seemed almost as cutting. He found himself at a loss, unable to decide which expression was more demeaning.
Compelled by a need to flee not just the physical space but the inner chaos that writhed within him, Gabriel set off. He ran laps around the arena, each step a futile attempt to outpace the shadows of his past that clung to him like a second skin. He ran until the only sensation that remained was the raw, unadulterated pain—a pain that surged through his aching limbs and threatened to overwhelm his pounding heart. Yet, in a twisted sense, this was a pain Gabriel welcomed, for it was one he could comprehend, one that grounded him in the present.
Eventually, Gabriel found himself collapsed on the ground, gasping for air, a lone figure amidst the now-empty training grounds. The others had moved on to their subsequent lessons, leaving him behind, drained of energy and barred by the relentless passage of time from joining them. It was then that he saw Master Soltis approaching, the rhythmic slap of the baton against his palm echoing the measured steps of a man who moved with deliberate intent.
Soltis loomed over Gabriel, his silent presence amplifying the feeling of insignificance that Gabriel already harbored within. An apology lingered at the tip of his tongue, yet Gabriel knew it would do little to repair the rift his actions had created. Instead, he took a decisive step, reaching into the pocket of his trousers to retrieve the royally sealed envelope.
Soltis regarded Gabriel with a silent, penetrating gaze. Although his anger remained unabated, a flicker of curiosity betrayed itself in the slight arch of his bushy eyebrow. It was as if he was sifting through Gabriel's silence for clues, his expression morphing into one of thoughtful contemplation. Finally, with fingers caked in dirt, he grasped the seal, about to break it open.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“You can't open it,” Gabriel interjected softly. “My actions today are inexcusable, but this… this is part of the reason.” For the first time, Gabriel dared to meet Soltis's piercing gaze. “I must leave for the castle now. I will prepare and depart immediately.”
Gabriel had more than enough time to attend his next class. But he needed time to process all that had happened. He also needed to give Soltis cause not to seek his expulsion. Soltis would have every right to make it happen, but with a sealed envelope from the Royal family, he would think twice about taking any direct action.
A flash of contempt crossed Soltis's features, his nose wrinkling as if the very idea left a foul taste. “Politics,” he snorted dismissively, tossing the envelope onto the ground in front of Gabriel with a flick of his wrist. Turning away, he took a few steps before casting a final threat over his shoulder, his back still to Gabriel. “I will break you, rat. You'll give up before the next moon cycle. Count on it.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Gabriel's mouth, a quiet defiance shining through. “You can try,” he whispered under his breath, a challenge thrown into the wind. The only sign that Soltis had heard him was a momentary hesitation in his step.
----------------------------------------
“And that is how I came to be here.” Gabriel's last words trailed off, resonating within the chamber's vastness, where the King and Jacob listened with rapt attention. It was the first time Gabriel had ever told anyone the truth of what happened, or as close to it as he could. It felt like it was a release of tension that he didn’t know he was carrying. But, it also felt that speaking these truths had made it more real, he couldn’t live in the denial of a new identity, all these experiences, all his traumas were his, they didn’t belong to just Gabriel, Orion couldn’t protect him from what he had been through, it was all the same.
The King, embodying the very essence of sovereignty, acknowledged Gabriel's narrative with a solemn nod. His voice, when he finally spoke, carried a gentle gravity. “Your story… it's profoundly moving, Gabriel. The losses you've endured—my heart goes out to you.”
Gabriel felt an inexplicable preference for Jacob's scrutinizing gaze—sharp and calculating—over the King's sympathetic look. “I'll pay them back for all I've lost, and more,” he asserted with a quiet resolve.
The King paused, his gaze thoughtful as he pondered his next words. “The resilience and ingenuity you've displayed are truly extraordinary. Against overwhelming adversity, you've demonstrated not only strength but remarkable intelligence and wisdom.” Faced with such high praise, Gabriel found himself at a loss for words, merely bowing his head in a deeper show of respect, the reality of his experiences settling in with the King's acknowledgment.
Breaking into a gentle smile, the King added, “You are your mother’s son.”
Gabriel remembered her fighting to protect him. He remembered her choking on her own blood. Gabriel closed his eyes strongly as if he could blink away the memories.
“We have to talk about your future now.” The king said, whilst looking at Jacob.
The spider cleared his throat, his voice adopting a tone that was both matter-of-fact and chilling. “You will be provided lodging within the castle walls, where you will receive education and treatment commensurate with your status. While here, you will dine with the royal family, separate from your time at the academy. However, you won't be officially recognized as a ward; such a status could draw unwelcome attention, making you a target for the Accamanians. It's imperative they remain unaware of your protection by the king—to prevent igniting a conflict we're presently ill-equipped to handle.”
