Chapter 28
Strong at the Broken Places
> The Institute in Centria remains one of the finest military institutions in the Empire. Its unique proximity to the untamed wilds of Southern Brella provides a training ground like no other—where expeditions along bandit-infested roads or into the monster-tainted wilderness temper even the greenest of inductees into hardened soldiers. Few leave its walls without scars, and fewer still without the resolve of iron.
>
> — Report by Magisterial Representative to Centria, Year 277
As the wagon trundled through the connecting gate, the city’s architecture shifted noticeably. Where the previous streets had been lined with the oppressive, brutal columnar design, the Institute’s grounds were marked by tall, slender buildings. Their sweeping arches and pointed spires reached toward the sky, casting long shadows over the road. It was a stark contrast—a sharp elegance, with structures that seemed to almost pierce the clouds.
The wagoneer pulled up to the gate, and there was no inspection—the guards recognized him immediately. As they were pulled onto the Institute’s grounds, Godfrey and Adrian found themselves traversing a delicate bridge that arched over a flowing canal, the water designed to mimic a natural river. The sound of it rushing below was almost soothing, a break from the stillness of the thoroughfare.
The spires loomed over them as they made their way deeper into the heart of the Institute, the buildings themselves carved with intricate designs, each one appearing more imposing than the last. The air felt heavier here, more serious.
As they ventured deeper into the Institute grounds, the scene around them shifted again. Men and women in vaguely military uniforms—sharp enough for formal affairs yet practical for training—moved through the lanes. Here and there, a few older students jeered at them, though most simply ignored their presence.
Godfrey couldn’t help but look around in awe. Adrian had been absolutely right. While some students looked relatively normal—fit, athletic, and battle-ready—the majority were strikingly beautiful, to a degree that left Godfrey’s mind reeling. He was truly entering another world, here, of which he did not know the rules.
He glanced at Adrian, raising his eyebrows in silent apology for his earlier outburst. Adrian, ever good-natured, laughed again.
Before Godfrey could get lost in thought, the wagon suddenly slowed and then came to a stop. The wagoneer gave them a glance over his shoulder, his voice terse. “Off.”
Godfrey barely had time to step down from the wagon before the strange bird-like creatures lurched forward again, pulling the wagon swiftly out of sight with a flick of the reins.
The building they stopped in front of had a deceptively slender entrance, hiding a bulkier interior crowned with pointed spires and swooping crests. It felt almost like a fortress concealed within elegance.
A man in a slightly more appointed Institute uniform came bustling out of the door, his movements full of raw energy. His eyes swept over Godfrey and Adrian in a glance, before he spoke in clipped, authoritative tones. “I am Soldier-Sergeant Cassovus. You are almost late, but this is not your fault. The wagoneer seems to value a leisurely stroll through the city as of late, and we rarely get inductees anywhere but the Garrison Gate. Please, follow me.”
Without another word, Cassovus turned and led them into a short hall. The walls were adorned with grand paintings, each depicting ancient battles—glorious portrayals of the Empire's countless victories, full of triumph and conquest.
The hall ended abruptly at a heavy door, and beyond it, Godfrey could hear a low rumble of voices—dozens of them, all speaking at once. Cassovus swung the door open, and the sound resolved into the animated chatter of several dozen young men and women.
The room itself was an imposing all-stone auditorium. Bold red and black drapery hung from the walls, bearing the alternating symbols of the Hand and the Tongue, stretching down the length of the space. Above the stage, a large red and gold emblem of the Empire dominated the wall, a silent reminder of the institution’s authority.
The stone podium on the stage stood empty, as did the stage itself, but the seats were filled. By Godfrey’s rough calculation, there was an equal number of men and women, each group just as engaged in conversation as the other.
