The streets of Amberheart were bustling with life, but to Silas, everything felt distant and surreal. After the disastrous ceremony, Silas returned home, his mind replaying the event repeatedly, trying to find something he could have done differently. Rowan had walked him back, offering words of comfort, but nothing seemed to reach Silas. The failure weighed too heavily on him.
Now, with Silas safely at home, Rowan also decided to head home. He hoped to find something there to cheer Silas up or at least distract him from the overwhelming disappointment.
As Rowan wandered through the quieter parts of the district, his thoughts remained fixed on Silas’s sorrow. Each step felt heavier, weighed down by his friend’s disappointment. Lost in these reflections, he almost didn’t notice the group of noble children chatting nearby. It wasn’t until their laughter turned cruel that their words broke through his reverie. He stopped in his tracks as he caught a snippet of their conversation.
“Well, we need to talk about his mother, no? I say she had a bit too much ‘fun’ while the War Master was away. Makes you wonder if the poor man even knows he’s raising another man’s son?” one of the nobles jeered, loud enough for Rowan to hear. “I don’t think the War Master’s own son would be a wastrel like him.”
Rowan’s blood began to boil, but he kept walking, trying to ignore the insults. He told himself that Silas had already heard enough cruel words today; getting into a fight wouldn’t help. But then another noble, laughing, added, “Haha, that would be a fine tale, no? The grand and proud War Master being cuckolded by some commoner. Maybe that’s why the boy’s so weak—he’s not really his son at all.”
Rowan stopped, his fists clenching at his sides. He knew he should keep going, get to his home, and avoid trouble, but the words dug into him like knives. Before he could convince himself otherwise, he heard another voice, mocking and cruel. “I’ve seen him practising swordplay with a commoner in the training ground. Perhaps he knew he would be a failure and is aiming to be a soldier instead. How pathetic!”
Rowan tried to walk away, but each taunt struck like a physical blow. His deep bond with Silas clashed with his natural instinct for self-preservation. Still, something inside him snapped when he heard the final insult. He couldn’t let this go. Not today. Not after everything Silas had endured. “You better take that back right now!” he snarled, his voice sharp and dangerous.
Surprised by Rowan’s sudden appearance, the noble boys quickly recovered their arrogance. The tallest of the group, a boy with a cruel smirk, stepped forward. “Or what? You’ll fight us? Oh, isn’t it that hound of the Lonestars, the one who practises swordplay with the slut's son? What the fuck do you want, dog?”
Rowan didn’t bother with more words. He lunged at the tall boy, his fist connecting with a solid thud that sent the noble reeling. Being a year older than some of the attackers, Rowan had strength and skill on his side. He managed to knock down the boy who had made the vile comment about Silas’s mother, his fist connecting with a satisfying crunch. The noble hit the ground, dazed and bleeding from his nose.
The other boys, however, were not easily deterred. There were seven of them in total, and while Rowan fought with all his might, they began to use their Soul Weaver abilities to turn the tide. Rowan suddenly felt a strange pressure wrapping around his limbs. It was as if the air had turned thicker, each movement a struggle. A boy grinned maliciously, his hand glowing faintly. ‘Soul Bind,’ Rowan realised with a startle. The boy was using his power to slow him down, making every swing of his fist feel like he was underwater.
Another attacker used Spirit Infusion to enhance his blows with ethereal energy, causing Rowan’s strikes to feel less solid as if the boy’s attacks were partly phantasmal. The additional strain made Rowan’s counterattacks less effective, and the pain intensified with each hit.
Despite his best efforts, Rowan struggled against overwhelming odds. The boys used Minor Soul Disruption to disorient him, causing discomfort and confusion that clouded his senses and made it difficult for him to focus. For a second, he lost all sense of direction, and this was enough for the nobles to overwhelm him. Rowan fought valiantly, but the combination of their abilities and their sheer numbers began to wear him down.
The bystanders, a mix of merchants and lesser nobles, pretended not to see. It was safer that way. Everyone knew the children of the high houses were untouchable. To intervene would mean risking their wrath, and no one was willing to pay that price—not for a commoner’s life. Their inaction only added to Rowan’s sense of helplessness.
“Get him!” the tall boy shouted, rage twisting his features as he watched Rowan fight back. Together, they managed to subdue Rowan, knocking him to the ground brutally. Each punch and kick sent shockwaves of pain through his body, but it was the laughter that hurt the most. It was a sound that burrowed into his mind, mocking his every effort to rise. ‘I can’t fall here,’ Rowan thought, but his body refused to obey. The taste of blood filled his mouth as another punch landed, and he felt his vision blur. ‘Silas... I’m sorry.’
Finally, they dragged him by his hair, laughing as they hauled him toward the nearby forest. Rowan struggled, but his strength was waning, and the pain in his legs, likely broken from their relentless kicks, made it impossible to resist.
The forest was eerily silent, the thick canopy blocking out the last traces of daylight. Shadows twisted and stretched around them, but the nobles’ harsh breathing was the only sound. They circled Rowan like predators, the crunch of leaves under their boots the only warning before one of them stomped viciously on Rowan’s face.
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The boy whom Rowan had knocked down earlier, now furious and humiliated, took out a knife. He grabbed Rowan’s wrists and slashed deeply, the blade biting into the flesh. Rowan gasped in pain as blood began to flow freely from the wounds. The boy’s laughter rang out, cruel and mocking, as he slashed Rowan’s other wrist, ensuring the bleeding was more severe.
The other nobles watched with satisfaction and sadistic glee, their laughter echoing through the trees. Rowan lay on the ground, the pain overwhelming and his strength quickly draining. The sight of his blood pooling around him was the final insult to his honour.