“That’s too much. It is too high a risk. People will ask questions.” Gabriel said.
Jacob glanced at the King, who offered a subtle nod of affirmation before continuing. “We've taken measures to mitigate such risks. You'll be introduced as the son of a merchant, a lifelong friend to the king who valiantly opposed the Accamanians. On his deathbed, your father purportedly urged you to seek the king's guidance.”
The best lies have truths hidden within them; he remembered those words from Tunklard now. He weighed the proposal, recognizing the paradox of his situation—stripped of his princely title, yet to be accorded the privileges of one. This arrangement promised him the means to forge himself into a formidable force. Yet, the generosity of the offer raised suspicions. It’s too good to be true.
“Why go to all this trouble?” he asked.
“It’s what your mother would have wanted,” the king responded plainly.
Unsatisfied, Gabriel pressed further, “There is more to it. What's the real reason?”
The King sighed, a look of weariness crossing his face. “Our relations with the Accamanians have always been fraught, a perpetual struggle over territory that, in truth, neither side truly needs. But there's always the fear that the balance of power might shift. You, Gabriel, could be a key to securing a lasting peace for the realm.”
Gabriel pondered the strategic implications, aware that what appeared to be a benevolent gesture could entail profound repercussions for both his future and that of his homeland.
Jacob then leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “However, such protection comes with a stipulation.” He paused for emphasis. “You must swear an oath to Balatia, pledging your unwavering loyalty and service to the crown for the entirety of your life. Failure to adhere to this pledge will result in the forfeiture of your life.”
The gravity of the condition hung heavily in the air, marking a pivotal moment in Gabriel's journey—a decision that would bind his fate irrevocably to the kingdom of Balatia.
Gabriel wanted revenge; he wanted blood, but there were other ways he could get his due. “No.”
“No?” Jacob, the Spider, echoed, his voice softening, betraying a hint of emotion for the first time that day.
“I will not be used against my people.” Gabriel turned to look at the king. Gabriel declared; his resolve unshakable as he turned to face the King. “I cannot swear fealty to Balatia. However, I will commit myself to King Saxton's service for eight years. I will vow never to take any action that would knowingly harm Balatia. I am an Accamanian, its rightful king. Whilst others will be traitors, I will not. I will leave if I must.”
Rising from his seat, the King's voice carried a weight of command. “You must vow never to take up arms against Balatia.”
Gabriel stood his ground, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. “And if Balatia's future monarch chooses to wage war on my people? Am I to stand by whilst they are killed?”
Jacob's reaction was a cold, drawn-out chuckle. “Boy, those you call 'your people' wish for your demise. They are no longer yours.”
Tension crackled in the air as Gabriel rose, fists clenched, a storm brewing within. “I was the target of betrayal. ‘My people’ are merely pawns of schemes. I will not let the innocent pay the price for a usurper's ambition, nor for anyone's greed.” His pointed glare locked onto Jacob, an unspoken challenge.
Before Jacob could retort, the King's raised hand brought silence, his authority momentarily pausing the heated exchange.
“I respect your truth and your heart. You will swear your oath to me, and you will want for nothing. I will treat you in good faith and not use you against the Accamanians, and under my roof, you will be provided for generously. I pledge to deal with you honorably, never to leverage you as a weapon against Accamania. However, be mindful of the significance of your role. A time will come when you must define where your true loyalties lie. On that day, regardless of the outcome, you must vow never to be the aggressor and raise arms against us. This is the essence of your oath—breach it, and your fate will be sealed. Do we have an agreement?”
Gabriel perceived the underlying intentions of the King—perhaps not in their entirety, but sufficiently to earn his tentative trust. Above all, Gabriel's current desire was vengeance.
Approaching the King's desk, he noticed a slender knife, its presence drawing a tense reaction from Jacob, who moved protectively in front of the King. Gabriel offered a feral grin, seized the blade, and drew it across his palm. As blood welled from the cut—a wound destined to join the myriad scars marking his tumultuous history—he made his vow.
Adopting the solemn posture of a Balatian oath, he declared, “In the presence of King Saxton of Balatia, I swear my fealty and service for the duration of eight years. I shall not, of my own volition, bear arms against Balatia for as long as life breathes within me. This oath I make to you, my king.”
His words, sealed with his own blood, wove a new thread into the complex tapestry of allegiances and promises that defined his life's journey.