Cassovus gestured toward the seats and exited through the door without another word. Godfrey and Adrian exchanged a quick glance before making their way down the aisle, Adrian walking ahead with a smooth confidence. Though Godfrey might have preferred a seat farther back, away from the focus of attention, he followed Adrian’s lead. When they reached the front, Adrian chose two open seats near the end of a row. Godfrey, resigned to the choice, slid into the seat next to him, letting the decision pass without comment.
Godfrey adjusted his posture as he sat, feeling the eyes of the other inductees lingering on him for a moment before their attention shifted back to their conversations. His heartbeat quickened in anticipation, yet he tried to remain calm, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of his breathing, a technique Uncle Hawker had drilled into him. Adrian, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, leaning back slightly with his arms resting on the chair as if they were about to attend a lecture in a village hall.
The room's chatter swelled and then subsided as the heavy wooden door at the front of the room creaked open once more. A tall, commanding figure stepped out, a woman in a flowing black and crimson robe adorned with delicate embroidery that signified her rank. Her hair, streaked with silver, was tied back in a severe knot, and her sharp eyes surveyed the room with a practiced authority.
She strode to the stone podium, her movements precise and without wasted effort, and as she stopped, the entire room fell into an unnatural silence. Godfrey instinctively straightened, feeling an inexplicable gravity pull him toward the moment.
"I am Herald Selara," she said, her voice cutting through the stillness with a steady, measured cadence. "You have been brought here because you have shown the potential to serve the Empire. You have chosen to leave behind everything you once knew and to embrace the path of discipline and sacrifice. Not all of you will succeed."
Selara paused, her eyes scanning the room with clinical precision before she raised a hand, gesturing toward the back. "Knight-Captain Rexia and Speaker Rinthess will be guiding your education this year."
The words struck Godfrey like a thunderclap. A frozen fire crept up his spine at the sound of that name—Rinthess. His body tensed, though he wasn’t sure why. The room around him seemed to blur, the murmurs of the other inductees fading into nothingness. Slowly, as if pulled by some unseen force, he turned toward the back of the auditorium.
Everything else vanished—the grand banners, the stone walls, even Adrian beside him. His entire world narrowed to one single point. All he could see were the eyes of Speaker Rinthess, staring unblinkingly into his from the shadowed corner of the room. They gleamed with an intensity that made his breath catch, as if she was reaching out and peeling back the layers of his soul with nothing more than her gaze.
Time seemed to stretch, his pulse hammering in his ears. He could not look away, no matter how much he willed himself to break free from the hold of her piercing stare. Rinthess's eyes, dark and fathomless, held him captive in a way that felt both terrifying and inevitable.
Selara was speaking again, her words a distant murmur, but Godfrey heard none of it. His entire focus was locked on Rinthess’s eyes, their grip on him unshakable. The Speaker's lips curved into a smile—thin, knowing—and then they moved, forming words he couldn’t hear, yet they seemed to resonate in his very bones. The air in his ears warped, as though the world itself had bent around him, and in an instant, he found himself facing the front of the room once more.
That familiar black panic roared to life in his throat, a suffocating force that surged through him with terrifying speed. His heart pounded against his ribs, each beat heavier than the last. Godfrey gripped the edge of his seat, his knuckles white, as he fought to keep his breathing steady. The room swayed, and it was all he could do not to pass out.
Selara droned on about class selections, placements, instructor assignments, and schedules, but the words barely registered in Godfrey’s mind. He wasn’t in the auditorium anymore. He was somewhere else—somewhere darker.
He was in the basement of the Magister's office in Oakvale, the damp stone walls closing in around him. The air was thick and stale, filled with the scent of dust and mildew. He could feel the cold, hard surface of the wall pressing against his back, but more than that, he could feel the hand around his throat.
His breath came in ragged gasps as the pressure tightened. He was pinned, utterly helpless, unable to move, unable to fight back. The figure before him was shadowed, but the menace in their grip was unmistakable. He had been here before, in this exact moment—trapped, suffocating, fear coursing through his veins like ice.
