The castle gates loomed ahead, a towering archway of iron and stone that seemed bigger than the whole world. I clutched the strap of my satchel with both hands, my fingers barely wrapping around the worn leather. My chest felt like it might burst from excitement. Today wasn’t just any day—today was the day. My first real look behind the castle walls, where my father lived and worked every day.
Papa walked beside me, all polished armor and serious looks, like a storybook knight. He wasn’t one for smiles, but I knew he was proud to have me here.
“Stay close,” he said, his voice low and rumbly like the roll of distant thunder. “No running off. The king’s doing us a favor, but that doesn’t mean he wants children underfoot.”
I nodded hard enough that my hair flopped into my eyes. “I won’t,” I promised, but my head was already filled with pictures of knights clashing swords, tables piled high with food, and maybe—even just maybe—a glimpse of the king.
The courtyard was alive with sound. Laughter and shouts echoed between the stone walls, and I stared at everything, trying to soak it all in. Soldiers stood in gleaming armor, their voices deep and strong, while kids ran around like loose chickens. My heart thumped faster. This was a special day, one of those rare times when the king wanted the guards to feel appreciated and brought their families into the castle.
As we stepped inside, my eyes darted everywhere, catching details I didn’t want to forget. The way the sunlight bounced off the guards’ helmets, the sharp smell of metal, the bright banners flapping above us. It all felt… important, like I’d stepped into a new world.
Then I saw him—a boy standing at the edge of the courtyard. He wasn’t running or laughing like the others. He just stood there, watching everything with wide eyes. His clothes were simple and patched in places, and he looked like he didn’t know if he was supposed to be here at all. And all I could do was laugh because anger wasn't the right reaction. In that moment I remembered it all. This moment right here was the moment that destroyed my life.
I tugged on Papa’s sleeve. “Who’s that?” I asked, pointing.
Papa followed my gaze and frowned, just a little. “That’s Peckolin Tarvin,” he said after a moment. “His father works in the stables. His family doesn’t have much.” Then he turned back to scanning the crowd, already focused on his job again.
I wanted to say something to him, but the excitement of the courtyard pulled me back. The knights sparring, the glittering armor, the sheer bigness of everything. It was too much to stay still, so I turned my attention to the rest of the castle world, though the image of Peckolin lingered, tickling the back of my thoughts like an itch I couldn’t reach.
Inside the guard quarters, the air smelled sharp and leathery, like Papa’s gloves after he oiled them. The walls were lined with swords and shields that gleamed in the torchlight, and every sound—the clink of boots, the murmur of voices—felt heavy with importance.
Papa led me through like he owned the place, nodding at the other guards. Each step felt like walking deeper into a secret. I stuck close, my eyes wide, my heart pounding as I drank it all in. This wasn’t just a building—it was a place where knights and heroes came from. And maybe, just maybe, it was where I could belong one day too.
“This,” Papa said, sweeping his hand toward a table covered in maps and scribbled parchment, “is where we plan patrol routes. A guard’s work isn’t just swinging swords, Rod. It’s strategy, coordination—sharp minds as much as sharp blades.”
I nodded like my head was on a spring, staring at the table and trying to remember every little thing. The maps looked complicated, all lines and symbols, but I wanted to understand. I wanted to belong here, in Papa’s world.
We stepped into the training yard next, and I almost forgot how to breathe. Guards sparred with wooden swords, their movements sharp and quick under the barking orders of their sergeant. The sound of clashing wood and steel filled the air, and my chest swelled. This was where heroes were made. This was his world—honor, responsibility, and everything I wanted to be someday.
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Papa’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Your old man once bested Sergeant Vey in a spar,” he said, and to my surprise, there was a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Papa never smiled, not really.
“Really? Did he get mad?” I asked, my voice probably louder than it should’ve been.
Papa chuckled, a low sound that made me grin too. “Not mad enough to refuse me a drink afterward. Respect is earned here, Rod. Remember that.”
