The governor's palace in the provincial capital was more like a vast house than a fortress. Its stone walls were smooth, and its gray marble floors reflected the steps of all who entered.
The sons of the lesser noble families—including Kaizlan Valric—had been summoned to the great hall, where the coming responsibilities would be announced.
Kaizlan entered with a group of youths. Some wore lavish clothes, bright with embroidery, while others, like him, wore garments that were neat but without luxury.
They took their seats along the sides, as Commander Raun stood at the front of the hall, reviewing the rolls of names.
⸻
While Kaizlan waited, he felt a shadow fall beside him.
Turning, he saw a young man of nearly his own age: sharp features, black hair tied back, and a dark coat trimmed with silver thread.
The stranger spoke in a low but cutting voice:
"You're the son of Valric, aren't you?"
Kaizlan answered calmly:
"Yes."
The young man gave a short smile that never touched his eyes.
"I've heard of you… the boy who dreams of knighthood and glory. Interesting that such dreams have not yet died, though the world has slain thousands like them."
Kaizlan hesitated before replying:
"Dreams do not die so easily."
The other gave a light laugh.
"Dreams don't die… but they become a burden when their bearer discovers the truth."
Then he leaned closer, lowering his voice:
"Learn that quickly—before you pay the price."
He walked away with steady steps, leaving behind a trail of tension. Kaizlan turned to one of the youths seated nearby and asked:
"Who is he?"
The answer came quietly:
"That's Eiron Levara, of the great House Levara. They say he is ambitious… and trusts no one."
⸻
Moments later, a short man in elegant dress entered, carrying a sealed scroll.
He declared in a formal tone:
"By order of the Governor, a reserve battalion shall be formed for the defense of the northern road.
The sons of the families present are required to take part in preliminary training, so that they may serve as an example to the men of the province."
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
Some of the youths looked confident, others uneasy, while Kaizlan sat in silence, weighing the words in his mind.
⸻
When the assembly ended, they filed out through a long marble corridor.
The echo of footsteps rang in Kaizlan's ears, stirring within him a strange sense: that this was not merely training, but the beginning of something far larger.
As he passed near the balcony, his eyes caught sight of the regular soldiers drilling in the outer yard. Their movements were precise, their formations strict.
There was no poetic glory in them—only discipline, bodies moving as if they were one.
He whispered to himself:
"This is how armies endure… not through courage alone, but through obedience and order."
⸻
By evening, he had returned to the town. Deril awaited him outside the workshop.
Seeing the gravity in Kaizlan's expression, he said:
"If the road leads you to war, remember—steel alone is not enough. There is hunger, there is exhaustion, and there are men who die without ever being seen."
Kaizlan nodded slowly.
And he realized that the path he had dreamed of since childhood was now taking its true shape: a road with no room for romance—only blood, iron, and silence.