The memory was visceral, pulling him deeper into the past with every second. He could hear the faint echo of voices upstairs, the indifferent conversation of those unaware of the violence happening just beneath their feet. He had been forgotten, abandoned to this dark corner of the world, and no one was coming to save him.
The pressure on his throat increased, and the edges of his vision blurred, but this time, there was something else. A flicker of movement—a flash of piercing eyes staring into him from the shadows.
Rinthess.
Her gaze cut through the memory like a blade, and suddenly, Godfrey was back in the auditorium, gasping for breath, his heart racing. The walls of the basement faded, replaced by the cold, distant architecture of the Institute, but the terror remained.
He gripped the arms of his chair, grounding himself, forcing the memory back down.
He forced the memory down, shoving it deep into the recesses of his mind where it belonged. But in its place, something darker began to rise. A slow, acrid burn spread through his chest, like the taste of iron on the back of his tongue. Rage—hot and metallic—bubbled up from within him, consuming the lingering terror and helplessness, feeding on them.
His pulse quickened, his fists clenched tightly in his lap as the anger surged. It was old and familiar, something he had kept buried for so long, but now it was clawing its way to the surface. He wanted to break free, to tear through whatever held him back, to fight back against the powerlessness that had haunted him for so long.
Selara’s voice cut through the haze of Godfrey's thoughts, pulling him back to the present. She was speaking again, her tone measured but with an edge of finality.
"Induction will truly begin in two days' time," she announced, her gaze sweeping the room with practiced authority. "You will be expected here in this hall before the first light of dawn. No exceptions."
Godfrey's heartbeat still thudded in his ears, but the words slowly began to sink in. Selara continued, her voice taking on a more deliberate, pointed tone.
"In the spirit of tradition, inductees are not allowed room and board on Institute grounds. You must find your own way in the world, and the same is true for this place. The Empire does not coddle its soldiers. We forge them."
This, apparently, was what the inductees had been waiting for. As soon as Selara finished speaking, an excited cavalcade of whispers erupted throughout the room. Some were hushed, filled with anticipation, while others brimmed with nervous energy, plans already being made in frantic murmurs.
But it didn’t last long.
Selara cleared her throat, and the sound warped the very air. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough—a subtle threat, tinged with the unmistakable undercurrent of Compulsion. The room fell instantly silent, as if the very space around them had been commanded into stillness.
Godfrey felt a faint pressure against his mind, a reminder of the power Selara held. His anger receded, momentarily quelled by the sensation, but the fire still simmered beneath the surface. He shot a glance at Adrian, who sat perfectly composed, though his fingers twitched slightly in response to the invisible force.
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Selara's eyes glinted as she surveyed the room, satisfied with the silence she had restored, a look of blatant distaste on her face. There was no need for further words. The message was clear: they were on borrowed ground here, and their freedom—if it could be called that—was fragile.
Selara’s gaze swept the room one final time, a faint curl of disgust pulling at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes lingered on the group as if their mere presence offended her sense of order and purpose. With a flick of her wrist, she dismissed them all, her voice sharp and curt.
"You are dismissed."
Without another word, she turned on her heel and exited through the same heavy door she had entered, her robes trailing behind her in a fluid arc. The door groaned shut behind her, sealing the room in silence once more.
For a moment, no one moved, the weight of her disdain still hanging in the air. Then, slowly, the murmurs began to rise again, this time more subdued. Godfrey exhaled, feeling as though he’d been holding his breath since she had spoken Rinthess’s name. The anger inside him had quieted, but it was far from gone, smoldering in the pit of his stomach.
Just then, a sharp voice pierced the silence, cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "Hand inductees, you will be in this room at the time Herald Selara indicated. Failure to accomplish this task, every day for the first week of training, will result in your immediate expulsion from the Institute, and the rendering of your name moot and discarded."
The voice belonged to a figure standing at the edge of the stage, a tall man in full military uniform, his posture rigid and commanding. His cold gaze swept over the room, hardening with each word.
