The cliffs became my second home.
Every morning before the sun rose, I made the climb. My legs grew steadier, my lungs stronger. My hands grew calloused from gripping the jagged rocks, and my balance sharpened as if some hidden part of me was waking for the first time.
And each morning, he was there.
Always waiting, always testing me.
Sometimes with his sword, sometimes with nothing but his eyes.
He never told me his name, and I never asked again. Whatever it was, it seemed like it belonged to a different life — a life he'd left behind long before he came to this forgotten corner of the world.
Instead, he called me only one thing:
"Boy."
---
The training grew harsher.
He made me balance on a narrow ledge for hours, blindfolded, while he hurled stones at me from below. He taught me to hear the wind's change just before a strike, to feel the rhythm of footsteps behind me, to trust instinct over thought.
"Your head," he said one morning, as I clung to the edge of a boulder, sweat running into my eyes, "is your enemy. Forget it. Learn to move before you think. That's what a sword is — it doesn't think. It cuts."
And I believed him.
Because every time I did as he said, every time I let go of thought and let my body move on its own, I found myself a little faster, a little more sure.
Somewhere along the way, without even noticing, the fear I'd carried with me all my life began to burn away.
---
At night, though, the old fear always came back.
That night was no different.
I lay awake in the dark, staring at the rotting beams overhead, and listened to the sounds of the miners outside. Boots scuffed against stone, chains rattled faintly, a whip cracked somewhere far off.
I could hear them even in my sleep.
Klaus's drunken shouting. The others laughing under their breath, calling me rat.
It was like they couldn't see it — that something had changed.
Or maybe they could, and it frightened them.
Because lately, when Klaus swung his whip, I didn't flinch anymore. Lately, when Tom and his gang blocked the tunnel to steal my bread, I just stared at them until they backed down, muttering.
The same way the page had stared at me earlier that day.
---
He was watching me again.
I caught sight of him by the stables that morning, as I returned from training.
That same boy — though the way he moved made it impossible to think of him as just a boy. He slipped between carts and barrels like smoke, never drawing attention to himself. But his eyes found mine the instant I glanced his way.
Sharp, dark, and far too knowing.
We held each other's gaze for a long moment.
Then he disappeared into the shadows.
Something about him unnerved me.
But something else — deep down, in the quiet part of my mind — felt drawn to him, too.
---
Later that day, Klaus cornered me by the carts.
"You."
His voice was thick with drink already, though the sun was barely past noon. His boots stomped across the gravel, kicking up dust, and his whip coiled lazily in his hand.
"You think you're clever, Holt? Skulking around at dawn, sneaking off to do… what? Think I don't notice?"
I didn't answer.
That only made him angrier.
He jabbed a finger into my chest, hard enough to leave a bruise.
"You think just because your precious family threw you out here to rot, you don't have to follow rules? That you're better than the rest of us?"
I finally looked up at him.
And for the first time, he actually took a step back.
I didn't say a word.
Didn't need to.
Because I was better than him.
And we both knew it.
---
He swung the whip anyway.
But I caught his wrist before it could land.
His eyes went wide, and the whip fell to the ground with a soft hiss.
For a long moment, we just stood there, his face pale and sweating.
Then I let him go and walked away.
Behind me, the miners watched in silence. Some with fear.
But some… with something else.
Respect.
---
That night, I climbed the cliffs again.
This time, when I reached the top, the stranger was standing with his back to me, staring out over the vast expanse of pine forest below.
The stars were just beginning to shine, scattered like shards of glass across the black sky.
He didn't turn when I approached.
"You're starting to feel it, aren't you?" he said softly.
I stopped beside him, breathing the cold, clean air.
"Yes," I said.
"Good."
He finally turned then, and for the first time, he smiled — a real smile, faint but there.
"That fire in your chest," he said. "Don't ever let it die. That's your sword. That's what makes you different from the rest."
I stared at him, and a question that had been gnawing at me for days finally slipped out.
"Who were you?"
The smile faded.
He looked back at the stars.
"A man who let the fire die," he said quietly.
Then he handed me his sword.
It was nothing special — just a plain iron blade, worn smooth by years of use, the leather grip frayed and cracked.
But it felt heavy in my hands in a way that no whip or pickaxe ever had.
"From now on," he said, his voice low and serious, "you carry this. Train with it. Sleep with it. Live with it."
He stepped back, leaving me alone on the cliff, the sword in my hands.
And for the first time in my life, I felt whole.
---
But the next morning brought something else entirely.
Something I wasn't ready for.
When I returned to the mine yard, there was a carriage waiting at the gates — black wood polished to a mirror shine, gold inlay glinting in the light.
Two white horses stamped and snorted, their harnesses studded with tiny gemstones.
And standing beside the carriage was a man I recognized immediately.
Even from a distance, his presence was suffocating.
Raymond Vant.
The man who'd destroyed my family.
The man whose lies had sent me here to die.
His robes were perfect, his smile warm, his every gesture smooth and calculated — but his eyes… his eyes were cold.
And as they swept over the miners, they landed on me.
For just a second, those eyes narrowed.
And I knew.
He knew me.
Even here. Even now.
Something hot and vicious flared in my chest.
But I forced it down, lowering my gaze just as any good little rat would.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the page again — standing near the carriage now, holding a stack of documents, his head bowed.
But as I passed him, he looked up just enough for me to catch his smirk.
A tiny, knowing smirk.
Like he was daring me to move.
And deep down, I knew:
This was only the beginning.
---
The fire in my chest was burning brighter than ever.
And it was only a matter of time before I let it consume everything.