“Know your place in your next life, dog.” The tall boy spat on Rowan’s face and delivered one last brutal kick to Rowan’s ribs. Satisfied with their work, the nobles turned and left him there, their laughter fading as they disappeared into the forest.
Rowan lay in the dirt, trying to breathe through the agony and the overwhelming sense of betrayal. The physical pain was excruciating, but it was the shame and helplessness that hurt the most. He had failed to protect Silas’s honour, just as he had failed to defend himself. The weight of it all pressed down on him, leaving him broken and alone, slowly bleeding to death in the darkening woods. As his consciousness left him, a single tear rolled down his face.
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Minerva Grace was a maid at the Lonestar Mansion. Her daily duties included managing the household chores and running errands for the manor. Today, she was out in Amberheart, gathering supplies and groceries for the mansion.
As she made her way through the bustling streets, she heard raised voices and the unmistakable sound of a struggle nearby. Curious and concerned, Minerva followed the noise, which led her to a small, crowded square. Her eyes widened in shock as she witnessed a violent altercation unfolding before her.
A group of seven young noble boys had cornered someone and were viciously attacking him. Minerva’s heart sank as she recognized the victim—Rowan. He was being beaten mercilessly, his clothes torn, and his face a mess of blood. The boys were laughing and taunting him, showing no mercy.
Panic surged through Minerva as she saw them dragging Rowan toward the city’s western edge, where the forest began. Her mind raced. She knew Rowan was Silas’s friend, and she had to get help immediately.
Minerva turned and ran back toward the Lonestar Mansion without a second thought. Her heart raced as she sprinted through the winding streets, her breath ragged. The crowds seemed thicker, the distance longer than ever before. Every second felt like an eternity, but she couldn’t afford to slow down.
Eventually, she burst into Silas’s room. She found him in the depths of his disappointment, his gaze fixed on the floor. Minerva’s breath came in rapid gasps as she relayed the grim news: “Young Master Silas! Rowan is being attacked by a group of nobles. They’re dragging him into the forest west of Amberheart. He’s in serious danger!”
Silas’s heart nearly stopped at Minerva’s words. Rowan? His mind raced, a mixture of shock, fear and guilt surging through him. How could he have let this happen? ‘Rowan... I should have been there,’ he thought, his hands shaking as he grabbed his sword.
Silas’s despair was a cold weight in his chest, but something darker was growing beneath it—rage that threatened to consume him. He couldn’t afford to break down now; Rowan needed him. He sprang to his feet and called for Kael, who responded swiftly. “Kael, we need to get to the forest now!”
Silas and Kael sprinted to the stables, the urgency of their mission pounding in their chests. Silas’s mind was a whirlwind of dread and fury, every second counting down to what he feared they might find. As they mounted their horses, the growing night’s air felt colder and sharper—as if it, too, knew that something terrible had happened. They quickly mounted their horses and set off toward the western forest. The situation’s urgency spurred them on, and they rode hard, driven by worry for Rowan.
They passed a group of young noble boys as they approached the forest’s edge. One of them had a broken nose, and the others were bruised and battered to varying degrees. The group was visibly startled upon seeing them. Silas, consumed by his concern for Rowan, barely noticed them. Kael, however, took in every detail, his mind already piecing together what had happened. His sharp eyes didn’t miss how the boys recoiled at their approach, fear flickering in their gazes. He didn’t say anything, but he committed their faces to memory. These weren’t just random attackers—they were young nobles, and their arrogance had made them careless.
Following a faint trail of blood, they navigated the forest’s edge, their hearts pounding with urgency. The scene was heart-wrenching when they finally reached the clearing where Rowan lay. Rowan was sprawled on the ground, his body battered and drowned in his own blood. The brutal evidence of the attack was all too clear.
Silas was momentarily paralyzed by the sight. His mind raced as he took in Rowan’s condition—his mangled face, the deep cuts, the bruises, and the blood soaking into the earth.
Silas's fury bubbled up from the depths of his soul, an overwhelming wave threatening to drown out everything else. But underneath it all, a whisper of despair lingered—how had it come to this? He had failed Rowan, and the guilt gnawed at him. But that guilt would fuel his vengeance. His voice, quivering with rage and a hint of despair, echoed his oath: "I swear," he said, eyes fixed on Rowan's broken form, "I'll make them pay for every drop of blood they've spilled."
Seeing that Silas was on the brink of losing control, Kael stepped in. “Silas, we need to calm down. We have to focus on helping Rowan now. We’ll deal with the attackers later.”
With Kael’s help, Silas managed to compose himself enough to assist in treating Rowan. Kael applied a Recovery Salve to Rowan’s wounds, stabilising his condition and slowing the bleeding. As Rowan’s breathing steadied and his injuries were addressed, Silas remained at his side, his anger simmering beneath the surface, a silent promise of retribution for the brutal act inflicted upon his friend.
Once Rowan was stable, Silas and Kael carefully lifted him and returned to Lonestar Mansion. The journey was tense, but their resolve to get Rowan proper medical care drove them forward. Upon arrival, healers were summoned immediately and began treating Rowan’s injuries.
As Silas watched the healers work, his mind churned with a storm of emotions—guilt, rage, helplessness. He had been too caught up in his own misery to see the danger Rowan was in, and now his friend had paid the price. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms until they bled. ‘This won’t go unanswered,’ he vowed silently, his eyes burning with a rage and hatred he hadn’t felt before. ‘I’ll make sure they suffer for this a hundred times over.’
The brutality of the noble boys’ actions had ignited a fire within him. This fire would consume everything in its path. Their cruelty would not go unpunished. The ripples of this attack would undoubtedly spread through Amberheart, leaving both Silas and Lonestar Mansion entangled in the complex web of consequences.