"You will be as nothing to the Empire," Knight-Captain Rexia stated, his voice unwavering. "And you will serve as a regular in the infantry until your death or retirement. No second chances. No forgiveness."
Rinthess spoke then, her voice sharp and electric, sparking a fire deep in Godfrey's chest. “Tongue inductees, you do not need it repeated a third time. You all know what happens to failures in the Tongue. Do not give me the excuse to trim the fat.”
Her words cut through the air like a whip, striking with precision. The subtle threat behind her tone was unmistakable, and Godfrey felt that same strange, acrid heat surge within him again. It wasn’t fear that flared up—it was something more primal, more defiant. That fire in him, the one he had worked so hard to control, seemed to flicker brighter at the sound of her voice.
Her eyes seemed to gleam with a cold satisfaction as they scanned the inductees, daring anyone to challenge her authority. No one moved. No one dared.
Rexia's voice rang out again, sharp and impatient. “Did you not hear the Herald? You are dismissed. Get out of my sight, and scurry back to your hotels and brothels.”
The words dripped with contempt, as if the inductees were no more than nuisances to him. His eyes swept over the room with cold disregard, barely acknowledging any of them as individuals. He turned on his heel, the sound of his boots striking the stone floor reverberating through the silent hall as he strode away.
The tension in the room broke as the other inductees began rising from their seats, some hastily, others with more reluctance, the air buzzing once more with nervous whispers. Godfrey remained still for a moment, letting the words sink in. There was a lingering tightness in his chest, that metallic fire still simmering beneath the surface.
As Godfrey filed out with the rest of the inductees, he found himself unable to avoid glancing back at Rinthess. She was moving toward him, her eyes fixed on him, and before he could react, her voice cut through the noise in his mind.
“Inductee Marcellus, kindly follow me.”
His mind went blank. Adrian, curious, whispered, “What’s happening?” but Godfrey could barely hear him, the words slipping past his consciousness like distant echoes. The Institute had not even bothered to disarm him. His fingers twitched toward his weapons, betraying the pulse of anger that thrummed beneath his skin as he followed the arrogant curve of Rinthess’s back.
She was a fool to so blatantly show him her back. If he were to simply draw and release his dagger, underhanded and precise, no power could stop it from sliding between her ribs, straight into her heart.
The thought ignited in his mind, sharp and clear, but it was broken the moment he realized they had stopped. They stood in a dimly lit side hallway, alone. Rinthess turned slowly, watching him with a raised brow, a smile playing over her lips. The dagger was already in his hand. He hadn’t even realized he’d drawn it.
Without thinking, he advanced on her, his pupils dilating as his Controlled tendons snapped him forward. His body moved like a predator, driving her hard against the wall, the dagger pressed tightly against her throat. The pressure of her body pinned beneath his should have given him control, yet her gaze remained calm, steady.
Images of Liam filtered through Godfrey’s mind—how terrified the boy had been of him. But Rinthess… she simply tilted her head up, meeting his eyes with a cool, measured look. She was nearly his height, her expression unreadable, her lips still curled in that maddening, knowing smile.
She smiled wider, her voice smooth as silk. “So, you have me, Godfrey. I am at your mercy. And for what, exactly? Not turning you over to the Magisteria? What have I done to arouse such aggression in you?”
Her words slid into his mind like a knife, prodding at the seething fire inside him. Godfrey’s grip on the dagger tightened, his breath coming in low, ragged bursts. He could feel the tremor of his own strength, the raw, unyielding power he’d been holding back for so long. It took everything in him not to push the blade just a little further.
“Deny it,” he growled through gritted teeth, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling with barely-contained rage. “Deny that Corvin wasn’t your creature.”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement, as if the threat of death pressed against her throat was little more than a game to her. Her expression didn’t falter; if anything, she seemed more intrigued, more curious, like a jungle cat sizing up prey that had surprised her by showing its teeth.
