Soma Locke awoke at precisely three o'clock in the morning.
No alarm. No servant knocking at his door. No magical notification reminding him that he had responsibilities.
Just a thoroughly unreasonable internal clock that had apparently decided sleeping past the third hour was a personal failure.
He stared at the ceiling of his enormous bedroom.
Happy birthday to me.
Ten years. He had officially survived an entire decade in Hallowcrown, an accomplishment that seemed increasingly impressive considering the number of times he'd nearly injured himself attempting something his body wasn't ready to handle.
His earliest attempts at walking had been disastrous. His first encounter with a wooden sword had resulted in an embarrassing defeat against his own forehead. And somewhere along the way, his family had developed the unfortunate belief that every remotely impressive accomplishment deserved a celebration.
Nevertheless, he was ten years old, healthy, and finally strong enough to complete a respectable morning workout.
Things could certainly be worse.
Soma slipped from his ridiculously oversized bed, dressed in a comfortable linen tunic and training shorts, and quietly opened his bedroom door.
Standing in the dim corridor was Samantha, holding a neatly folded towel and a waterskin.
"Good morning, young master!"
Soma sighed.
"Samantha, we've discussed this."
"That proper household etiquette requires me to address you according to your station?"
"That you should call me Soma when we're alone."
"Of course, young master."
He stared at her.
She smiled innocently.
"You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
Soma shook his head and started walking. Samantha fell into step beside him, her black hair tied into its usual neat ponytail.
"Happy birthday, Soma," she said softly.
He glanced up.
"Thank you, Sam."
"Ten years old already."
"Unfortunately. I'm getting ancient."
"Ancient?"
"Practically falling apart. My knees hurt, my back aches, and I have to deal with an unreasonable number of responsibilities."
Samantha laughed.
"Sometimes I swear you're a little old man trapped in a child's body."
Soma's smile faltered for the briefest instant.
You have absolutely no idea.
"Well," he replied, "someone in this household has to be mature."
"That's certainly not you."
"Your lack of faith wounds me."
"Then perhaps we should hurry before Igor notices you're late."
"I'm never late."
"There's a first time for everything."
Locke Manor's sprawling corridors were nearly deserted at that hour. Only the occasional night guard or servant crossed their path, offering a respectful greeting as they passed. The estate's floating lanterns illuminated polished white stone, while moonlight spilled through the enormous windows overlooking Highmere.
Outside, the capital slept beneath the Citadel's impossible silhouette.
Soma enjoyed these hours more than almost any other part of his day. There were no visiting nobles, no tutors demanding his attention, and no siblings arguing over who had stolen whose belongings.
Just silence, cool air, and the promise of a challenging morning.
Ten minutes later, they entered the training grounds.
The broad courtyard was deserted except for a handful of guards completing the night shift. Rows of practice dummies stood beside weapon racks, while the perimeter trail disappeared into the shadows beyond the barracks.
Soma climbed onto his familiar wooden crate near the equipment shed and swung his legs.
Samantha disappeared toward the kitchens.
She returned several minutes later carrying two warm pastries wrapped in a cloth.
"Breakfast."
Soma accepted one eagerly.
"You're a wonderful woman, Samantha."
"I know."
"Modest, too."
"One of my many virtues."
He took a bite just as a heavy pair of boots began thudding across the cobblestones.
"OI! BIRTHDAY BRAT!"
Soma didn't bother turning.
"Good morning, you miserable old bastard."
Igor emerged from the darkness, his remaining eye narrowing beneath a heavy gray brow.
"That's a fine way to greet the man responsible for making sure you don't grow up softer than a tavern whore's mattress."
Samantha whipped around.
"IGOR!"
"What?"
"Must you be so vulgar this early?"
The veteran scratched his beard.
"Would you prefer I wait until breakfast?"
"I would prefer you learn some manners!"
"At my age? Woman, I've spent decades perfecting this charming personality."
"Then you've wasted decades."
Soma snorted into his pastry.
Igor noticed.
"Something funny, brat?"
"Just admiring the beautiful friendship you two have developed."
Samantha folded her arms.
"Young master, don't encourage him."
Igor grinned.
"Careful, girl. Keep scolding me like that and folks might think we're married."
"Married?" Samantha repeated incredulously. "I'd rather kiss a swamp troll."
"Good. I've heard they're excellent kissers."
Soma nearly choked.
"Can we please unlock the equipment shed before this conversation permanently damages my understanding of romance?"
Igor threw back his head and roared with laughter.
Samantha's face turned crimson.
