The cold wind curled through Leo City, sweeping through its labyrinthine alleys and carrying with it the scent of oil and stone. The streets were alive with the hum of the evening—merchants calling out last-minute deals, bards plucking cheerful tunes that fought against the settling gloom, and guards marching at precise intervals. Edward Leona moved through it all like an arrow loosed toward its mark, his polished boots clicking sharply against the cobblestones.

Beside him, Shane slunk through the shadows like a phantom, his light footsteps nearly silent despite the weight of his ever-present smirk. The younger prince thrived in Leo City’s underbelly, where alleys twisted and secrets festered. Edward had little patience for it, but tonight, something gnawed at his thoughts like a splinter under his skin.

“Where do you think you’re going this time?” Edward snapped, his tone cutting through the noise of the streets.

Shane stopped just long enough to glance over his shoulder, his grin spreading wide. “Oh, you know me, Ed. Always out making friends.” He swept his hand dramatically to encompass the alley’s crumbling walls. “Figured you could use some excitement. A little air away from the golden cage.”

Edward narrowed his eyes. “Enough games, Shane. Why drag me out here? What is this about?”

Shane sighed theatrically, spinning to walk backward as he watched Edward. “You need to relax. You’re going to get wrinkles before you’re twenty.” His tone softened slightly. “It’s about Julius Johnson.”

At the name, Edward’s steps slowed. The memory of their fight at the Academy gates was still fresh—Julius’s unrefined swings, his reckless tenacity, his refusal to stay down. Edward had thought him just another hopeful fool. But then Lance Royce had appeared and taken the boy inside the Academy’s walls. Why?

“What about him?” Edward asked though the question tasted bitter on his tongue.

“The streets are buzzing,” Shane replied. “Farm boy with a sword too fine for his hands challenges the prince of Leona, then gets a personal escort from Lance Royce? That doesn’t happen by accident, Ed.”

Edward’s jaw clenched. “It doesn’t matter. He’s a nobody.”

“Is he, though?” Shane tilted his head, his expression unusually serious. “A nobody doesn’t make people talk. A nobody doesn’t carry that kind of attention.”

Edward’s mind whirred, but he shook off the thought. “If you’re trying to tell me the boy’s some hidden hero, save your breath. The Academy sorts fools from knights soon enough.”

“Maybe,” Shane said. “But here’s the part you’ll love. Father met with him. Privately.”

Edward stopped mid-stride. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” Shane’s grin returned, sharp and knowing. “Lance brought Julius straight to the throne room. Father doesn’t meet with just anyone. But apparently, your new friend is special.”

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The words struck Edward like a physical blow. His father—the king—didn’t waste his time on nobodies. If Julius Johnson had caught his attention, there was a reason. And that reason, Edward knew, wouldn’t stay hidden for long.

“Show me,” Edward said, his voice low.

Shane raised an eyebrow. “What, you’re curious? Didn’t peg you for the type to crawl through dust and shadows.”

Edward’s glare was answer enough. “Move.”

With a shrug, Shane led the way.

The Knight Academy’s halls were quiet as night fell, the torches casting long, flickering shadows across the stone walls. Shane guided Edward through a hidden passageway he had discovered years ago—a narrow crawlspace that led to an alcove overlooking the throne room. Edward hated the dust, the tight walls, the feeling of moving unseen. But tonight, curiosity outweighed pride.

“Try not to sneeze,” Shane whispered as they crouched in the alcove’s shadow.

Below, the vast throne room stretched out, illuminated by rows of flickering torches. It was a space built to intimidate—the marble floors polished to a mirror sheen, the pillars carved with golden lions, the royal crest sprawling beneath the massive throne.

Standing at the center of it all, small yet defiant against the grandeur, was Julius Johnson. His light brown skin glowed faintly in the firelight, his black hair tousled from travel. Though he wore the garb of a farmer—patched trousers, worn boots, and a plain tunic—he stood tall, his sword strapped firmly across his back. The blade looked heavy, an heirloom of finer make than his station suggested.

Beside Julius stood Lance Royce, his armor gleaming with an almost unnatural sharpness, as though the steel itself sensed its owner’s authority. And seated before them, atop the gilded throne, was King Arthur D. Leona VI.

Edward’s breath caught. His father rarely held audiences this late, and certainly not for boys from nowhere villages.

“Julius Johnson,” King Arthur said, his deep voice filling the chamber. “You’ve come far to seek the Academy.”

Julius nodded stiffly, meeting the king’s gaze. “I have, Your Majesty.”

“And what is it you seek?”

“To prove myself.” Julius’s voice was steady, though Edward could see the tension in his shoulders. “I’ve been told my whole life what I can’t do. I’m here to show what I can.”

Edward’s eyes narrowed. Arrogant fool.

The king’s gaze lingered on the boy for a moment before flickering to the sword at his back. “That blade,” he said softly. “Your father’s, I presume?”

Julius flinched, but he didn’t look away. “It was his, yes. But it’s mine now.”

Edward’s heart gave an uneasy lurch. The boy was carrying his father’s sword? His father’s name? A legacy that should have died with Julius Johnson Sr.?

Lance spoke next, his voice measured. “Sire, the boy has potential. He’s unpolished, but he’s strong.”

Arthur leaned back in his throne, his expression unreadable. “Potential is a dangerous thing, Sir Royce. And strength without control is merely chaos.”

Edward almost smirked at that.

But Julius didn’t flinch. “Then I’ll learn control,” he said simply.

The room fell silent, heavy with the weight of the king’s scrutiny. Finally, Arthur rose to his feet, his shadow stretching across the marble floor.

“Very well,” he said. “You will have your chance. Lance, see to it that he is enrolled at the Academy.”

Julius’s eyes widened with something Edward couldn’t quite place—relief, maybe, or determination. He bowed stiffly. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Edward turned to Shane, whispering furiously, “He’s letting him in? Why?”

“Guess he sees something in him,” Shane murmured.

Below, Lance placed a hand on Julius’s shoulder, guiding him toward the chamber doors. Edward’s father remained on the throne, his expression unshifting, but something about the scene unsettled Edward deeply.

As the throne room emptied, Shane’s voice broke the silence. “Still think he’s a nobody?”

Edward didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Julius Johnson wasn’t a nobody. Not anymore.

And Edward would make sure to find out why.