I nodded again, my heart thumping like I’d just been knighted. All around us, other families wandered through the yard, pointing and whispering, sharing in the rare chance to see the guards’ world up close. Kids ran ahead, their laughter mixing with the clang of weapons and the shouts of sparring men. Even the guards seemed… lighter today, like the weight of their armor wasn’t so heavy.
As we moved toward the eastern wing, I heard voices near a big, heavy door. Two guards stood close, their words low and serious. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but one sentence stuck in my ear.
“…extra patrols around the Mural. The king doesn’t want to take any chances…”
“The Mural?” I asked, looking up at Papa. My curiosity bubbled over before I could stop it.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he said, quick and firm, his eyes hardening just a little. “Just a bit of the castle’s magic. It’s well-protected, as it should be.”
“But why—”
“Rod.” Papa crouched down in front of me, his face suddenly very serious. His armor clinked softly as he moved. “Listen to me. The castle has its secrets, and some are meant to stay that way. You’re here as my guest, but there are places even I don’t go without permission. Do you understand?”
I bit my lip and nodded, but that only made me want to know more. What was so important about this Mural that even Papa wouldn’t talk about it?
Papa stood and rested a hand on my shoulder, steering me away from the door. His touch was steady, but I could feel the conversation was over.
As we rounded the corner back toward the courtyard, I caught sight of someone familiar. Peckolin. He was standing near the entrance to a shadowed hallway, his body stiff like he was afraid to move. His head tilted slightly, his eyes fixed on something deeper in the castle’s forbidden areas.
For a moment, it looked like he might take a step forward, curiosity and fear battling in his expression. I couldn’t look away. What was he doing over there? And why did it feel like he was about to uncover something I wasn’t even allowed to ask about?
“Come along, Rod,” Papa said, his tone brisk and clipped. I hesitated just long enough to glance back at the shadowed hallway. Peckolin was gone, and the flickering torchlight danced over empty stone walls.
“Just another curious kid,” I muttered under my breath, shaking the weird feeling off. Today was too big to get hung up on strange boys lurking in dark halls.
Before I could ask, a younger guard jogged up to us, his face tight with something urgent. “Captain,” he said, leaning in to whisper to Papa. I couldn’t catch most of it, but a few words slipped through: gate… dispute… urgent.
Papa let out a low sigh and straightened. He rested a heavy hand on my shoulder, his grip firm enough to make me stand a little taller. “Wait here,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “Stay with Sergeant Halder. He’ll watch over you. Do not wander, Rod. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.
Papa strode off, his armor clinking softly as he disappeared down the corridor. I turned to the man left standing beside me—a tall, broad-shouldered sergeant with a thick beard and a grin that felt both friendly and a little intimidating.
“Well, lad,” Halder said, his gravelly voice carrying a hint of humor, “looks like you’re stuck with me. Don’t worry, we’ll steer clear of trouble.”
I gave him a half-smile, but the air felt heavier without Papa there.
At first, the waiting wasn’t so bad. Halder kept me entertained with stories about battles and daring rescues, his voice big and full of life. I couldn’t help but laugh at the way he acted out his tales, swinging imaginary swords and dodging invisible arrows. For a little while, it felt like just another adventure.
But then something shifted.
I felt it before I saw or heard anything—the way the air seemed to hum, sharp and tense. Shouts echoed from somewhere deeper in the castle, quick and urgent. Guards rushed past, their faces grim, and the steady thud of boots on stone filled the hall like a drumbeat.
Halder’s grin vanished. His body stiffened, and his hand hovered near the hilt of his sword. I could see the change in his eyes—bright and alert, scanning for danger.
“What’s happening?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Trouble,” Halder muttered, though it felt like he was talking to himself more than to me. He tilted his head, listening hard as more guards hurried by.
“Someone’s breached the Mural chamber!” a voice shouted from down the corridor, loud and clear.