"You're both impossible!"
"Thank you," Soma replied.
"That wasn't a compliment!"
Igor finally retrieved his keys, unlocked the shed, and tossed Soma his practice sword.
"Happy birthday, kid."
Soma caught it.
"Thanks, old man."
"Now get running before I decide birthdays deserve extra laps."
Soma began his usual three-mile run along the perimeter trail.
The path measured a quarter mile per circuit, winding past the training yards and alongside the outer barracks. Twelve laps had become a familiar part of his morning routine, developed gradually over years of careful conditioning under Igor's supervision.
At four, he could barely maintain his balance while standing on one foot.
At six, a short run left him exhausted.
Now, at ten, he could complete three miles at a steady, controlled pace without collapsing into the dirt.
That didn't mean it was easy.
By the eighth lap, sweat dampened his hair. His breathing deepened, his calves burned, and the temptation to slow down became increasingly persuasive.
Just because I enjoy training doesn't mean my legs have to agree.
He maintained his rhythm.
When he finally completed the twelfth lap, the first hints of dawn had begun brightening the horizon.
Samantha waited near the equipment shed with chilled water.
"How was your run?"
"Terrible. I highly recommend avoiding it."
She handed him the flask.
"I'll keep that in mind."
Soma drank, caught his breath, and moved into his conditioning exercises.
Igor supervised his sword drills, correcting his footwork and occasionally striking him with a padded staff whenever his guard slipped.
"Again!"
Soma adjusted his stance.
"Again!"
He pivoted.
"Too wide!"
He corrected the movement.
"Too slow!"
Soma lowered his wooden sword.
"Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?"
"No."
"Remarkable."
"Keep that mouth moving, boy. I'll find another hour of exercises for you."
Soma immediately resumed training.
The veteran grinned.
Over the years, several guards had begun arriving early simply to watch their morning arguments. They remembered when the youngest Locke heir had first appeared in the training yard, barely tall enough to reach the practice racks.
Most had assumed his enthusiasm would fade.
Instead, the stubborn little noble kept returning.
And returning.
And returning.
Now even the veterans acknowledged his discipline, though they took tremendous pleasure in teasing him whenever he made a mistake.
When the morning session ended, Igor approached carrying a narrow wooden case.
"Here."
Soma blinked.
"What's that?"
"Open the damned thing."
Inside rested a beautifully balanced wooden training sword. Its dark grip was wrapped in leather, and a small silver Locke crest decorated the pommel.
It was larger than his original childhood weapon but perfectly suited to his growing frame.
Soma lifted it carefully.
"Igor..."
"Don't get sentimental."
"Did you make this?"
"Had one of the smiths help. Figured you were finally old enough to stop swinging that glorified toothpick."
Soma tested the balance.
It felt wonderful.
"Thank you. Seriously."
For a moment, Igor's rough expression softened.
"You're a good kid, Soma. Annoying as hell, but a good kid."
Soma smiled.
"Careful. Someone might think you like me."
"Keep talking and I'll take it back."
Samantha laughed.
Igor turned away before either of them could notice how pleased he looked.
After a hot bath, Soma emerged to discover Samantha holding an elaborate dark-blue outfit embroidered with gold.
He stopped walking.
"No."
"Yes."
"Absolutely not."
"Your mother specifically requested it."
Soma stared at the stiff ceremonial jacket.
"Why must noble clothing always feel like someone designed it to punish the wearer?"
"Because appearances matter."
"So does breathing."
Samantha laughed and helped him dress.
He noticed that she seemed unusually eager to finish.
"You're hiding something."
"Am I?"
"Definitely."
"Then I suppose you'll have to discover it."
Soma narrowed his eyes.
Everyone in this household is suspicious today.
Once dressed, he made his way toward the library, intending to spend several peaceful hours reading before the afternoon festivities Aria had mentioned.
He reached the enormous double doors and pushed them open.
"SURPRISE!"
Soma practically leaped out of his boots.
The library had been transformed.
Golden lanterns floated beneath the vaulted ceiling, ribbons hung between the upper galleries, and long tables overflowed with pastries, roasted meats, fresh fruit, and decorated cakes.
His entire family stood waiting.
"Happy birthday, Soma!" Aria cried.
She hurried forward and wrapped him in an embrace.
"Mother! Can't breathe!"
"My baby is ten!"
"Your baby would appreciate continued access to oxygen!"
She laughed and kissed his forehead.
Preston approached, his mustache groomed into two particularly offensive curls.
"Happy birthday, son!"
Soma stared at his father's face.
