Viktor turned, breath still steadying, and spotted Faros leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"You always train this hard, or did I wander in on a special occasion?" Faros asked, his voice light, but with that ever-present undercurrent of calculation.

Voralis, still rolling the ache from his shoulder, chuckled. "Let’s call it an impromptu test."

"Well, it looks like you passed." Faros said, turning to Viktor.

The training hall bore fresh scars of their session. Knives littered the floor like fallen leaves, an upturned table rested against the far wall, and a longsword lay where Voralis had lost his grip on it. The air hung thick with sweat, exertion, and something else—something unspoken.

Viktor wiped a sleeve across his forehead, then eyed Faros warily. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," Faros replied, stepping further inside.

Viktor frowned. "Long enough for what? To watch, or to judge?"

Faros offered a smirk. "Can’t it be both?"

"Why did Arelos arrive with you earlier?"

"He’s assisting me in some small matters," Faros said, almost too casually.

Viktor let out a groan, throwing his hands up. "I can't bloody believe it, Fenric was right… Arelos is your personal spy, isn’t he?"

Faros laughed, shaking his head. "Nothing of the sort."

"Uh-huh. Right." Viktor crossed his arms, unconvinced. "So if he’s not your spy, what exactly is he doing?"

Faros waved a hand, dismissing the question. "Minor things. Not something you need to worry about."

Viktor clicked his tongue, jaw tightening. "Of course not. Can’t get a straight answer out of anyone in this damn guild."

Faros chuckled, nostalgia flickering in his tone. "Ah yes, it’s been so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like not holding most of the answers."

Viktor shot him a glare. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"More than I should." Faros’ smirk widened.

Voralis stretched, wincing slightly. "You lot done with the interrogation? Or should I start taking notes?"

Viktor glanced at him, then back at Faros. "If I asked Arelos myself, would he tell me?"

Faros’ smirk didn’t waver. "You could try."

Viktor scoffed. "He’s more tight-lipped than a squire caught sneaking the lord’s wine."

Faros chuckled. “Arelos knows how to keep his mouth shut. He's a good asset.”

He let the remark settle before his gaze swept over the training hall. “Voralis wasn’t exaggerating in his reports. That was quite something to witness.”

Viktor tilted his head. "What, the knife tricks, or when I almost killed Voralis just now?"

Shaking his head, Faros replied, "All of it. The control. The reaction time. The raw power you displayed at the end."

"That was purely by instinct," Viktor insisted.

"An apt instinct," Faros murmured. "Especially for when someone is seemingly trying to take one's head off."

"If I had actually wanted to take him out, I wouldn’t have attacked him head-on," Voralis interjected, massaging his shoulder.

Faros nodded thoughtfully, then looked at Viktor pointedly. “History is riddled with the corpses of powerful mages who were assassinated in simple, mundane ways.”

Viktor folded his arms. “That almost sounds like a threat.”

Faros shook his head. “Not a threat. A reminder.” He shifted his weight, arms settling into an easy fold. “Confidence is essential. But the moment it turns to complacency?” His gaze sharpened, voice steady. “You’re already dead. Power won’t save you from carelessness.”

Viktor gave a short nod. “Point taken.”

Faros studied Viktor for a moment, his expression thoughtful, weighing something unseen.

Viktor frowned. “Why do I feel like you’re measuring me for something?”

Faros smiled. “Because I am.”

Viktor groaned, wiping his face with his sleeve. “That’s not ominous at all.”

Faros’ expression shifted, his amusement thinning just slightly. "You don’t hesitate much. Most people flinch, second-guess. You don’t."

Viktor shrugged, still getting his breathing under control. "I’ve been dodging knives for weeks now. You get used to it."

Voralis snorted. "Not like this, you don’t."

Gesturing toward the scattered weapons, Voralis continued, "There’s a difference between catching something when you expect it and reacting mid-flight. You’ve been doing the latter, over and over, without breaking stride. That’s not just training anymore—it’s instinct."

Faros watched Viktor closely. "You ever thought about how far this could go?"

Viktor hesitated. "What do you mean?"

Faros’ tone softened a fraction. "If you push it. Beyond just catching things. Beyond just throwing things."

