Gabriel pressed his hand against the cool wood of his room’s door at the academy, easing it open with a cautious, almost imperceptible motion. The hinges emitted a soft groan, prompting him to pause and scan the dimly lit interior. Then, with careful deliberation, he stepped softly across the threshold, ensuring each footfall was silent.
"You're back!" Jonan's voice shattered the quiet, dashing Gabriel's hopes for a solitary retreat.
Gabriel had roamed the streets of Balatia under the cloak of nightfall, hoping that the city's marvels would temper the simmering anger within him. Yet, despite the distractions, that anger lingered like a caged beast, barely restrained by his dwindling will.
Gabriel exhaled a weary sigh, resigning himself to the inevitable. "It's late. Go to sleep. We'll talk later.”
But Lakan, rising with purpose from his shadowy corner, lit a candle and then another, filling the room with flickering light and dancing shadows. "We talk now," he insisted firmly, his voice brooking no refusal.
"I don't want to talk about it," Gabriel replied, the weariness evident in his voice.
"We've been worried about you all day," Jonan chimed in, his concern palpable. "We thought you were expelled from the academy."
Gabriel felt the weight of their concern pressing upon him, but his own anger was still overwhelming. He knew he owed his friends an explanation, yet he found it difficult to articulate the turmoil within. He had endured too much, learned too much. Gabriel could feel the palpable tension emanating from the postures of his friends. Their own frustration a faint echo of his deeper fury. Eventually, he relented.
"I'm not expelled," he began, his voice low. "But Soltis threatened to make my life a living hell."
Lakan's voice cut through the dimness, "What happened?"
Gabriel sighed, the weight of regret in his voice. "I lost control—the anger just took over."
“That’s no excuse,” Lakan said.
"I know," Gabriel sighed. "It wasn't intentional. I didn't even understand what was happening until it was too late."
Their expressions remained hard, unyielding, like stone.
"Why were you so angry?" Ryn finally broke the silence.
Gabriel moved to sit on his bed, the wooden slats creaking under his weight as he exhaled slowly, seeming to shrink with the burden of his memories. "I can't tell you everything, but it all started less than a year ago. My family was murdered right before my eyes. I was the only one who survived." He paused, lost in the painful recollection. No matter how much time had passed, the trauma didn’t diminish.
“We didn’t know, I’m sorry,” Lakan said gently.
Gabriel met the gaze of his new friends, each pair of eyes filled with sympathy. For some inexplicable reason, this only fueled the anger within him, igniting a fierce, irrational desire to lash out. He envisioned seizing his dagger and striking out in blind fury.
He could hear his name being called. I want the world to bleed. But he fought to regain control. He shook his head, then looked up to stare at their worried faces. He took a deep breath. In, out, in, out. He finally managed to steady his swirling emotions.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice strained as he worked to banish the darkness clawing at his mind.
For a brief moment, his friends fell silent, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Then, breaking the quiet, Ryn spoke up, his voice laced with cautious concern. "So, what happened today? I don’t mean to pry, but you seemed fine until now."
Gabriel hesitated, then responded, “Last night, I learned something about their deaths... something that I can’t share. I’m sorry.”
“We’re your friends; you can trust us,” Jonan encouraged, his voice earnest and more serious than he could ever remember.
“No, I can’t. This is a burden I must carry alone.”
Jonan opened his mouth to protest, but Lakan placed a calming hand on his shoulder, silencing him with a gentle but firm touch.
“Where were you after practice?” Lakan changed the subject, his inquiry soft yet probing.
Gabriel knew he couldn’t keep everything to himself, especially as his movements would soon being to draw attention. “I was at the castle.”
“What!” Jonan gasped, his voice a mix of shock and confusion.
Gabriel met his friends' surprised expressions with a level gaze. “The king knew my father. From now on, I'll be visiting the castle on my free days.”
“We need more than that, Gabriel,” Lakan insisted, his tone firm and demanding.
“That’s all you’re getting for now. Please, keep this to yourselves. I’m not ready for everyone to know.”
Lakan crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in frustration. “It doesn’t work that way, Orion. We're involved now, whether you like it or not.”
