Chapter 1: The Forgotten Son
The bells of House Ardyn rang softly at dawn, their echoes rolling through the fog-draped valley like a tired sigh. The manor was old but proud, a cluster of gray stone halls surrounded by fields of pale wheat that bent beneath the morning wind.
To the people of the valley, the Ardyns were nobles of honor—keepers of old oaths, protectors of trade routes, and quiet allies of the crown. Yet within those cold stone walls, not everyone shone with pride.
A dull thud broke the stillness of the courtyard. Then another. And another.
Evan Ardyn swung his wooden sword with all his strength, feet slipping slightly in the mud. Each swing was slower than the last, his breath coming in uneven gasps. The target dummy before him barely moved.
Again, he told himself. Just one more swing.
But his arms trembled, and the sword slipped from his hand.
A sharp laugh cut through the air.
"You call that swordplay?"
Evan turned to see his older brother, Darius, striding across the yard in full training armor, sunlight flashing off polished steel. Two other guards followed him, their expressions politely amused.
"I'm practicing," Evan said quietly, wiping sweat from his brow.
Darius smirked. "Practicing what? Falling over?" He picked up Evan's wooden sword and balanced it across his palm as if weighing it. "You've been at this since sunrise, and the dummy still looks better than you do."
The guards chuckled under their breath.
Evan's face heated. "Maybe if someone trained me properly instead of laughing—"
Darius raised a brow. "If you can't even hold a sword straight, you're not ready for a real lesson." He tossed the wooden blade back to Evan, who caught it clumsily.
"You're seventeen, brother," Darius continued, turning away. "It's time to face the truth. Not everyone is born for battle."
He walked off with his men, their laughter fading down the corridor.
Evan stood alone. Mud clung to his boots, and humiliation burned in his chest. He wanted to shout back, to demand respect—but what good were words when he couldn't even lift a blade properly?
He stayed in the yard until the sun rose high, striking again and again at the dummy until his hands blistered. The air filled with the sound of wood meeting straw, a stubborn rhythm that refused to stop.
---
Inside the manor, his mother, Lady Mara, watched through the window.
"He'll make himself sick," she murmured.
Her husband, Lord Ardyn, didn't look up from the letters scattered across his desk. "Let him. A bit of exhaustion might teach him discipline."
Mara sighed. "He only wants to make you proud."
"I have sons who make me proud," Lord Ardyn said, sealing a document with wax. "Evan has other talents. Let him copy records or manage trade accounts. He's not meant for battlefields."
Outside, the steady sound of practice finally stopped.
---
At supper, Evan sat quietly while his family discussed politics.
"Another shipment from the mines is delayed," his father said. "The crown grows impatient. If we fail again, they may send inspectors."
"Let them come," Darius said confidently. "I'll escort them myself."
Lord Ardyn nodded approvingly. "You'll make a fine representative. The king respects strength."
His gaze slid to Evan, who was staring at his plate. "And you—how goes your studying?"
"I finished the ledgers," Evan said. "And the trade routes for the northern border."
"Good," his father replied shortly. "Keep at it. Not everyone serves the kingdom with a sword."
Evan forced a smile, though the words stung. He'd always dreamed of earning the family crest on his armor, standing beside his brothers as a knight. But every compliment sounded like pity, every praise like a reminder of what he lacked.
---
That night, Evan left his room quietly and climbed the hill behind the manor. The moonlight poured over the valley, silvering the wheat fields and the rooftops below.
From there, he could see the faint lights of the Royal Capital, glowing far on the horizon like scattered stars.
He whispered into the wind, "Someday, I'll walk those streets. Someday, they'll know the name Evan Ardyn."
The wind answered only with silence.
He stayed until the first chill of dawn crept over the hills, then made his way back toward the manor gates.
That was when he saw them—two cloaked riders dismounting before the gate. Their horses were black, their armor marked with the golden crest of the crown.
His father met them outside, his expression unreadable. They spoke in hushed tones that didn't match the usual courtesy of royal messengers. One of the riders handed over a sealed letter bearing the king's insignia.
Evan couldn't hear the words, but he felt the tension. His father's hand tightened on the letter before he noticed Evan watching from the shadows.
"Go inside, son," Lord Ardyn said, his tone sharper than usual.
"But—"
"Now."
Evan obeyed, though his curiosity burned stronger than fear. From the staircase window, he watched as the riders mounted their horses again.
One of them paused and looked back. For a moment their gaze met—cold, distant, almost assessing. Then the rider turned away and vanished down the foggy road.
---
That night, Evan couldn't sleep. He heard his parents' voices from the study below—urgent, whispered. He caught only fragments.
"…not supposed to arrive yet…"
"…if they find out before the council…"
"…the king's orders were clear…"
Then silence.
He pressed his back against the wall, heart pounding.
Something was wrong.
The next morning, his father left early for the capital, claiming it was "routine business." But the household servants whispered that the royal messengers had carried summons of inspection, not invitations.
Even Darius seemed uneasy, though he hid it behind a confident grin.
"Don't listen to gossip, little brother," he said. "Father's handled worse."
But that night, the wind howled louder than before, and Evan swore he saw torchlight flicker beyond the valley—riders moving again in the dark.
He stared out the window, unease crawling up his spine.
The messengers' visit wasn't routine.
It was a warning.
And whatever his father was hiding… the kingdom already knew.