Zach stormed forward, his jaw tight and his eyes blazing. “What about those iron spears?” His voice cut through the air, sharp and unrelenting. “You said no one was supposed to die in this test. That didn’t feel very non-lethal to me!”

The man standing before him remained composed, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. He tilted his head slightly, as if considering Zach’s outburst like an unruly child. “The spears were calibrated to incapacitate, not kill,” he said evenly. “Any injuries sustained were within acceptable parameters.”

“Acceptable?” Zach’s voice cracked as his fists curled. “You’re kidding, right? Someone died! Does that sound acceptable to you?”

The man’s hand lifted, palm out, a silent command for Zach to hold his tongue. The calm in his demeanor only fanned Zach’s fury. “You’ll be debriefed after you’ve had time to rest,” the man said firmly. “Medical teams are attending to the wounded. Take a moment. You’ve earned it.”

Zach’s nostrils flared as he stepped closer, refusing to let the conversation end. “Those spears—they were only aimed at me, weren’t they?” His words carried a dangerous edge.

A flicker of hesitation crossed the man’s otherwise impassive face, a crack in the façade. His pause spoke volumes, but his eventual nod felt like a stone dropping in Zach’s gut. “It’s not something you should dwell on.”

“Not dwell on?” Zach’s voice rose, the words trembling with barely-contained rage. “They could’ve killed me. They did kill someone on my team!”

The man’s expression didn’t change, but there was a new weight to his voice, deliberate and measured. “Your reward, young man, should be of greater focus to you. Speaking of which—” He straightened his posture. “I almost forgot to mention it.”

Zach blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. His anger simmered, but curiosity took hold. He exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. “Alright,” he said, his tone flat. “Go on.”

The man inclined his head. “You’ve been granted an extraordinary opportunity.” His words hung in the air for a moment before he continued. “You are being offered a place... as a knight.”

Zach froze, his eyebrows shooting up. “A knight?” He searched the man’s face for a hint of humor, some sign that this was a bad joke.

“Not just any knight,” the man said, his tone turning reverent. “A knight of Ancient Royal Meljuia Tombbreaker.”

The name hit like a physical force, making Zach step back reflexively. His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Wait. I thought—I thought I couldn’t enlist as a knight. Isn’t there some rule about that or...?”

“You’re correct.” The man’s voice softened, though his posture remained unyielding. “You can’t enlist as one of ours. But this is different. This is a direct offer from her. You would be trained as one of her knights. Her people.”

Zach’s brow furrowed. His mind raced, the implications tangled in layers he couldn’t quite unravel. “Why?” he asked, his voice quieter now but no less urgent. “Don’t you all need soldiers? Can’t your knights train me just as well?”

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The man hesitated again, the faintest flicker of something—pity? Guilt?—crossing his eyes. When he spoke, it was with careful precision. “This is not about training, Zach. It’s about purpose. You’ve been chosen.”

Zach opened his mouth to argue but stopped short, his shoulders slumping slightly. The fight drained out of him, replaced by exhaustion and uncertainty. “I mean... I appreciate it,” he said, his voice soft. “I really do. I guess I’m just... overwhelmed.”

The man gave the faintest of nods, his gaze steady but not unkind. “Understandable.”

Behind them, the sound of slow, deliberate applause broke the tension. Zach turned his head to see several officials clapping in unison, their smiles plastered on like masks.

One of them stepped forward, their voice warm but practiced. “We look forward to great things from you, Zach.”

As the applause died down, Zach’s mind drifted. He thought of Ivonah for a brief moment. The realization that they wouldn’t interact as much from now on left an ache he didn’t expect.

A steward approached, his expression unreadable as he gestured for Zach to follow. The corridor they entered was narrow and eerily quiet, the distant hum of conversation from the chamber fading into the sterile silence. Zach’s boots scuffed softly against the polished floor, a stark contrast to the echoing footsteps of the steward.

“Here,” the steward said, opening a door to a brightly lit room. The sharp scent of antiseptic hit Zach immediately. A doctor stood inside, their white coat pristine, sleeves rolled up as they sorted through an array of medical tools.

“Sit,” the doctor said briskly, gesturing to a padded bench against the wall. They glanced at him, their eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re a mess.”

Zach hesitated before sitting, wincing slightly as his body protested. “Yeah, it’s been a day.”

The doctor snorted softly, already tugging on gloves. “I’ll bet. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

They leaned in, inspecting the cuts and bruises all over Zach's body, especially his shoulder. Without warning, they dabbed at it with antiseptic. He flinched.

“Damn, warn a guy next time,” Zach muttered through gritted teeth.

“That was your warning,” the doctor replied, unperturbed. “Stay still if it's possible.”

Zach's eyes darted around the room as the doctor worked. Instruments clinked softly as they cleaned and stitched his wounds with clinical efficiency. Occasionally, they muttered something to themselves—medical jargon that Zach couldn’t even begin to decipher.

“So,” Zach said, attempting to distract himself from the needle dragging through his skin, “do you always patch up strangers, or am I just special?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow but didn’t pause. “Special? Sure. Let’s go with that. Hold still.”

The stitching continued, and Zach exhaled sharply as the needle pierced again. He bit back a curse.

“You’re lucky these aren’t deeper,” the doctor added after a moment. “Though you’re not exactly winning any awards for self-preservation.”

Zach huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well, life hasn’t been handing out participation trophies either.”

The doctor smirked faintly but said nothing more, tying off the last suture with practiced ease. They stepped back, peeling off their gloves with a snap. “You’re good to go. Try not to get into more trouble for at least a day, would you?”

“I’ll do my best,” Zach said dryly, sliding off the bench. His muscles protested, but he ignored the ache. He was used to it by now.

The door creaked open before he could leave, and Zach turned to see a woman step inside. Her presence shifted the air in the room. She wore gleaming armor, its intricate etchings catching the light like veins of molten gold. Her silver hair, streaked with gold, framed a face that was both striking and severe. But it was her eyes—stormy and unyielding—that pinned Zach in place.

She didn’t speak at first, her gaze sweeping over him like a blade testing its edge. Then she inclined her head, just enough to acknowledge him. “Zach.”

He straightened automatically, feeling oddly underdressed in his tattered clothes. “That’s me. And you are?”

“Meljuia Tombbreaker,” she said, her voice smooth and deliberate. It wasn’t loud, but it filled the room, carrying authority without effort.

Zach blinked, scrambling to match the name with anything in his memory. He came up blank. “Right. Uh, nice to meet you.”

Her lips twitched, a flicker of amusement breaking through her otherwise stoic expression. “The pleasure is mine,” she said.