Tension crackled in the air as Gabriel's patience snapped. He surged to his feet and crossed the room in a few quick strides, stopping only when he was inches away from Lakan. “It has to work that way,” he said, his voice tight with barely controlled emotion. “I’m not discussing this any further.”
The room fell into a charged silence, the air thick with the unspoken words hanging heavily between them.
Ryn quickly intervened, stepping between Gabriel and Lakan. He gently placed a hand on Laken’s shoulder, his back to Gabriel, “Lakan lay off.” and then turned to face him. “Orion, isn’t that enough anger for one day? We’re all just trying to help you here.”
Gabriel's posture slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him. “I know, I’m sorry,” he murmured, clenching his fists and staring down at them as if seeing them for the first time. “I’m just...so angry.”
“This is what happened with Master Soltis,” Ryn said in a tone that was mixed admonishment and question.
“Yes.”
“Not many of us could have fought as hard against the master.” Ryn said.
Jonan scoffed, adding, “That’s an understatement. You were like a man possessed.”
Gabriel looked at them, a mix of confusion and frustration in his gaze. He extended his hand toward Lakan in a gesture of reconciliation. “I’m sorry.”
Lakan grasped his hand more firmly than usual. “All’s well.” He said in a tone that indicated it wasn’t.
An awkward silence fell over the group, each boy lost in his own thoughts until Jonan, broke the quiet. “So, is that how you beat the Paresh?”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow, noncommittal.
“You got so angry and just...killed them?”
“I don’t know,” Gabriel lied.
“You’re a berserker,” Ryn concluded, trying to make sense of it.
“I don’t think so,” Gabriel countered quietly, aware there was more at play, a latent power within him that yearned for vengeance—a power he scarcely understood himself.
Ryn insisted, “It’s the only explanation; you’ve never fought like that before.”
The other boys nodded in agreement, seeming to accept this theory, while Gabriel knew the truth was much deeper and more complicated than they could imagine.
Jonan slung an arm around Gabriel's shoulders, his grip firm. "Looks like our friend here is a berserker." Then, tightening his hold, he playfully tugged Gabriel closer and ruffled his short hair. "Guess we'd better stay on his good side, huh?"
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Laughter bubbled up among the group, lightening the mood. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight he was holding in had lessened.
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“Why do we have to do this, again?” Jonan grumbled. Gabriel couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle in agreement.
Ryn gave Jonan a light slap on the shoulder, “Show some respect, we owe everything to Victra; It’s only right we honor her.”
"But every moon cycle?" Jonan threw his hands up in exasperation, his eyes widening theatrically. "You'd think once a year would suffice." He started shaking his hands, then pointed an accusing finger at Lakan. "But no, those damn priests and your damn father insist on it."
Lakan rolled his eyes, “Damn it to Ash, why do I have to be stuck with you as my bunkmate.”
"Careful," Jonan chuckled, catching his breath. "Wouldn’t want to invoke Ash’s name in the chapel."
Both Lakan and Ryn put their hands on their heads and sighed in unison, their tolerance evidently tested. Unable to hold back any longer, Gabriel bellowed with laughter, drawing hushes from those around them.
"Now your grumpy ass decides to laugh," Jonan exclaimed, shaking his head in mock disbelief.
Lakan and Ryn exchanged a look. "Victra help us," they muttered together, whilst the tug on their lips betrayed their amusement.
Gabriel walked silently behind the others toward the chapel. Though he had never been particularly devout, his recent ordeals had cast a shadow of doubt over any remnants of faith he might have held. The idea of a divine watchfulness seemed hollow. If Victra truly existed and presided over Valandor, how could she have allowed his mother, an innocent, to die so cruelly? Gabriel couldn't reconcile the notion of such a god with the harsh realities he had witnessed. To him, whether Victra was real or not became irrelevant.
"You look like an Academy brat," a familiar voice called from behind.
Turning, Gabriel was greeted by the sight of Galland, his usually bushy beard now neatly trimmed, giving him a less rugged appearance than Gabriel remembered.
"Commander!" Gabriel exclaimed, a mix of respect and surprise in his tone.
“Don’t look so surprised to see me,” Galland replied with a wry smile. “I did go to the academy as well.”
