Chapter One
A Lords House
The morning air smelled of damp earth and iron.
Edgar's arms ached, but he welcomed the pain. It meant he was improving.
Across the yard, Rowan came at him again, boots thudding against packed dirt of the yard. His practice blade swept in a wide arc. Edgar stepped inside the strike, shoulder brushing his foster brother's chest, and drove his wooden sword into Rowan's side.
Rowan grunted and staggered back, laughing as he caught his balance. Sunlight caught in Rowan's fair hair as he straightened, brushing dirt from his sleeve. "You fight like you're angry at the world."
Edgar lowered his weapon. "Someone has to be."
From the fence, Tomas watched with his usual quiet intensity, dark eyes never missing a movement. "If anger won wars," he said "Edgar would already have a song written about him"
Edgar smirked but said nothing. The three of them had trained together since they were old enough to lift wooden blades - sons of a knight, raised in discipline and dust.
Yet Edgar had always felt different.
Not weaker.
Not stronger.
Just..apart.
His reddish hair clung to his brow with sweat, and when he looked up toward the hall steps, his eyes caught the light - a strange shade of gold that always made strangers stare a moment too long.
From those steps, Sir Aldric Grey watched them, arms folded across a chest still broad despite the years. His beard was streaked with brownish and tint of iron-grey now, but his posture remained that of a soldier who had never truly left the field. Garrick's younger brother said. A knight of Blackridge. The man who had raised Edgar and his brothers since he was young.
Aldric clapped once, sharp and commanding. "Enough. Drink water. We will train again tomorrow."
Edgar set his blade aside and wiped sweat from his brow.
That was when the horn sounded.
One shot blast.
Formal. Urgen.
A rider.
The messenger wore a dark cloud and silver trim of House Grey. Mud streaked his boots and his horse trembled with exhaustion as he dismounted and bowed.
"My lord knight," he said, "A summon from Lord Garrick."
The name struck Edgar harder than any blow he had taken that morning.
Blackridge Keep, the seat of power. The place he had not returned to since childhood.
The messenger produced a sealed letter. Aldric broke it open and read in silence, his eyes moving quickly across the parchment. When he finished, his expression had changed - not fear, but the sharpened focus of a man stepping back into danger.
"Council is called," the messenger continued. "House Seranthel rides for Blackridge.
Lord Garrick commands your presence."
Rowan blinked. "House Sarenthel? Isn't it a bit early for the usual tournament between their house and our House Grey?"
Tomas frowned slightly. "That's not until the harvest season."
The messenger shifted his weight. "My lord says the tournament has been… moved forward. Sarenthel requested it to be held now alongside the council."
Rowan let out a quiet breath. "They never change the date without a reason."
Alrdric folded the letter and looked at them, his expression unreadable. "No" he said. They change it when they want something."
Sir Aldric folded the letter and tucked it into his belt. "Pack your things," he said "We leave within the hour."
Rowan grin returned, but tighter than before, "At least there'll be something worth watching."
Tomas shook his head. "Tournament brings crowds. Crowds bring trouble."
Edgar said nothing. His thoughts were already far from the training yard, drifting towards a place he remembers - stone walls, tall towers, and a lord whose eyes had once lingered on him longer than they should have.
They rode the next morning.
The road to Blackridge wound through fields and forest, past streams and stone markers, half buried by time. Edgar rode in silence, watching the land change slowly mile by mile, as if the world itself were shifting around him.
By dusk, the land began to rise.
The road curved along a ridge of dark stone, and there - at last - Blackridge Keep revealed itself.
Its walls were not white like castles of the south, nor gilded like those near the Emperor's seat. Blackridge was built from iron-gray stone, thick and unforgiving, its towers shaped for war rather than beauty. Banners of House Grey hung from every battlement, snapping sharply in the cold wind- the silver wolf on black, watching all who approached.
Edgar felt his chest tighten.
He had seen this place countless times as a child.
Yet now it looked different.
Larger.
Colder.
Heavier with meaning.
The gates groaned open at Aldric's signal.
Inside, the courtyard was alive with motion.
Servants hurried across the stones carrying barrels of wine and bundles of cloth.
Stablehands called out to one another as horse were led away. Soldiers polished shields beneath torchlight, their laughter mixing with the clang of armour.
This was not just preparation for guests.
This was preparation for history.
Edgar swung down from his horse and looked around, memories stirring - the well where he once dared Roderic Grey to climb, the archway where they had hidden from lessons, the tower stairs they had raced until their lungs burned.
And at the foot of the great hall steps stood Lord Garrick Grey.
Time had hardened him but Edgar still saw the man who lifted him onto a horse and told him to fear falling - because falling meant learning.
Beside Garrick stood Lady Elowen Grey, his wife.
She wore deep blue and silver, her posture calm and composed. When her eyes met Edgar's, there was warmth there - and something else too. Recognition.
"My lord," Aldric said, clasping his brother's forearm.
Garrick nodded. "You chose a busy time to return."
His gaze moved to Edgar for a heartbeat longer than the others. Then he stepped aside.
"And you remember Lady Isolde, I hope" Garrick added.
His daughter stood beside Elowen - older now, poised and sharp-eyed, her dark hair braided neatly at her back.
