The Eve of the Academy.
The morning sun of the capital filtered through the villa's windows as Hilda entered with a tray of steaming soup and fresh, crusty bread.
"Eat well, Young Master,"
she said, her voice unusually somber.
"Tomorrow is your first day. You will be residing within the Academy walls for five days at a time, returning here only for the weekends."
Rune paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth.
"Why the restriction? Why can't I just come home every evening?"
"The Academy is a sanctuary, Rune,"
Hilda explained, helping him straighten his tunic.
"The students are the seeds of the next generation's power. In the capital, factions move in the shadows—some seek to recruit you, others to eliminate the competition for their own heirs. By keeping you within the gates, the Academy ensures your only focus is your growth, not the political games of the high clans."
Rune nodded, the weight of her words sinking in.
"I understand. I'll stay focused."
"Good,"
Hilda said, her signature mischievous grin returning.
"Your dormitory is prepared. And since you aren't starting as a standard first-year but have gained special admission into the Fourth-Year Squire Class, you'll have a private room."
Rune's eyes lit up.
"Fourth year? I can't wait to see how I measure up against kids my age!"
Hilda let out a short, sharp laugh.
"Kids your age? Rune, you are the youngest by far. The Fourth Year is filled with teenagers—those who have spent years reaching your level of power. You're going to be the 'short stuff' in a room full of giants. It's going to be a roller coaster, so hold on tight."
Rune was stunned for a heartbeat, but the shock didn't last. Instead, a familiar, blazing heat ignited in his eyes. He wasn't intimidated; he was hungry.
The Final Polish.
Unable to sit still, Rune spent the morning in the villa's training yard.
The air hummed with the sound of his blade cutting through the dust, his movements a blur of refined muscle and bone. After a final, grueling set of stances to vent his nervous energy, he sat in the center of the yard, meditating to achieve a state of cold, crystalline calm.
He was interrupted by two familiar voices.
"Yo, Rune! Still a training junkie, I see!"
Thora called out, leaning against the courtyard gate.
"Save some energy for us,"
Tove added with a dubious smirk.
"You might be shocked to find we can actually kick your butt now."
Rune rose slowly, a challenging glint in his eye.
"I'm ready when you are. Just don't cry when I hand you your asses for the hundredth time."
The spar lasted exactly three minutes. Despite their year of training in the capital, Thora and Tove were still in the initial stages of the Squire Class. Rune, a Late-Stage Squire with the refined instincts of a forest hunter, moved like a ghost.
He dismantled their offenses before they could even form.
"Damn,"
Thora panted, staring at his disarmed practice sword.
"I thought we'd closed the gap."
"You monster,"
Tove groaned, giving Rune a playful jab.
"Give the rest of us mortals a chance to keep up!"
Rune spent the rest of the afternoon giving his friends pointers, sharing the insights he had gained from his mother and the Evergreen.
The First Step.
The next morning, the air was crisp with anticipation. Rune stepped out of the villa to find Amery, Siggy, Tove, and Thora already waiting at the gate, their Academy uniforms sharp and pristine.
"Hey, Princess! If you take any longer, we'll be late for the opening ceremony!"
Tove shouted, his grin wide.
"Yeah, yeah,"
Rune laughed, adjusting his cloak.
"I'm ready. Let's go."
As the group walked toward the massive, obsidian gates of the Mjolnir Academy, Rune felt the shift in the air. The childhood days of Norgke County were officially behind him. Ahead lay a world of rivals, ancient techniques, and the true path to becoming a Knight.
Rune of House Assaroth took his first step into his future.