Viktor let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t know. I guess I haven’t really—"

"He’s not exactly been slacking, Faros," Voralis cut in dryly.

Faros inclined his head. "No, I don’t mean effort. I mean intention."

A quiet settled between them, heavier than before.

Viktor finally shrugged, pushing the thought aside. "I’m still figuring things out."

"Aren’t we all?" Faros mused with a smirk.

Voralis rolled his shoulder and sighed. "Can we get to the part where I don’t feel like I’ve been tossed off a damn roof?"

Faros didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he shifted his stance, expression darkening just slightly. "You’re probably wondering why I’m here."

Viktor smirked. "I just assumed you came to witness my awesome might."

Faros chuckled, shaking his head. "Not quite. Well, at least that's not the primary reason."

Viktor crossed his arms, brow raising. "So what is it?"

Faros’s gaze met his, measured and careful. "Are you familiar with the name Jorvan Nivario?"

Viktor searched his memory, but nothing surfaced. No lectures from Mikos, no mentions in any book he had skimmed. Yet the way Faros said it, the way he studied Viktor’s reaction—it was clear he should know it.

"I don't think so?" Viktor stated cautiously.

Faros didn’t answer right away. Instead, he simply watched, waiting, as if expecting Viktor to piece something together on his own.

----------------------------------------

Faros exhaled sharply, disappointment flickering in his eyes. "I was hoping you'd at least be familiar with the name."

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Viktor raised a brow, tilting his head. "Should I be?"

Faros sighed. "It would certainly make this conversation more productive."

Viktor smirked. "Then I regret to inform you that I’m about to make things very unproductive for you."

Faros chuckled despite himself. "You do have a talent for that."

Viktor shrugged, his amusement fading. "Might’ve heard it, but I can’t remember. Father always wanted me to care about politics, but I couldn’t stand it. Nobles squabbling over titles, who’s marrying who, who insulted whose bloodline—it’s a never-ending drama."

Faros let out a quiet laugh. "That’s one way to summarize noble affairs."

Viktor crossed his arms. "Tell me I’m wrong."

Faros smirked. "Not entirely."

Viktor let out a breath, then leveled his gaze. "So who is he?"

Faros’s expression turned serious. "Jorvan Nivario. The king’s most trusted confidante. More importantly, he was the arbiter who met with your father the day of your testing."

Viktor’s smirk disappeared. His stomach knotted as the words settled in. "That’s the first I’m hearing of this."

"Not surprising," Faros said. "Your father wasn’t exactly forthcoming with you, was he?"

Viktor scoffed. "That’s putting it lightly."

"And yet," Faros continued, watching him closely, "a meeting with someone that powerful isn’t something that happens by accident."

Viktor frowned. "What would he want with my father?"

Faros tilted his head slightly. "That’s what we were hoping you could tell us. But judging by your reaction, I take it you didn’t even know they’d met."

Viktor’s jaw clenched. "How would I? He never told me anything. If he had, maybe I wouldn’t be standing here grasping at shadows."

Faros studied him for a long moment before nodding. "That’s... unusual."

Viktor narrowed his eyes. "What is? That my father didn’t involve me in his dealings? He barely involved me in his life."

"You were the heir," Faros said, voice measured. "It’s unusual that at your age, a man as meticulous as your father wouldn't have tried to involve you at least somewhat in his dealings given that you stood to some day inherit it all."

"Well he didn't." Viktor stated, rubbing a hand over his face, clearly frustrated. "At least not in anything of this nature."

"I'm sure he had his reasons, whatever they may have been."

Viktor took a deep calming breath. "Do you believe this Nivario had something to do with the murders?"

Faros hesitated. "If he was involved, then the order had to come from the crown."

Viktor’s frown deepened. "You seriously think the king ordered it?"

"I’m not saying that," Faros replied. "But if Nivario was involved, the king would have known. Nivario doesn’t make moves without explicit approval."

Viktor let out a dry laugh. "Fantastic. My family might’ve been erased on royal decree."

Faros didn’t laugh. "That’s a possibility."

Viktor crossed his arms. "That’s a hell of a leap, though."

"Not really," Faros said. "Nivario isn’t known for acting independently. If he moves, it’s because he’s been told to. Besides, it wouldn't have been the first the first time."