Isolde smiled faintly. "I remember when you all used to steal apples from the kitchen," she said. "I'm pleased to see you haven't lost the look of trouble."
Rowan laughed. Tomas bowed his head politely.
Edgar inclined his own. "Some habits die hard, my lady."
Garrick glanced around the yard. "If you're looking for my son…you won't find him here."
Isolde sighed. "He slipped into the woods again."
Rowan's grin spread instantly. "Of course he did. " Don't worry my lord, we will find him ourself
Tomas tightened his gloves. "Should we do a challenge?" he said, "First one to find him wins."
Edgar's eyes lit with the old spark. "Let's see who finds him first."
Before anyone could stop them, the three of them swung on their horses and already moving toward the treeline beyond the outer wall.
Elowen watched them go, amusement softening her expression.
"Some things never change," she said
Garrick's smile was brief - and thoughtful.
They passed through the outer gate beneath the watchful eyes of the guards, hooves striking stone as the road curved away from Blackridge proper.
Rowan urged his horse forward first.
"Last one to the wall tower buys the wine tonight."
Tomas snorted. "You'll drink it all before we arrive."
Edgar smiled and leaned low in the saddle.
They raced.
Wind tore at their cloaks as Blackridge fell behind them, revealing the land it ruled - rolling hills, stone roads, and the miniature keeps that dotted the region like sentinels.
Each belonged to a minor lord, banners snapping proudly in the breeze.
Edgar glanced sideways as they rode.
"I forgot how many towers Blackridge had." he said
"Lord Garrick said, a castle seen is a warning," Tomas replied. "And a reminder."
Rowan laughed as he pulled ahead. "Or he just likes stone."
They slowed near the outer wall keep, an old square fortress guarding the woodland edge. Its stones were darker than Blackridge's weathered by age and moss.
Tomas reined in. "If Alraic's anywhere, it's here."
Edgar nodded. "He always trained beyond the roads. Said stone walls made him lazy."
Rowan smirked. "Or cautious"
They pushed into the trees, hooves muffled by pine needles and damp earth. The woods swallowed sound quickly, sunlight breaking through in pale shafts.
Edgar relaxed slightly.
This place, at last, hadn't changed.
A blur of movement flashed from the side.
Before Edgar could turn -
Impact.
Something slammed into his side, ripping him from the saddle. He hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs as his horse bolted forward.
Rowan swore loudly. Tomas drew steel instantly.
A figure stepped out from behind the trees, holding Edgar's reins loosely.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark-haired.
Smiling.
"Don't tell me," looking down at Edgar, "you've taken to scavenging in my woods." Malric Grey said while smirking.
Edgar blinked, still catching his breath. Dirt clung to his cloak as he pushed himself up onto one elbow, squinting through the dappled light.
"Is that you," he said, disbelief creeping into his voice, "young master?"
A laugh escaped the boy's throat - sharp, familiar.
"Careful," he replied. "You make it sound like I've grown old."
Rowan lowered his blade with a groan. "Gods, you nearly killed him."
"And yet, Malric said lightly, tossing the reins aside, "he still breathes."
He offered Edgar a hand.
Edgar took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet, eyes still searching the face before him.
"I was hoping you'd grown slower" Edgar muttered
Malric's grin widened, "I was hoping you'd grown smarter."
From the nearby keep, Ser Othmar's voice carried through the trees
"Lordling! If you're finished knocking guests into the dirt-"
Ser Othmar kestrel stepped into view, armour worn and unadorned. To House Grey, he was more than a knight - he was the man who had ridden beside Lord Garrick before Blackridge had walls, the one trusted with its borders, its soldiers, and its heirs.
His gaze moved to Edgar first, then Rowan and Tomas. He inclined his head slightly.
"Rowan, Tomas, Edgar" he said "Welcome back to Blackridge, You ride well, Othmar added. "Your father trained you properly."
Malric smirked. "That's almost a compliment."
Othmar's mouth twitched. "Don't make me repeat myself."
His eyes lingered on Edgar a heartbeat longer, measuring, approving.
Then he turned his gaze toward Malric. "Enough for today. Lord Garrick will want you inside the walls before night settles."
Maric rolled his shoulders, already turning back toward his horse. "You heard him. No more ambushes."
Rowan muttered, "Shame."
They mounted again, the woods parting reluctantly as they rode back toward Blackridge. The light had begun to fade, shadows stretching long between the trees.
For a while, none of them spoke.
Then Rowan broke the silence. "House Sarenthel should be here soon."
Tomas glanced at him. "You sound pleased."
"I sound curious," Rowan replied. "They don't ride South without purpose. "And they don't bring tournaments unless they want eyes on something."
"Or someone," Tomas said.
Edgar listened, reins loose in his hands. The rhythm of the ride steadied his thoughts, but unease crept in all the same.
"They say Sarenthel fought three border wars without ever standing on the field," Rowan continued. "Just move banners and let others bleed."
"That's not strength," Rowan added after a pause. "That's patience."
"Patience wins more wars than steel," Tomas said quietly.
They crested the ridge as Blackridge came back into view - torches flickering along the walls, banners strung in the evening wind. From here, the keep looked less like a home and more like a fortress awaiting siege.
Edgar's gaze lingered on it.
He had returned expecting familiarity.
Instead, he felt like he had arrived before the storm.