Rinthess’s smile remained unwavering. "I deny it, Godfrey. Do what you will."
His grip on the dagger faltered, his arm trembling as he fought against the fury and doubt boiling inside him. In an instant, his body reacted on instinct. He looped his arm around her back and, with surprising gentleness, threw her into the center of the hallway. Quick as lightning, his sword was drawn, gleaming in the space between them.
"You will take me to him," Godfrey growled, the edge of his voice filled with a promise of violence.
Rinthess’s laugh rang out, a high, tinkling sound that echoed off the cold stone walls. "I don’t know where every Knight in the Empire is, Godfrey." She spoke as though humoring a child. "But I’ll tell you what. I’ll make this very simple."
Her eyes flashed dangerously, and before he could react, her lips moved. The air around Godfrey seemed to twist and warp, sound distorting in his ears. His vision went dark, the world spinning as his consciousness slipped from his grasp.
When his sight returned, he found himself on his knees, his sword and dagger lying on the floor beside him. His hands felt heavy, useless. Rinthess stood above him, imperious, her expression calm yet laced with undeniable power.
"You will pass your mid-year examination at the top of your class," she said, her voice cutting through the haze. "If you do that, I will personally provide you with the opportunity for revenge you so desperately seek."
Godfrey snapped his head up, his jaw clenched tight. "So, you admit that he was yours. You admit you were the one to kill my family." His voice was dead—devoid of emotion, heavy with finality, the way a judge would pass a sentence.
For the first time, a flash of annoyance crossed Rinthess’s face. She scoffed, her tone sharp. "No, Godfrey, I had nothing to do with Oakvale." She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "But I can deliver on my promise. I can put you in a room with him, with no one to listen in."
He felt it—the fire within him, what he had thought to be white-hot, suddenly roared into an inferno. The heat of it surged through his veins, burning away the fog of doubt and confusion.His breath quickened, and his fingers dug into the cold stone floor as he fought for control. Slowly, his eyes rose to meet Rinthess’s, ablaze with determination.
"How?" he demanded, his voice low, trembling with barely contained fury.
Rinthess’s smile returned, a thin, calculating curve to her lips. She seemed to savor the moment, watching the fire ignite in him as if she had expected nothing less.
"Leave that to me," she said softly, her tone carrying the weight of a dark promise. "But first, you will prove your worth, Godfrey. Excel in the Institute, rise above the rest, and then… you will have your chance. I’ll make sure of it."
Godfrey's voice cut through the silence, sharp and unrelenting. "Why would you give me Corvin? Is a full Knight so disposable?"
Rinthess tilted her head slightly, her smile never fading, though her eyes gleamed with something deeper—perhaps amusement, perhaps calculation, most likely both.
"Still with the accusations, Godfrey," Rinthess said. "I assure you, Corvin is not my man. And if he were, he would be punished severely for initiating a cull of Oakvale without consulting me."
Godfrey clenched his fists, trying to process her words. His fury still simmered beneath the surface, but doubt flickered for a moment, the possibility that there was more to the massacre of Oakvale than he understood.
"Corvin..." Rinthess’s voice turned icy, "... if he were mine, would not be so careless."
Rinthess walked slowly up to Godfrey, her steps deliberate, her presence overwhelming. She leaned in close, so close that her breath brushed against his ear. Then, she whispered a single word, and in an instant, the strength in his arms drained away, his hands falling limply to his sides. He was powerless, his body betraying him under her subtle command.
"You could be mine, Godfrey," she whispered, her voice soft but laced with dangerous intent. "Is that something you would want?"
Her words slid through his mind like silk, seductive and threatening all at once. His heart pounded in his chest, the rage inside him clashing with the sudden, unnerving pull of her power. He wanted to lash out, to fight back, but his body remained still, his limbs heavy and unresponsive.