"It’s just that you look less scruffy, have you done something with your beard?" Gabriel remarked, a hint of mischief in his tone.
Gasps sounded from his friends at his audacity, and he noticed Jonan tense up beside him as he bantered with the commander.
"Cheeky bastard. You spent too much time with Atlas and Avis," Galland’s laughter mingled with his words.
Gabriel responded with a rueful smile. I do miss them. "I’ll have to pay them a visit soon, make sure they aren’t getting too plump with city living."
Galland nodded in agreement. "You’re always welcome to visit us, lad. I know the men would be pleased to see you."
“Have they started drilling again?”
The commander let out a toothy and evil smile. “Aye, they have. Making them train twice as hard.”
Gabriel noticed Ryn subtly inching closer to his side, prompting him to introduce the commander to his friends. As he did, everyone except Ryn seemed tongue-tied, fumbling over their words in Galland's imposing presence. The commander himself adopted a more formal posture, his voice taking on a chillier tone. Gabriel puzzled over their strange behavior but didn't have time to dwell on it.
Galland's expression softened as he shifted topics. "My father wants to meet you.“
Me! Why?”
“He wants to meet the young man I staked my reputation on when I sponsored your entry into the academy.”
Gabriel's heart skipped a beat, suddenly aware of the gravity of Galland’s sponsorship. He bowed slightly, an instinctive gesture of respect. “Of course, sir, it would be my honor.”
The commander chuckled and clapped him firmly on the shoulder, breaking the formal air. “None of that bowing lad. It doesn’t suit you. I’ll send a message.” With a reassuring nod, Galland turned and disappeared into the crowd.
The rest of the boys gaped at him, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief—not just his close friends, but even other students who had overheard the exchange. “What?” Gabriel asked.
“You’re that friendly with Commander Galland?” Lakan inquired, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and envy.
“Well, I did serve under him,” Gabriel responded nonchalantly.
“You do know who Galland’s family is, right?” Ryn chimed in.
“Yes.”
Despite Gabriel's tone, Ryn seemed unconvinced or perhaps he simply felt compelled to elaborate. “His grandfather was our king; he comes from a long line of named warriors. Galland is one of the finest warriors in Balatia,” Ryn explained, his voice lowering almost reverently.
Gabriel simply nodded, choosing not to betray his ignorance with further questions.
Gabriel's mood subtly shifted to match the solemn atmosphere as they entered the chapel. Though lacking the grandeur of those in Accamania, the structure had its own stark beauty, with dark stones encasing the building and exposed wooden beams arching overhead to form high vaulted ceilings. As he scanned the interior, Gabriel couldn't help but imagine the benches cleared away, transforming the space into a suitable training area—a thought that brought a wry smile to his face, seeming quite in keeping with Balatian practicality.
Taking his seat among the other students, Gabriel noticed the hundreds of peers around him. Those close to his age seemed to give him a wide berth, still mindful of the recent incident with Soltis, although none spoke of it openly—except for Velar. Gabriel's curiosity piqued as he speculated about the ceremony's proceedings and whether they would echo the rituals led by other priests.
Before long, a hush fell over the gathering as a frail, hunched old man slowly made his way to the dais. He began to speak in tones devoid of fervor; his was not the impassioned oratory Gabriel had encountered elsewhere, but rather a subdued, almost melancholic recitation.
Minutes passed in somber quietude as the old priest's voice slowly gained momentum. As he continued, his voice grew stronger, more fervent, the pitch rising as he reached the core of his message.
“We give our lives to she who created us. We were born with no sword in hand, but there is no greater honor to Victra than to die with one in our embrace. Such is the way of the sword. It matters not in the eyes of Victra whether you are Balatian or other, only that you honor her. She who has given much, deserves much in return.”
Gabriel turned to observe the reactions of those around him. The boys were leaning forward, their attention captivated, especially Ryn, who had a strange glimmer in his eyes, full of admiration that bordered on fanaticism. While the majority of the lads were engrossed by the priest’s words, not everyone was caught up in the fervor. Jonan shared his skepticism, grounding him amidst the rising tide of zeal. Catching Gabriel's eye, Jonan chuckled softly, sharing a knowing look that seemed to say, ‘and you thought I was the crazy one.’
