Chapter 30

  I was sixteen then, maybe just turned seventeen. An age where you believe the world belongs to you, as long as you clutch the hilt of a practice sword tightly enough. The academy's training grounds lay high up on one of the foothills of the Elven Highlands. The wind up there didn't just whistle; it cut. The ground was covered by a thin, packed layer of snow that crunched with every step, making the silence of the early morning feel almost sacred.

  I was wearing my first real suit of armor—well, "armor" was perhaps too grand a word for the ensemble of hardened leather and a few thin metal plates on the shoulders and shins. Beneath it was a thick, woolen tunic in the matte blue of the aspiring paladins. The cold bit into my cheeks, but I enjoyed it. It felt honest. It was the day of my first practical exam in armed close combat, and the adrenaline kept me warmer than any fireplace.

  "Are you shivering from the cold or from fear, Luken?"

  The voice came from the right, and I didn't even have to look to know who it was. Luminara was standing next to me. I only ever called her Lume, which she had hated at first until she realized I wasn't going to stop. She was half a year younger than me, but in some moments, she seemed as if she had a monopoly on the wisdom of the mountains.

  Lume had the kind of face that you wouldn't immediately sing about in a song, but that you would never forget once you had seen it. It was a bit thin, but the cheekbones were broad, giving her something proud, almost predatory. Her hair was the color of ripe wheat, a bright, warm blonde that she usually just tied back loosely with a leather cord. At that moment, a few strands were blowing freely across her face, catching on her eyelashes where tiny ice crystals glittered.

  "I'm just gathering energy," I countered, grinning at her sideways. "You know how it is. The body has to dam up the heat before it explodes."

  Lume snorted softly, a small cloud of steam rising from her mouth. She crossed her arms over her chest to keep warm. "Just don't explode too early. I have no desire to pick up your pieces from the snow just because you flipped yourself over at the first strike of another student."

  She looked at me a moment longer than was usual among classmates. There was this subtle pull between us, a kind of invisible thread that kept leading us back to each other during breaks. It wasn't anything loud, no grand drama; more like two travelers sitting at the same fire, knowing they have the same path ahead of them.

  "Good luck," she said quietly, then took a few steps back to the edge of the grounds where the other students and instructors had already gathered. She stayed there, hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat, and her eyes didn't let go of me. It was a reassuring feeling to have her gaze at my back. It made me feel like I couldn't fall as long as she was watching.

  My opponent for that morning was Kal, a boy a head taller than me whose shoulders already suggested he would one day become one of the heavy Arcane Soldiers. He stepped into the center of the grounds, swung his blunt practice sword made of heavy ash wood, and grinned at me with certainty of victory.

  "Ready, Luken?" he called over. "I promise I'll make it quick so you can get back inside to the warm stove."

  "Talk less, Kal. You're just wasting your breath," I retorted and stepped up to face him.

  We bowed briefly to the instructor—a scarred old veteran named Captain Torv—and then the sharp blast of a whistle gave the signal for combat.

  Kal didn't wait. He charged forward, his boots kicking up the fine powder snow. He delivered a heavy overhead strike designed to simply crush my guard. I felt my body move as if on its own. The training of the basic forms took command. I didn't parry directly—that would have been suicide against his strength. Instead, I let the blade slide off my angled weapon and danced to the side. The wood of the swords met with a dry clack.

  "Not bad at all," Kal grunted and immediately pressed his advantage.

  He was fast for his size. A lateral strike, followed by a low thrust. I blocked the strike, feeling the vibration all the way into my shoulders, and evaded the thrust with a quick pivot. The snow beneath my feet was treacherous—slick in some places, grippy in others. I had to mind my balance like a tightrope walker.

  As we circled each other, my eyes unconsciously sought the edge of the grounds again and again. There stood Lume. She watched my every move with an intensity that almost took my breath away. She didn't shout, she didn't cheer; she just stood there like a silent anchor in the storm. I wanted to be good for her. Not just good—I wanted to be flawless.

  Kal grew impatient. That was his mistake. He swung wide again, a risky haymaker that exposed his entire flank. I saw the gap. It was as if time slowed down for a heartbeat. I ducked beneath his strike, feeling the rush of air from the heavy wooden sword over my head.

  My movement was fluid, almost like a dance. I used the momentum of my own turn and drove my sword hilt directly into the pit of his stomach. Kal gasped, the air escaping his lungs in a loud burst. Before he could recover, I swept his left standing leg out from under him with my foot.

  It wasn't a pretty fall. Kal landed hard on his back, and a small cloud of snow and stirred-up dirt enveloped him. I stood over him, the tip of my practice sword just inches from his throat, chest heaving from the exertion, but with an absolutely steady pulse.

  "Short work, eh?" I said, unable to suppress a slight smile.

  Kal stared at me in disbelief for a moment, then dropped his sword and raised his hands. "Alright, alright. You got me, you quick bastard."

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  Captain Torv stepped forward and gave me a brief nod. "Good footwork, Luken. A clean victory."

  I stepped back and tucked the practice sword into the loop on my belt. The heat of battle pulsed in my veins, driving away the last of the morning chill. I looked toward the edge of the square. Lume hadn't moved. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile played around her lips, and she gave me a short nod before turning to follow the other students toward the warming hall.

  That nod was worth more to me than the Captain’s praise. It was the confirmation that she had seen who I was. In that moment, on that snowy field, the world was still simple. There was only me, my sword, the snow, and the girl who would come to mean more to me than I could have put into words back then.

  I reached into the snow, rubbed my sweaty hands with it, and took a deep breath of the clear, cold air. The fight was over, Kal was picking himself up while cursing, and for a brief moment, life felt as if it could stay exactly like this forever.

  “Hey Luken, do you have a moment?”