"Father."
"Yes?"
"Did you use an entire tin of wax on your mustache?"
Sean burst out laughing.
"I TOLD YOU HE'D NOTICE!"
Preston looked wounded.
"One day, this family will appreciate true sophistication."
"Not if it's growing beneath your nose," Zane called.
The library erupted into laughter.
Even the king, standing beside the queen near the refreshments, was struggling to maintain his dignity.
Soma looked around at the smiling faces.
For once, he had nothing sarcastic to say.
He was simply happy.
The morning passed in a delightful blur of presents, food, and relentless family teasing.
Stephan gifted Soma an expensive collection of fantasy novels, their covers beautifully illustrated and their pages bound in fine leather.
"I thought you might enjoy something outside your usual studies," Stephan explained.
Soma examined the first book.
"They're beautiful."
"Then perhaps you'll finally stop reading military supply reports for entertainment."
"No promises."
Simon presented detailed maps of Arcaelis, including several trade routes and administrative boundaries unavailable in ordinary atlases.
Scott gave him reinforced training gloves and practice equipment. Sara offered a fine writing set, accompanied by a gentle reminder that excellent handwriting was an important mark of education.
Sean handed him a wooden box.
Inside was a fake mustache.
Soma stared at it.
Sean grinned.
"For when you finally want to look like a real Locke."
Soma slowly lifted it beneath his nose.
"Son," he declared in an exaggerated imitation of Preston's voice, "have you considered the importance of proper mustache maintenance?"
Aria doubled over laughing.
Preston covered his face.
"I have raised seven monsters."
"Six," Simon corrected. "Stephan is reasonably civilized."
"Thank you," Stephan replied.
"On occasion."
Serena approached last, carrying a handmade bookmark stitched from dark-blue cloth.
Silver stars decorated its surface, and beneath a crooked little dragon were the names Serena and Soma.
"I made it for you, Bubba."
Soma examined it carefully.
It was uneven.
The dragon looked suspiciously like an overweight lizard.
And it was beautiful.
"So you remember me when you're reading," Serena explained.
Soma knelt and hugged her.
"I could never forget you."
She squeezed him tightly.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Across the room, Samantha smiled.
Then Uncle Zane approached with a thick illustrated volume titled Creatures of Arcaelis: Habitats, Behavior, and Classification.
Soma's eyes widened.
"Uncle Zane!"
The scholar grinned.
"I suspected that would get your attention."
The book contained detailed illustrations, habitat descriptions, anatomical studies, and observations of creatures found throughout the kingdom.
Soma immediately began turning pages.
"Have you seen these?"
"Most of them."
"Even this one?"
"Unfortunately."
"What happened?"
"It bit me."
Soma looked up.
"Seriously?"
"Twice."
"Why twice?"
"Because apparently I learn more slowly than you."
Soma laughed.
It was shaping up to be an excellent birthday.
By midafternoon, most of the guests had departed or wandered into other parts of the estate.
Soma had settled into his favorite library chair, already engrossed in Stephan's first novel, when Preston approached.
"Soma."
He lowered the book.
"Yes, Father?"
"After dinner, I need you to come to my office."
Soma looked up.
"Am I in trouble?"
"Not at all."
"Then why do you sound like you're preparing to announce a national emergency?"
Preston chuckled.
"There are some matters concerning your education I'd like to discuss."
"What sort of matters?"
"You'll see tonight."
Soma considered pressing him further, but Preston's expression made it clear that the conversation was finished.
His father rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Your mother and I are proud of you, son."
The unexpected sincerity made Soma pause.
"Thank you, Father."
Preston smiled and walked away.
Soma watched him disappear between the shelves.
Well, that wasn't ominous at all.
Dinner brought another surprise.
Standing beside the enormous dining table was Franz, the burly owner of Soma's favorite tavern and restaurant in Highmere.
"Well, if it isn't the birthday boy!"
Soma stopped.
"Franz?"
"In the flesh!"
"What are you doing here?"
"Cooking your dinner, obviously!"
Then Soma caught the aroma drifting from the kitchens.
Sweet peppers.
Roasted meat.
Garlic.
A rich, smoky glaze.
His eyes widened.
"No."
Franz grinned.
"Oh, yes."
The kitchen doors opened, and servants entered carrying enormous platters of dragon wings.
Each wing was nearly the size of a turkey leg, coated in a spicy-sweet glaze that glistened beneath the chandeliers. Bowls of garlic dipping sauce accompanied roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and enough side dishes to feed a small military company.
Soma stood completely still.
