Arth woke before the sun. The room was still dark, only the weak light of the moon seeping through the gaps in the curtains. He lay in bed for a while, staring at the carved wooden ceiling.
He was thinking about Irina.
Her behaviour in the garden the day before... the way she had broken her usual coldness. "You are interesting, Irina" — he had thought that himself. But now, in the quiet of the morning, the word *interesting* seemed insufficient. There was something more. Something he couldn't name.
His father wanted him to choose one of the Graylor girls. Until that morning, Arth had resisted. But now... if he had to choose, perhaps it wouldn't be such a heavy burden. Morgana was beautiful, yes. But Irina... Irina was different. Not in an obvious way. In the way that, when she looked at her tea as if it held the answer to some unanswerable question, Arth felt a desire to know what the question was.
He sat up in bed. Sighed.
I'll accept. Whatever the choice, I'll accept.
He went downstairs. The smell of fresh bread and roast meat came from the direction of the dining hall. As he entered, he saw Morgana and Martha already seated, talking in low voices. His father, Arthur, stood by the window, looking out at the garden. And in the centre of the table, with his back to the door, was a boy with silver-blue hair.
"Ah, Arth!" his father turned, smiling. "Our guest arrived earlier than expected."
The boy stood and turned. He was tall for his age — looked about fifteen, just like Arth. Short hair, silver-blue, grey eyes. A handsome face, but not a soft beauty — rather something firm, almost angular. He wore a simple but well-cut tunic, without any noble insignia.
"Arthorius Erréndias" the boy made a small bow. "Andy Decatry. Thank you for receiving me."
"The pleasure is mine" Arth replied, returning the bow. "My father has told me a lot about you."
"All the neighbouring counties seem to talk about me." Andy smiled. It was an open smile, without cynicism. "I hope it's not only bad things.
"Happy birthday!"
The phrase came from everyone at once — his father, the three girls, Andy. Arth hesitated for a second, then smiled back.
"Thank you."
Andy approached. He carried a long bundle wrapped in dark cloth.
"I have a gift for you. I made it myself."
Arth raised an eyebrow.
"Yourself? You're a blacksmith?"
"The Decatry family is known for its weapons, Arth. Since my great-grandfather, we have forged the purest steel in Endomyar." Andy unwrapped the cloth. "This is the best sword I have ever made. It doesn't have a name yet. I thought you might choose it.
The blade was long, black as coal, but with red veins that seemed to pulse — as if the metal had a life of its own. The hilt was black leather, with a wolf-shaped pommel. Arth took it with both hands. It was heavy. Perfectly balanced.
"This..." Arth raised his eyes to Andy. "This is magnificent."
"Try it later, in the field. I want to see how you handle it."
Arth nodded, still looking at the sword. There was something ancient about it, despite being new. As if the steel already thirsted for future battles.
"Sit down, boys" said Arthur, pointing to the table. "Eat. Then we'll talk."
Breakfast was lively. Morgana talked non-stop, mostly to Andy, who replied politely but without encouragement. Martha was quieter than usual, which Arth noticed but didn't comment on. His father, Arthur, watched everyone with a tired but attentive gaze.
Arth sat next to Andy. He wanted to know more about him.
"I heard you're the first chosen of Macano in centuries" Arth said, lowering his voice so his sisters wouldn't hear.
Andy shrugged.
"That's what they say. I don't feel any different. I just have... goals."
"What goals?"
Andy looked at his own hand. Clenched his fist.
"My father is a snake. A man who smiles at the weak and devours them when they turn their backs. I want to become a master knight. Strong enough to destroy people like him."
Arth was silent. He hadn't expected such honesty.
"And you?" Andy asked, turning back to him. "What do you want?"
"To kill demons" Arth replied without hesitation. "After that... to live in a flowery field. With three daughters. Far from my father's bad decisions. Far from my sister's hatred."
Andy laughed. Not a mocking laugh, but one of recognition.
"That's a good plan."
"I'm still working on the details."
His father tapped the table, calling for attention.
"Arth. We need to talk about the marriage. The Graylors expect an answer by the end of the day."
The room suddenly became heavy. Morgana straightened in her chair. Martha dropped her cutlery. Even Andy seemed tense.
Arth took a deep breath.
"I choose Irina, Father."
Silence.
Morgana opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Martha looked at her brother as if he had said something in another language. Their father... their father simply nodded once, slowly.
And then Irina smiled.