“Live free, fight well, and die with honor,” the priest concluded, his voice peaking with a commanding resonance that seemed to echo off the chapel walls.
All the attendees rose to their feet, and Gabriel, slightly delayed, followed suit. Then, as if on cue, everyone began tapping their boots against the stone floor in unison, creating a rhythmic, thunderous applause that vibrated through the air.
From behind the massive stone pillars, Warrior Priests emerged as though materializing from the shadows. Gabriel had not noticed them before, and by the surprised looks exchanged among the other students, he wasn't the only one. The spectacle seemed well-rehearsed, not a spontaneous addition. Gabriel was curious, wanting to lean over to his friends for an explanation, but he hesitated, wary of revealing his unfamiliarity with the ritual.
The Warrior Priests formed a circle around the central figure of the wizened man, their movements synchronized with precision to each of his spoken commands. Their tall, erect postures provided a stark contrast to the elderly priest’s bent frame. Gabriel watched, intrigued by their flawless coordination. He wondered about the extent of their training—the royal guards in both Accamania and here, though disciplined, did not display such impeccable synchronization. How many years have they practiced together? What else can they do?
The procession moved solemnly down the aisle, led by a young warrior whose calm authority belied his age. Gabriel couldn't discern whether he was the leader but one thing was clear: he would not relish crossing swords with this man, nor any of his comrades.
The leader's attire caught Gabriel's eye—the thick black metal chain draped around his neck and falling across his chest shimmered with an unnaturally glossy sheen. It seemed oddly familiar, reminiscent of the strange material, yet unmistakably different. There was no eerie aura emanating from it, no subtle thrum of power. It was a replica, Gabriel realized, a deliberate imitation, and that realization unnerved him. Why mimic the strange metal? How did they even know of its existence?
He scrutinized their uniforms more closely. The warriors were clad entirely in black: doublets, shirts, loose-fitting pants, and unadorned boots, all devoid of any pattern or texture. Their shaved heads added to the stark, menacing ensemble. Abruptly, they stopped, and the hunched priest called out with a resonant voice, "For Victra." The warriors responded in perfect unison, placing one hand on their hearts and raising the other toward the heavens as if to touch the divine. "For Victra," they chanted, a mantra echoed by the congregation.
Yet, Gabriel did not join in. It wasn't a crisis of faith that stilled his arms but a jarring incongruity in the priests' attire. As they raised their hands, their sleeves shifted slightly, revealing a glimpse of something entirely out of place—a small, studded cuff link. It was so inconspicuous amid the sea of black that Gabriel was astonished he noticed it at all. Positioned not as a traditional cuff link but underneath, directly below the arms above their palms, it ensured constant contact with their skin.
While the thick chain was not made of the strange metal, the cuff link was, sending a chill through Gabriel as he grasped its dark implications.. As he followed the other students out of the chapel in a disorganized procession, his steps faltered, his mind reeling from the discovery.
Around him, students whispered in subdued tones. Gabriel was vaguely aware of Lakan addressing him, but he couldn’t muster the focus to respond. His thoughts were consumed by the implications of what he had just witnessed.
There could be only one reason why the priests wore that metal so intimately, why it had to touch their skin directly. It contradicted everything Gabriel had been taught about the devout followers of Victra. They were not just religious adherents; they were sorcerers.
Emerging from the dimly lit chapel, Gabriel stepped into the blinding light of day. The sun's rays assaulted his senses, almost mockingly brilliant, as if Victra herself were smiling down upon his twisted fate. The sudden intensity of the light forced him to squint, adding physical discomfort to his already tumultuous thoughts.
As his eyes adjusted to the harsh daylight, a figure in the crowd caught his attention—an older woman whose gaze pierced through the sea of faces with unnerving precision. Her eyes locked onto his with an unsettling familiarity, and a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. It was as if she had been waiting for him, fully aware of the revelations unfolding within his mind. The moment was stark, etching itself into his memory as she turned away, her enigmatic reappearance leaving a trail of cold apprehension in Gabriel's heart.