The following morning broke with a faint mist clinging to the farm, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth. The group moved about their usual routines, but the atmosphere felt different. Gabriel noticed Alexander working with a strange intensity, his jaw tight, his movements sharp and deliberate.

Gabriel leaned against the edge of the barn, watching. “You planning to wrestle the fence, or are you just mad at it?”

Alexander didn’t respond immediately, driving another nail into the wood with unnecessary force. “I’m fine.”

Sorin, perched on a nearby bale of hay with his ever-present notebook, smirked. “You’re about as fine as a house on fire.”

Jordan, passing with a bucket of water, glanced at Alexander briefly. “What’s eating at you?”

Alexander let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he finally put the hammer down. “You really want to know?”

Gabriel crossed his arms, his green eyes narrowing. “You’ve been here for days now, and we still don’t know much about you. So, yeah. Spill.”

Alexander wiped his brow, the weariness in his expression deeper than just physical exhaustion. “The Veridan family... they’re one of the oldest noble houses in Veladralis. Warriors. Leaders. For generations, they’ve been known for their strength and honor.”

“Let me guess,” Sorin interjected. “You didn’t live up to that legacy?”

Alexander’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. “My father, Lord Edrik Veridan, was preparing to name his heir. Tradition dictated a trial—a series of challenges to prove who was worthy to lead the family. I was the eldest. It should have been mine to win.”

“But?” Gabriel prompted.

Alexander’s gaze darkened. “My cousin, Alaric, had other plans. He’d always been stronger, faster... more ruthless. When the trials began, I thought I could best him through strategy and discipline. I was wrong.”

Jordan leaned against the fence, his expression unreadable. “What happened?”

Alexander clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. “During the final trial—a duel—Alaric humiliated me. Not just by winning, but by making it clear that I didn’t belong. He didn’t just beat me; he broke me. I was disarmed, thrown to the ground, and mocked in front of the entire family.”

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Gabriel tilted his head, his tone skeptical. “And your family just... kicked you out?”

“It wasn’t just the loss,” Alexander admitted, his voice bitter. “Alaric didn’t just beat me; he humiliated me. He toyed with me during the duel, drawing it out in front of everyone. Every strike, every insult, every moment was meant to show the entire family that I didn’t belong. He disarmed me, knocked me to the ground, and then circled me, laughing as if I was some kind of joke.”

Alexander’s fists clenched tightly, his knuckles white. “He made sure no one would forget it. By the time he was done, there wasn’t a shred of dignity left for me to cling to. My father... he said I’d brought shame to the family, that I wasn’t fit to carry the Veridan name.

Sorin frowned. “And your cousin got everything?”

Alexander nodded, his voice tight. “The title. The lands. Even my fiancée. Alaric convinced her that I wasn’t good enough for her. That I was destined to fail. She left me the same night I was exiled.”

Gabriel’s expression shifted slightly, his jaw tightening. He didn’t say anything, but his hand instinctively clenched at his side. He knew that feeling—watching someone you’d supported and cared for walk away, convinced you were the problem. He didn’t look at Alexander, but the bitter familiarity of it gnawed at him.

The group fell silent for a moment, the weight of Alexander’s story settling over them. Sorin, ever quick with a quip, surprised everyone by remaining quiet.

Gabriel finally broke the silence, his voice softer than usual. “So, you ended up here.”

Alexander nodded. “Kyros was the only place I could think of where the name Veridan wouldn’t follow me. I thought... maybe I could start over.”

“And what’s the plan now?” Jordan asked, his tone even.

Alexander straightened, his resolve evident in his posture. “I’m going to get stronger. Strong enough to reclaim my honor. To prove that I’m not the failure they think I am.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “That’s a nice dream, but strength doesn’t grow on trees. You’re not exactly starting from a position of power here.”

Sorin, recovering his usual tone, smirked. “Yeah, and farm work isn’t exactly the best training regimen for a warrior.”

Alexander’s gaze didn’t waver. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes. I’ll prove myself.”

Gabriel shrugged, pushing off the barn wall. “Well, you’re not going to get there by sulking. Fence still needs fixing.”

Sorin laughed. “Nice pep talk. Really inspiring.”

Jordan, as usual, kept his thoughts to himself, but his gaze lingered on Alexander a moment longer than usual.

As the group returned to work, Gabriel couldn’t shake the lingering thought of Alexander’s story. The kid had been through hell, sure. But in Gabriel’s eyes, ambition was a dangerous thing. It made people do stupid things. And yet, there was something about Alexander’s determination that was hard to ignore.

For the first time in a long while, Gabriel felt a faint twinge of something he couldn’t quite place. Maybe respect. Maybe pity. Or maybe, just maybe, a flicker of hope.