It was a small smile. Almost imperceptible. But it was there — at the corners of her mouth, in the shine of her eyes. For the first time since Arth had known her, Irina Graylor was smiling.
Morgana jumped to her feet.
"You... you chose 'her'?"
"I did."
"She's an ice cube! A cold spider who only knows how to stare at tea!"
"Morgana" Arthur interrupted, his voice calm but firm. "The decision is made."
Morgana looked at the count, at Arth, at Irina. Anger twisted her beautiful face. She turned and left the room without another word.
Martha also stood up, but with less force. She looked at her brother with an expression Arth couldn't decipher — anger, yes, but also something like hurt.
"Congratulations, brother" she said, her voice cold. "I hope you are happy with your choice."
She left after her friend.
Arthur sighed. *What the hell is going on in that girl's head? And my sister... why does she treat me like this?*
"I'm going to get dressed. The nobles will be here within an hour".
And he left too.
The room remained with Arth, Andy and Irina. The silence was not uncomfortable. It was almost... peaceful.
"Listen" Andy broke the silence, his voice more serious than before. "They talked about the blue-mind-destroyer. And about a demon lord."
Arth frowned.
"What do you know?"
"Rumours say it's not a natural disease. That there is a demon lord summoning the second strand of calamities."
"Trussum?" asked Irina, her voice low.
"Perhaps. Or another. No one knows for sure." Andy looked at the sword he had given Arth. "You'll need that sooner than you think."
The atmosphere grew heavy. Not the magical weight Arth had once felt in the duke's stable — this was different. It was the weight of knowing that something bad was approaching.
"The maid" Irina said, almost in a whisper. "The one torn apart by wolves."
The three fell silent.
Everyone knew. Wolves don't do that unless something controls them. Something worse than hunger.
"Let's go to the field" Andy said, standing up. "I need to see how you handle the sword. And you, Irina... you can be the judge."
Irina raised an eyebrow.
"Judge?"
"Someone has to count the hits."
The field behind the mansion was vast, bordered by a low hedge and, in the distance, the dark line of the Varzyus forest. Andy and Arth positioned themselves facing each other. Wooden swords in their hands — the real one had been set aside for now.
"First to touch the opponent's chest wins" said Andy.
"Simple."
"Simple."
Irina sat on a stone bench, hands in her lap. Watching.
They started slowly. Andy attacked first — a quick, direct strike. Arth parried, riposted. Andy blocked, stepped back, attacked again.
Andy was better. Arth realised this by the twelfth attack. Andy's movements were precise, economical, without a single wasted gesture. Arth, despite his training, had flaws — small hesitations, a tendency to overcommit on his right side.
After two minutes, Andy's sword touched his chest.
"Hit" said Irina, her voice neutral.
Andy stepped back. Extended his hand.
"Good duel."
Arth looked at the outstretched hand. For a second, he felt the shame of having lost in front of Irina. The temperature of the field seemed to drop — not literally, but the air became denser, harder to breathe.
Then he took the hand. Andy pulled him up.
"You're fast" said Andy. "You just lack confidence."
"I lack more than that."
"Confidence is enough. The rest comes with time."
Irina rose from the bench. Approached.
"Andy is right. You hesitate. When you decide on a strike, execute it without thinking."
Arth looked at her. For the first time, he did not see the *ice cube*. He saw a girl who, perhaps, was also tired of being misunderstood.
"Why did you accept?" Arth asked, his voice low. "The marriage.
Irina looked away. Stared at the forest in the distance.
"I'm tired of being looked down upon. Disrespected by my own subjects. My grandfather..." she paused. "My grandfather taught me not to show feelings. Whenever I show them, something bad happens. So I keep my face closed. But I'm tired. It's not as if I had a choice, anyway."
" And marrying me solves that?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. But it's a way out."
Andy listened in silence, arms crossed.
"I'm also tired" he said, finally. "Of my father. Of men like him. That's why I want power. To destroy them."
The three stood in silence. The wind blew softly, carrying the smell of wet earth.
"So" Arth said, with a small smile "you want to kill snakes, you want to escape the ice, and I want to kill demons and have three daughters in a flowery field."
"It's a strange plan" said Irina.
"But it's a plan" Andy finished.
And they laughed. The three of them. A short, light laugh, lost in the wind.
In the distance, by the county's enormous gate, the first noble carriages began to arrive. Arthur watched them from the window of his study. His face tired. His hands behind his back.
The day had barely begun.