Viktor shook his head. "What would the crown gain from my family’s death? We weren’t in line for anything. We weren’t a threat."

Faros sighed. "This line of speculation is all predicated on the assumption that Nivario is actually behind this, which I don't think."

"What makes you say that?" Viktor asked.

Faros sighed. "No offense, but Nivario is an arbiter. If he wanted your family dead, he wouldn’t have needed a crew. He could’ve done it himself, cleanly."

Viktor opened his mouth, then stopped. He hated the lack of answers. "It can’t just be coincidence that my father met with this man right before... everything."

"No, it can’t," Faros admitted. "But that doesn’t mean Nivario was responsible for the deaths."

"Then who?" Viktor pressed. "Someone with even more influence? Someone who wanted my family gone for their own reasons?"

Faros nodded. "That would be my guess."

Viktor let out a slow breath. "Wish I could just ask the man directly. He might be the only one with real answers at this point."

"You might just be wishing for death." Faros stated.

Viktor scoffed. "If he’s guilty, then the crown is behind it. If the crown wants me dead, I’m already as good as dead anyway."

Faros watched him carefully. "You’ve survived this long."

"Only because they don’t know I’m alive."

"Exactly. And you can keep it that way—if you don’t make a mistake."

Viktor clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath his skin. "What about the guild? How do I know they won’t sell me out?"

Faros didn’t hesitate. "Because I’ve made sure of it. Mikos and Voralis have left no records of your house or origin. As long as you stay quiet, you’re safe."

Voralis, who had been silent until now, folded his arms. "My real concern is your two very talkative friends."

Viktor straightened. "Soren or Fenric would never betray me."

Voralis arched a brow. "Not on purpose, no. But they’re impulsive. Especially Fenric."

Viktor scowled. "He’s not an idiot."

"He doesn’t have to be. Just careless."

Viktor clenched his jaw but couldn’t argue the point.

"I can’t ‘untell’ them," he eventually muttered. "And I wouldn’t even if I could."

"Then remind them to keep their mouths shut," Voralis said. "Arelos, at least, I trust to be discreet."

Viktor exhaled. "Yeah. Arelos wouldn’t let anything slip."

Faros straightened. "Do you trust me?"

Viktor hesitated. "...Do I have a choice?"

Faros smirked. "There’s always a choice."

Viktor let out a sharp breath. "Then I’m choosing not to think about it."

A weighted silence settled between them.

At last, Voralis exhaled and rolled his shoulders. "That’s enough for today. Go get something to eat, Viktor. You did well today."

Viktor hesitated, then nodded. "Sorry about earlier."

Voralis chuckled, shaking his head. "Don’t be." He stretched, a slow smirk forming. "Next time, I’ll just attack you when you’re not looking."

He let the words hang for a beat, then added, almost too casually, "Maybe in your sleep."

Viktor narrowed his eyes. Surely he wouldn’t actually do that... right?

Suspicious but too exhausted to argue, he turned toward the dining hall, the weight of the conversation still pressing on his shoulders.

----------------------------------------

Voralis watched Viktor disappear through the doorway, tension still coiled in his shoulders. The boy had power—more than he realized. More than any of them could afford to ignore.

Faros stepped up beside him, arms crossed. His gaze lingered on the door. “That wave he unleashed—I felt it all the way from the entrance.”

Voralis flexed his fingers. “Imagine getting hit by it.”

Faros huffed. “I’d rather not.” He rubbed his forearm as if shaking off the phantom force. “You know what bothers me? He pulled that off with raw instinct. No refinement, no structure. Just will. That kind of power doesn’t just happen.”

Voralis nodded slowly. “And he doesn’t even seem to understand how absurd that is.”

Faros gave a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Makes me wonder what kind of monster he’d be if he trained at the academy.”

Voralis didn’t respond immediately. The silence between them said enough. The academy had a way of turning raw potential into mastery, shaping mages into forces to be reckoned with. If Viktor trained there, his power would be sharpened, refined into something far beyond what he could achieve alone.

“We need a mage,” Voralis said at last. “Someone who can actually teach him the structured path.”

Faros let out a breath. “I’ve been exploring options. But mages don’t exactly grow on trees.”

