"Ughhh…"Silius jolted awake, pain crackling through his limbs like broken glass beneath skin. Every muscle protested. It felt as if his body were stitched together with fire and failure.
The ceiling above him was stone, traced with faint cracks and shadows from flickering lanternlight. The air smelled faintly of herbs and ash—remnants of healing incense and torn bandages.
A soft voice reached him.
"Young Master… are you feeling any better?"
He turned his head.
Miss Sonalay sat by his bedside, her posture hunched but hands steady as they dabbed a salve along his side. Wrinkles marked her kindly face, the years folding gently at her mouth and eyes. Her silver hair was tied in a looped braid, and behind her gold-rimmed spectacles, her amber eyes studied him with concern.
Silius grunted, trying to breathe through the ache. "Not any better than yesterday."
She chuckled quietly, dipping a fresh cloth into the basin. "That's still better than the day before. You're alive. That alone is something."
He looked down at the bandages wrapping his chest and arms. Beneath them, fresh scars. Ugly, uneven reminders. His eyes drifted to the door—an empty frame.
His voice caught in his throat, but he said nothing.
Miss Sonalay noticed. She followed his gaze, and then returned to her work in silence.
"Coward," Silius thought bitterly. He didn't know if the word was aimed at the man who hadn't come… or at himself for hoping he would.
He winced as the thread pulled through his forearm.
"Oh! I'm sorry," Sonalay said, her hands halting. "These fingers aren't what they used to be."
Silius shook his head. "You're still the best healer we have." He paused, then added softly, "My mother always said so."
That made her smile—not a wide one, but something small and warm that reached her eyes.
Knock. Knock.
The heavy oak door creaked open.
Gladus entered like a storm that had learned to wear silence. His frame, still broad and battle-tested, filled the room with presence alone. His hair, streaked with steel, was tied behind his neck, and his cloak—black and fur-lined—shifted with each quiet step. His scarred face betrayed no softness.
"Sonalay," he said flatly. "Return later. I need words with my son."
She bowed gently, brushing a hand along Silius's shoulder before she left. Her expression lingered in the doorway—maternal and worried. Then the door closed.
"Father," Silius said quietly, dipping his chin.
Gladus studied him. "You've awakened your core. A rare one, at that."
He stepped closer, folding his arms behind his back.
"You may yet survive," he said. "If you continue your training."
Silius waited, but no pride followed. No warmth. Just the usual ice.
"You've said that already," he murmured, half to himself.
Gladus didn't seem to hear—or chose not to.
"I assume your instructor told you the rules of the tournament. But I'll repeat them."He spoke like a general delivering orders. "Thirty are chosen. Fights are one-on-one. You win by submission or incapacity. No killing. No outside help. No interference. If someone so much as shouts your name, you're disqualified. Understood?"
"Yes," Silius replied.
A pause stretched between them.
He didn't know what he was hoping for. Maybe just one word that sounded like recognition. Something real.
But the moment passed.
Gladus reached into his coat.
"I have something for you."
From the folds of black leather, he drew a long scabbard lined with grey wolf fur. Gold-stitched into the dark leather were the words:"Power is useless if not shared with the weak."
Silius sat up slowly, taking the sword with trembling fingers.
He unsheathed it.Shhhk.
The blade gleamed—a double-edged weapon, etched with dancing patterns that shimmered like rippling water. The craftsmanship was unreal. Alive. His breath caught in his throat.
"It's beautiful…" he whispered. "Where did this come from? What metal is this? It's…"
"It was your mother's."
Gladus's voice was quiet now. Still rough, but… gentler.
"She forged it herself. A week before she died. She had it hidden away, meant for you—if you ever awakened. Or came of age."
Silius stared at the sword like it might vanish.
"She… she made this for me?"
"She believed in you. Even then."
Something cracked open inside him.
Tears didn't fall, but they gathered at the edges of his eyes. Not from pain. From being seen—finally, in some small way. Not by Gladus, perhaps… but by her.
"Thank you," he said, clutching the sword as if it were a promise.
Gladus turned to leave. "Rest until morning. You leave at dawn."
He paused at the door. Looked—not at his son—but at the sword.
Then he left.
And Silius was alone again.But something inside him had changed.