  It was Captain Torv. He stood at the very edge of the training grounds, where the stone floor merged into the steep drop that plunged into the mist-shrouded valleys of the Elven Highlands, near Neros. He had his arms crossed behind his back and was staring out into the endless white of the peaks. His voice sounded strangely serious, almost urgent—a stark contrast to the brief, matter-of-fact praise he had given me just moments ago before the assembled class.

  A bad gut feeling rose within me, displacing the warmth of victory. I walked toward him, the crunch of my boots in the frozen slush suddenly sounding unnaturally loud. Had I broken the rules? Had I hit Kal too hard? Among the paladins of the Elven Academy, discipline was everything, and the line between a clean victory and unnecessary brutality was thinner than a sword’s edge.

  “Captain?” I said, stopping beside him. I kept a respectful distance.

  Torv didn’t look at me. His face, tanned by countless winters in the highlands, looked as if it were carved from the same gray stone as the fortress behind us. “A good fight, Luken. You have talent. But talent is a treacherous companion if you don’t know where you’re placing your feet.”

  He made a vague gesture with his head toward the warming hall, where the other students were currently trudging. I just caught the hem of Lume’s wheat-colored hair disappearing into the entrance.

  “You and the girl. Luminara,” he began, and his tone became quieter, almost conspiratorial. “I see how you look at each other. I see how you fight when she’s watching. You seek her pride in her eyes, don’t you?”

  I felt the heat rise to my face, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold. “We’re just... we’ve known each other since my arrival, sir. It’s nothing special. We support each other during training.”

  Torv let out a short, dry laugh that sounded more like a cough. He turned to me now, and his gray eyes fixed me with an intensity that made me swallow hard. “Nothing special? Luken, in the Order of Paladins, there is no such thing as ‘nothing special.’ Emotions are like cracks in armor. At first, they are small, barely visible, but when the pressure rises—and believe me, it will rise—the metal breaks at exactly that spot.”

  He took a step closer. “I’m only warning you, boy. Subtly, because I like you. But this kind of bond... it leads to trouble sooner or later. In this Order, absolute devotion is demanded. Whoever hangs their heart on another person has less room for the oath. And the superiors up here in the highlands are allergic to divided loyalties.”

  I stared at him, unable to answer immediately. The idea that my affection for Lume could pose a problem had never occurred to me until now. We were sixteen. We were learning how to banish spirits and wield blades. What did that have to do with our hearts?

  “I don’t quite understand what this has to do with my training,” I said finally, a bit more defiantly than I had intended.

  Torv’s expression darkened, but not out of anger—it was a kind of pity. “You will understand when it’s too late. But that’s not the only reason I called you. My advice was private. What comes next is not.”

  He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. “High Elve Arkos wants to speak with you.”

  At that name, my heart nearly stopped. Arkos wasn't just any teacher. He was the supreme head of the entire training program here in the highlands and simultaneously the commander of the Arcane Guard. In the elven hierarchy, there was hardly anyone more powerful or more unapproachable. He was order personified, a being so old and wise that human concerns must often seem to him like the buzzing of mayflies. If the commander of the Arcane Guard wanted to speak to a lowly student, it meant either an extraordinary promotion or absolute ruin.

  “Arkos? Why?” I managed to get out. My throat suddenly felt dry, as if I had swallowed a handful of snow.

  “He watched your fight,” Torv said simply. “From the balcony of the observatory. He didn't say what he wanted, only that I should send you directly to him after the exam. He is waiting for you in the Inner Circle of the Arcane Guard.”

  Torv removed his hand from my shoulder and gave me a light shove toward the academy buildings. “Go to the warming hall first. Warm up, wash the blood off your knuckles, and get your mind in order. You don’t want to stand before Arkos while you still stink of adrenaline and sweat. And Luken...”

  I paused and looked at him once more.

  “Think about what I said about the girl,” he added gravely. “Perhaps it’s better if you don’t sit together today. There are eyes in this academy that see more than just the form of your blade.”

  I nodded silently, even though everything inside me recoiled against this advice. My head was throbbing. The victory against Kal suddenly felt hollow, like a trap I had blindly stumbled into. What did Arkos want from me? Had he noticed the instability I sometimes felt deep inside—that strange, dark tremor I had always successfully suppressed until now? Or was it really about Lume?

  I turned and walked slowly across the training ground. The cold of the highlands seemed to sit deeper now, creeping under my leather armor and making me shiver. The other students had already disappeared into the hall; only their tracks in the snow bore witness to the morning's unrest.

  The light of the low-hanging sun refracted in the arcane crystals crowning the academy’s towers, bathing everything in an unnatural, bluish glow. It was beautiful and at the same time absolutely threatening. I thought of Lume, how she had stood there and smiled. I thought of her face and how safe I had felt in her presence.

  Now, as I approached the warming hall, the path felt like a walk to the scaffold. Torv’s warning echoed in my head like an ill omen. If Arkos knew something—or if he was planning something—then my life was going to change radically today.

  I reached the heavy oak doors of the warming hall. Inside, I heard the laughter of the other students, the clatter of wooden plates, and the crackle of the massive fireplaces. It was the place I had longed for all morning, but now I felt like a stranger there.

  I placed my hand on the iron door handle, took one last breath of the sharp highland air, and pushed the door open. The wave of warmth and the smell of food hit me, but my eyes instinctively searched for only one person. Lume was sitting at one of the back tables, a mug of steaming herbal tea in her hands, and she looked up as I entered.

  I forced a smile while my heart beat like crazy. I had to warm up. I had to prepare. Arkos was waiting, and in the highlands of the elves, you didn't keep someone like him waiting.

  I took my first step into the hall, my head lowered, trying to push Torv’s words into a dark corner of my mind—even though I knew they wouldn't stay there.