“There’s got to be at least one independent,” Voralis pressed.

“If there is, they’re either keeping their head down or already sworn to someone stronger.”

“Money talks.” Voralis’ voice was sharp. “There’s always a price.”

Faros snorted. “Not for this. Mages aren’t mercenaries, Voralis. Every single one of them has noble ties. Even the ones who act like they don’t.”

Voralis gritted his teeth. “So we offer them more.”

Faros shook his head. “You don’t get it. There isn’t a single mage alive who’s hurting for coin. And even if we could buy one out, what happens when their house notices? What happens when someone starts sniffing around, wondering where their prodigal cousin disappeared to?”

Voralis exhaled sharply, pacing a few steps before turning back. “We could keep things quiet.”

Faros shot him a dry look. “For how long? Mages don’t take unsanctioned contracts. If we suddenly acquire one, we’re inviting scrutiny. And if they’re discovered working with us? That’s an execution waiting to happen.”

Voralis scowled. He knew it was true. This wasn’t just a logistical problem—it was a political one.

Faros continued, voice measured. “Even if we found someone willing, the capital chapter would have to approve that kind of expenditure. That means getting the guild involved. That means paperwork. That means whispers of Viktor spreading before we can even get a single lesson in. We won't be able to keep his identity under wraps for long if we walk down this road.”

Voralis crossed his arms. “We have ways of keeping people quiet.”

“Do we?” Faros raised an eyebrow. “Let’s say we do pull it off. Let’s say we do manage to bribe, threaten, or otherwise secure a mage. What happens when their noble family comes looking? What happens when they start demanding answers?” He let the words settle before adding, “Or worse—what happens when the king takes an interest?”

Voralis’ stomach twisted. He hated the truth of it.

“So what?” He exhaled, voice tight. “We just keep throwing him into the deep end and hope he figures it out?”

“For now.” Faros' answer was immediate. “But he needs experience. Real experience. Is he ready for assignments?”

Voralis’ jaw clenched. “Depends on what kind.”

Faros tilted his head. “Recon?”

Voralis hesitated, then gave a slow nod. “Yeah, he could handle that.”

Faros’ gaze sharpened. “And if it’s more?”

Voralis’ grip on his arms tightened. “Then no.”

Faros didn’t look surprised. “You’re too protective.”

“I’m practical,” Voralis countered. “The boy isn’t a killer.”

Faros’ expression didn’t change. “Neither were we. And some of us crossed that line much younger.”

Voralis’ stomach twisted. “That’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

Voralis turned on him. “Because self-defense isn’t the same as seeking out conflict.”

Faros watched him, silent for a moment. Then, with a quiet exhale, he said, “You like him.”

Voralis’ expression darkened. “He’s a good lad.”

Faros sighed, shaking his head. “I agree. But he’s also an asset. And after what I saw today? He might be one of the most valuable assets we’ve ever had.”

Voralis scowled. “You make it sound like we should be drafting him for war.”

Faros met his gaze evenly. “And if we had to? If the guild needed him at full strength?”

Voralis clenched his jaw. He hated this conversation.

“He’s not ready,” he said.

Faros’ eyes narrowed slightly. “But he will need to be.”

The silence stretched longer this time. Voralis knew where this was headed. And he didn’t like it.

“Give him time,” he said.

Faros exhaled, watching him. “How much?”

“The older he is when he has to cross that line, the better he'll come out the other end.” Voralis leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “And think about it—if word gets out too early, we lose our advantage. Right now, we have a secret. But if people start whispering about a mage in our ranks before he even knows how to leverage that power effectively, we’re making him a target before he’s useful.”

Faros considered that. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m buying time. And you can’t argue with my logic.”

Faros tilted his head, studying him. “Fine. Two months.”

Voralis blinked. “Two?”

Faros nodded. “Two months. Then one assignment per month. Low risk, but real. And you go with him every time. Then in one year's time, you start taking him on missions with a higher risk profile.”

Voralis exhaled slowly. He wanted to fight it. He wanted to argue for more time. But he also knew Faros was offering as much as he could.

“Fine.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Two months.”

Faros nodded once, decisive. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Voralis leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Two months. That was all he had bought Viktor.