“Alright,” she said, her voice clipped. “I’ll call the knight that will train you over. He’s most likely holed up in his little lab making poison or something.”

Zach’s eyebrows shot up. “Lab? His own lab? Now that’s interesting. Is that a perk of this style, or is this guy just... eccentric?”

“Eccentric is a polite way of putting it,” Melijuia replied dryly.

Zach’s lips quirked into a grin. “When can I get a lab of my own?”

Melijuia sighed, already regretting how this conversation was going. “With the salary you’ll be earning—forty-five silver coins a month—you can buy one. There’s an unused storeroom in the back of the estate I could get you access to.”

“Forty-five silver, huh?” Zach mused. *“Enough for supplies, I guess. Not like I’ll need much—just storage items for now. Simple stuff.”*

Melijuia pulled a slim pen-shaped device from the pocket of her dress and clicked a small button. Sparks of electricity crackled across its surface.

Zach tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s that? A communication device?”

She nodded. “Yes.” As if on cue, the pen emitted a series of sharp beeps, the light at its tip blinking red multiple times. She glanced at it, her expression neutral.

“It’ll take him a while to show up,” she said, slipping the device back into her pocket. Then her tone shifted, growing sterner. “Listen, I need to warn you—Sir Abram has a... bad attitude. He doesn’t sugarcoat anything, and he doesn’t exactly go out of his way to be likable. But you made your choice.”

Zach shrugged. “I’m not here to make friends.”

“Good luck, then. You’ll need it. Oh, and one more thing: Sir Abram will decide if you’re worthy of being a knight under his training. When he decides you’re ready, I’ll test you myself to make sure you’re not just bullshitting your way through this. If you pass, you’ll officially become a Knight of Mapil—under my family’s crest.”

She reached into her pocket again and tossed him something. Zach caught it instinctively, opening his palm to reveal a necklace with a small stone pendant carved into the shape of a tomb.

“Forgot to give that to you earlier,” she said. “That’s proof you’re under my protection. Don’t lose it.”

Zach slipped the necklace over his head. “Noted.”

Without another word, Melijuia turned and headed back toward the mansion, leaving Zach alone.

Zach made his way to the porch, settling into one of the wooden chairs that creaked faintly under his weight.

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The estate grounds stretched out before him. He leaned back, crossed his arms, and let the quiet lull him.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours. The chirping of birds and the faint rustle of leaves blurred into a soothing hum, and his eyelids grew heavy. Despite himself, he dozed off.

In the dream, he was back home.

The warm, familiar scent of bread baking wafted through the air. He could hear his mother’s voice from the kitchen, calling out for someone to help her set the table. The faint sound of the kettle whistling in the background mingled with the distant laugh of his younger sister.

Zach stood in the doorway of the dining room, watching them. His father sat at the table, a mug of tea in hand, flipping through a newspaper. His sister darted by, holding a handful of wildflowers she’d clearly plucked from the garden.

“Zach,” his father said without looking up. His voice was calm but firm, the way it always was when he had something important to say. “Where have you been?”

Zach opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.

His mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, her face lined with worry. “You didn’t even say goodbye. Do you know how much we’ve worried?”

“I…” Zach tried again, but his voice felt distant, like he wasn’t fully there.

His sister tugged on his sleeve, her wide eyes full of questions. “When are you coming back? You can’t just leave, Zach.”

“I didn’t mean to—” he began, but the scene around him started to shift.

The dining room blurred, the comforting warmth fading into cold shadows. His mother’s worried face grew harder, sterner. His father’s calm demeanor gave way to a furrowed brow, disappointment etched deep into his features.

“We trusted you,” his father said, his voice now edged with frustration. “And you disappeared.”

The words stung more than he expected, and Zach reached out, trying to explain, trying to tell them why he left. But they faded, their figures dissolving into mist as the dream unraveled around him.

He felt something sharp poke his side.

Zach gasped awake, startled. For a moment, he was still half in the dream, his heart racing, the echoes of his family’s voices ringing in his ears. But the warmth of home was gone, replaced by the cool, crisp air of the estate.

Standing over him was an old man in a long gray coat, his hair as wild as the storm clouds rolling in overhead.

The man jabbed him again with the end of a gnarled walking stick. “You just going to sleep all day?”

Zach blinked, shaking off the lingering haze of the dream. He sat up straighter, rubbing his face. “You must be Abram.”

Zach didn't want to think about the dream.

The old man tilted his head, unimpressed. “Who’s asking?”

“Zach,” he said, extending a hand. “Zach Sellon. Middle name James. Sometimes I switch them around when I feel like it.”

Abram squinted at him, unimpressed. “Too many names. What are you doing here?”

Zach tilted his head, confused. “Didn’t Melijuia tell you? I’m the new knight trainee. She said she’d call you.”

Abram stared at him blankly for a moment, then grunted. “Of course she did. And you—” he jabbed his stick toward Zach’s chest, “—you chose me? Out of all the others?”

Zach shrugged. “I chose the style. I prefer not being on the battlefield—or if I have to be there, I want to be fully prepared. Enough that I can deal with whoever comes at me without any risk to myself.”

Abram rubbed his chin, his weathered face creasing in thought. Then he said, “Coward.”

“Coward Player,” Zach corrected, his tone calm.

Abram’s laugh turned into a wheezing cackle. “Semantics won’t save you, boy. You’re either clever enough to make it work, or you’re just another fool who thinks avoiding a fight is the same as winning it.”

“Sure, we'll see,” Zach said, matching the old man’s gaze.

Abram leaned on his stick, sizing him up. “Fine. Let’s get started, then. Hope you’re ready to unlearn everything you think you know.”

“Looking forward to it,” Zach said sarcastically.