The training yard was empty, the silence thick as mist beneath the dim glow of the moon. Julius stood alone, his father’s sword gripped in his hand, sweat slicking his brow and arms. The worn hilt dug into his calloused palms, but he welcomed the pain. It kept him grounded, kept him focused.
He swung the sword in long, sweeping arcs, the steel whistling faintly. The rhythm of his strikes was erratic—raw power and frustration without refinement. No control. No precision. Just noise.
Each swing echoed the bitter thoughts he couldn’t shake. The dagger. The loss to Cordelia. The whispers that he didn’t belong.
“Why can’t I figure this out?” Julius growled to himself, swinging harder.
Then, like a pebble dropped into still water, a voice rippled through his thoughts. Low and resonant, it carried an ancient calm that froze Julius mid-swing.
“You swing without purpose.”
Julius turned sharply, his heart pounding. “Who’s there?” His voice carried into the stillness. The yard was empty, darkened shadows stretching long and thin across the ground.
“Frustration blinds you,” the voice murmured again, closer now. “A blade answers not to anger, but to understanding.”
Julius swallowed, his chest tightening. “Show yourself!”
The voice seemed to hum inside his head, as though it spoke not from the air but from deep within him. “You already know me.”
Julius’s eyes dropped instinctively to the sword in his hand. He felt a pulse—faint but unmistakable—reverberating through the steel.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
The answer was a single name, spoken with weight and finality: “I am Volunder.”
The name struck him like lightning, sharp and powerful. Julius stumbled back a step, staring down at the sword as though it had suddenly become a serpent in his grasp.
“What… are you?” he asked, his voice trembling.
The presence within the blade seemed to quiet for a moment, as though considering the question. “Not yet,” Volunder said at last. “For now, know only this: the answers you seek lie not in the blade, but within yourself. You must know who you are before you can wield the strength you carry.”
Julius’s breath slowed, the pulse in his chest matching the faint hum of energy within the sword. He felt… seen, as though something ancient and vast was looking straight through him.
“What’s happening to me?” he muttered.
“You are awakening,” Volunder replied, the voice softer now, almost encouraging. “But your path will not be an easy one, Julius. There are forces at work beyond this place—shadows that loom over the light. Prepare yourself.”
The words sent a chill up his spine, and before Julius could respond, the presence faded, leaving him standing alone once more. The yard was silent again, but the weight of the moment lingered.
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Julius stared at the sword, his grip steady despite the tremor in his chest. “Volunder…” he murmured. He didn’t know what the name meant or what the voice was, but something was clear now—this was bigger than him.
And it had only just begun.
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Edward sat in the Academy chapel, the pale light of the stained glass painting faint colors across the stone floor. The stillness of the space usually gave him focus, a brief respite from the weight of his duties. Tonight, though, his thoughts refused to settle.
His hand twitched faintly as his Virtue stirred—Justice—flickers of lightning pulsing in his veins. For days, Edward had been haunted by visions, flashes of the future brought on by his Eye of the Storm. At first, they were brief, fleeting. But now… now they were growing clearer.
He shut his eyes, letting the power come. The familiar crackle of lightning raced across his vision, and the world around him seemed to darken. Then, it came—another flash.
The image struck him like a fist to the chest. A man clad in blackened armor stood at the center of the storm, his presence vast and consuming, like a shadow given form. His helmet was etched with intricate patterns, but Edward didn’t need to see the face to recognize him.
Dre Royce.
The legendary knight, spoken of in whispers, shrouded in both honor and infamy. Edward’s father had mentioned him rarely, and never without discomfort. Dre Royce was a name tied to rebellion, to secrets, to betrayal.
And there, amidst the swirling storm in Edward’s vision, Dre Royce turned his helmeted head—and looked straight at him.
Edward jerked upright, the vision shattering like glass. He was back in the chapel, the soft glow of the lanterns steady. His heart hammered in his chest, his breathing shallow.
“Dre Royce,” Edward murmured, gripping the edge of the pew. Why now? Why him?
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Aria shuffled through a thick tome in the Academy’s archive basement, her lantern casting a pool of light over rows of parchment. Shane leaned back against a nearby shelf, spinning his dagger between his fingers with an idle smirk.
“Tell me again why we’re playing in the dust?” Shane quipped. “I thought being a knight involved swords and glory, not babysitting old books.”
“Because something’s not right,” Aria replied sharply, pulling out the dagger she’d found and laying it on the table. “And I don’t trust anyone else to figure it out.”
The dagger’s black blade gleamed faintly, the strange shadowed-wing symbol etched into the hilt. Aria traced a finger over it, comparing it to a diagram in the tome she’d uncovered.
“Here,” she said, her voice low. “This isn’t a standard weapon. It’s not Academy-forged. Look at this symbol.” She pointed to the shadowed sun. “It’s… wrong. Like it doesn’t belong here.”
Shane leaned closer, the smirk slipping from his face as he studied the blade. “So, someone brought this in. Left it here on purpose.”
Aria nodded grimly. “And they wanted it to be found.”
Before Shane could respond, the door creaked open, and Edward entered, his expression taut and sharp.
“You’re both here,” Edward said, stepping forward. “Good. I have something you need to hear.”
Shane raised an eyebrow. “Well, look who finally decided to join the conspiracy club.”
Edward ignored the jab. “Julius isn’t the only one caught up in this. I’ve seen… something. A man—Dre Royce—appearing in visions tied to the Academy. He’s connected to all of this, and I don’t believe it’s a coincidence.”
Shane exchanged a glance with Aria, his smirk gone. “Dre Royce? The Dre Royce? That’s a name I didn’t think I’d hear again.”
“Why?” Aria asked, her tone sharp.
“Because,” Shane replied, crossing his arms, “the Cobble Kids told me whispers about old knights who were supposed to be dead. Ones who walk in shadows. Someone’s pulling strings, and they’re starting to tighten around us.”
Edward frowned, but he nodded slowly. “We’re being tested. The question is, by who… and why.”
Julius appeared in the doorway, his expression uncertain as he caught the tail end of the conversation. “What’s going on?”
The group fell silent for a moment. Then Aria spoke, her voice steady.
“Something’s happening, Julius. And I think we’re all tangled up in it.”
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The wind outside howled faintly, rattling the windows of the Academy. From the shadows of the courtyard, unseen golden eyes blinked, watching the building in silence before vanishing into the night.