Godfrey’s eyes met hers, searching for an answer in her unblinking gaze. He knew the cost of such a question—knew the weight of what she was offering. Rinthess was playing a game, one with consequences he barely understood.
"You heard Selara, Godfrey," Rinthess murmured, her voice a silken thread winding its way through his thoughts. "There is no home for you in the Upper City. You will have to find your own way, fund your own life while you maintain your obligations to your training, all while your peers live in luxury."
Her words were a dagger, twisting in his chest as she laid bare the harsh reality he now faced. But it was her next words that truly sent a chill through him.
"You could live with me, Godfrey." Her lips barely moved, but the promise in her voice was unmistakable. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his skin. "I would treat you well, my little pet."
The words slithered into his mind like poison, and his heart pounded with a mix of revulsion and something darker, more insidious. His body was still limp, the weight of her earlier compulsion holding him in place, but the heat of rage flickered once more beneath his skin, fighting against the pull of her offer.
Rinthess’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she watched him, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "You would have everything you need... safety, comfort, privilege. All you have to do is say yes."
Godfrey remembered then, the memories of Oakvale, of Corvin, of the unyielding rage he had kept buried for so long. It surged through him now, vibrating within, a resonant fury that rose up from the depths of his soul. His body began to hum, low and dangerous, an unconscious sound that reverberated through the stone walls of the hallway. It was raw and earthy, a sound that seemed to come from the very bones of the world.
As the hum grew, the hold on his body loosened, Rinthess’s spell slipping away like sand through his fingers. Slowly, deliberately, he straightened, his body rising with a power he hadn't fully understood until this moment. His eyes locked onto hers, and as he stood before her, towering above her, their faces mere inches apart, he saw it—real fear flickering in her eyes.
With a swift, measured motion, Godfrey moved her, bodily, away from him, his hand firm but not violent as he pushed her back. Her feet slid across the stone floor, and for the first time, Rinthess did not smile. She watched him with widened eyes, her confidence shaken.
Godfrey’s gaze turned away from her, his jaw set with grim determination. "I will find my own way, Rinthess," he said, his voice low, but laced with steel. "Even if it kills me." He took a slow, steady breath, feeling the heat of anger and defiance settle into cold resolve. "You may own some part of my soul, but you will find the rest of me is harder to buy."
Rinthess remained silent, her eyes flickering with something between rage and astonishment. Godfrey didn’t wait for her response. He turned and walked away, the hum still faint in his throat, the fire of his defiance burning bright.
XXX
Rinthess watched Godfrey go, her eyes narrowing as his figure disappeared down the hall. This was bad. Very bad. He was progressing far too quickly, and worse, without her to guide him. Her plans, carefully woven over the years, would need to be accelerated now. The boy was no longer just a potential tool—he was a dangerous, untamed force, and if she didn’t take control soon, he would become a weapon aimed in the wrong direction.
She cursed Corvin once more, her jaw tightening at the thought. If only he had been more discreet, the boy would have arrived at the Institute like an ingot of steel, ready to be forged and shaped by her hand. Now, Godfrey was something far more unpredictable. A raw, bleeding edge, liable to cut himself as much as anyone else. She had felt it—the power simmering beneath his skin, his untapped potential. It was undeniable, intoxicating even, but it was also perilously close to slipping out of her control.
She couldn't deny his intensity, that seething energy he radiated. It was both thrilling and dangerous, a power that, if properly directed, could become a devastating asset to her designs. But right now, he could burn down everything she had built.
Rinthess shook herself, snapping her thoughts back to the present, and wiped the thin sheen of sweat from her forehead. She hadn’t felt fear like that in a long time. But it was only a momentary lapse, she told herself. She was still the one in control here. At least, for now.
She needed to act quickly, find someone she could leverage to keep Godfrey’s path aligned with her own. Someone to apply pressure where it was needed, to keep him from slipping through her fingers. Yes, she thought, the boy was too volatile to handle alone.
And she knew just the right person.