Morning at the Landergrey Barony training corps didn't begin with horns or ceremony. It began with impact.
Wood struck flesh. Flesh hit dirt. Someone groaned. Someone else laughed.
Owen Landergrey stood at the edge of the yard with a practice sword resting against his shoulder, watching another squire get driven into the mud. He didn't flinch. Didn't smile either. Just observed, eyes calm, distant, like he was counting breaths instead of bruises.
The yard was already alive, dozens of squires drilling under barking instructors, iron clanging, boots tearing lines into packed earth. The air smelled like sweat and dust and old blood that never fully washed out.
This was the Landergrey training corps.Where boys learned how to break.
"Owen."
He turned at the call, slow and deliberate.
Instructor Halbrecht stood a few paces away, arms crossed, scar splitting his lip permanently downward. "You're late."
Owen dipped his head. "Yes, sir."
"No excuse?"
"No, sir."
Halbrecht snorted. "Figures. Take position. You're sparring."
Owen stepped forward without complaint.
The other squires noticed immediately. Some glanced away. Some smirked. A few whispered.
The manaless one.
Useless Defect.
Owen ignored them. He always did.
He rolled his shoulder once, grip settling naturally around the worn handle of his sword. The leather was cracked, the wood beneath smoothed by years of use. It wasn't his first weapon. It wouldn't be his last. But it was familiar enough.
"Against who?" Halbrecht asked aloud.
A shadow moved.
Cedric Landergrey stepped into the ring.
The yard quieted.
Cedric didn't wear fear like armor... he didn't need to. It followed him on its own. At fifteen, he already stood taller than most squires, posture straight, eyes sharp, presence oppressive in a way that made people stand a little straighter without realizing why.
The divine mana stirred faintly around him, subtle but unmistakable. Power refined from most normal attributes, controlled. Dangerous.
Son of Baron Aldric Landergrey.Heir to the barony.A prodigy.
And Owen's problem.
Cedric rolled his neck once and smiled. "Again?"
Owen said nothing.
"Cat got your tongue?" Cedric tilted his head mockingly. "Or you saving your breath for when you're on the ground?"
A few squires chuckled.
Halbrecht didn't stop it. He never did.
"Begin," the instructor barked.
Cedric moved first.
Fast. Clean. Perfect form. His blade snapped forward in a precise arc meant to test, not finish.
Owen stepped back.
Not clumsy. Not panicked. Just… back.
Steel grazed his sleeve. The crowd reacted anyway.
Cedric pressed, smile widening. Strike after strike, each one textbook. Owen retreated, feet shifting just enough to stay upright, sword lifting only when necessary.
To the onlookers, it looked pathetic.
To Cedric, it felt wrong.
Owen wasn't scrambling. He wasn't desperate. He was… present. Like he'd already accepted the outcome and was simply moving through it.
Cedric's strikes grew heavier.
Owen blocked one. Then another. The third slipped past and slammed into his ribs. Pain flared. Owen staggered but stayed standing.
"Still up?" Cedric muttered. "You're tougher than you look."
He stepped in close and slammed his shoulder into Owen's chest, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
Laughter erupted.
Owen lay there for a moment, breathing slow, face unreadable. His fingers brushed the chain beneath his shirt—the dull, unremarkable pendant resting against his chest.
He pushed himself up.
Halbrecht raised a brow. "Yield?"
Owen shook his head once.
Cedric exhaled through his nose, irritated now. "You really don't know when to stop."
He kicked Owen's sword aside and struck him across the face with the flat of his blade.
Owen fell again.
Silence this time.
Cedric leaned down, voice low. "You're adopted, you know. You don't belong here. My mother's pity won't save you forever."
Owen looked up at him. Not angry. Not afraid.
Just tired.
Cedric straightened, scoffing. "Stay down next time."
He turned away.
Halbrecht cleared his throat. "Match over."
The yard resumed its noise like nothing had happened.
Owen stayed on the ground a second longer before standing. Dirt clung to his clothes. Blood trickled from his lip. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.
No one helped him.
That was fine.
From the balcony above the yard, Lady Landergrey watched silently, fingers gripping the railing. Worry creased her expression as Owen limped away.
Beside her, Baron Aldric Landergrey said nothing.
Neutral. As always.
Owen walked toward the barracks alone, shoulders squared, pendant resting cold against his chest.