Then he turned toward his father.
"You arranged this?"
Preston smiled.
"Franz contacted me with the idea. I thought it sounded appropriate."
Soma looked back at the platters.
"Father, I take back everything I've ever said about your mustache."
"Everything?"
"Let's not get carried away."
Franz roared with laughter.
For the next hour, Soma devoted himself to defeating an unreasonable quantity of dragon wings.
By the time dinner ended, he was thoroughly convinced he had eaten enough to survive a weeklong siege.
Sean leaned back in his chair.
"You're going to explode."
Soma patted his stomach.
"A worthy death."
Aria shook her head.
"Both of you are impossible."
"Runs in the family," Simon remarked.
After thanking Franz personally, Soma reluctantly excused himself.
It was time to discover what his father had planned.
The corridors were quiet as Samantha accompanied him toward Preston's office.
Soma walked with the measured determination of someone who deeply regretted accepting an eighth dragon wing.
"You're awfully quiet," Samantha observed.
"I'm considering whether it's possible to die from excessive happiness and garlic sauce."
"You'll survive."
"Your confidence is inspiring."
They reached the office.
Samantha stopped beside the door.
"Your father is waiting."
Soma glanced at her.
"You're not coming?"
"Not this time."
He studied her expression.
"You know what's happening, don't you?"
She smiled.
"Go on, Soma."
He sighed.
"Everyone in this manor is getting far too good at keeping secrets."
Then he knocked.
"Enter," Preston called.
Soma opened the door.
His parents were seated near the enormous desk. The king and queen occupied chairs beside them, while Uncle Zane examined a document near the fireplace.
But two unfamiliar people stood waiting.
The first was a tall, heavily scarred man with broad shoulders and the rigid bearing of a veteran soldier. A long scar crossed his face, and one eye had been badly damaged by an old injury.
The second was a dwarf woman with thick braided hair, powerful arms, and shoulders that looked capable of supporting an entire forge.
She was also remarkably tall for a dwarf.
Soma examined them carefully.
Well, neither of those two looks like a birthday entertainer.
"Soma," Preston said, "I'd like you to meet Captain Jaspar and Master Kara."
The soldier gave a curt nod.
The dwarf grinned.
"Well, aren't you a little fellow!"
Soma raised an eyebrow.
"I am ten. I assumed the height would give that away."
Kara barked a laugh.
"Oh, I like him!"
Jaspar remained expressionless.
Preston continued.
"Jaspar was a high-ranking Vanguard officer in the Royal Army. He's commanded soldiers through battles most people would struggle to imagine. An injury ended his front-line service, but his experience remains invaluable."
Soma studied the veteran again.
The man's posture was perfectly balanced, his movements economical, and his expression revealed almost nothing.
"And Kara," Preston said, "is one of the finest master blacksmiths in Arcaelis. She's skilled in metallurgy, equipment manufacturing, engineering, and practical craftsmanship."
Kara folded her arms.
"That's a long-winded way of saying I make damn good things."
Zane chuckled.
"Accurate, though perhaps lacking academic sophistication."
"Academic sophistication doesn't keep your armor from falling apart, scholar."
Soma smiled faintly.
I think I'm going to like her.
His father gestured toward a parchment resting on the desk.
"Your mother and I have decided it's time to prepare you more seriously for your Awakening."
Soma straightened.
"These two will serve as your primary instructors for the next five years," Preston explained. "Jaspar will oversee your wilderness survival, tracking, reconnaissance, and practical combat training. Kara will teach you the trades, craftsmanship, and the physical principles behind equipment and construction."
He continued outlining the arrangements.
Three days each week would involve Jaspar's instruction. Two would focus on Kara's expertise. The remaining days would include governance lessons, continued academic studies, and appropriate rest.
Igor would remain responsible for Soma's foundational physical conditioning.
Soma could barely contain his excitement.
"Will I be allowed to leave Highmere?"
Jaspar answered.
"Yes."
His voice was cold and gravelly.
"But don't mistake that for a vacation, boy."
Soma turned toward him.
"You've spent your life inside these walls," Jaspar continued. "You've studied books and practiced with wooden swords. Out there, the world doesn't care that your father's the Supreme Archduke."
His damaged eye seemed to focus directly on Soma.
"Beasts won't spare you because you're a child. Bandits won't bow because you know a few fancy formations. And when you're hungry, exhausted, and frightened, all that cleverness means nothing if you can't keep your head."
Soma's excitement dimmed slightly.
Not because he disagreed.
Because the man was making an assumption.
Jaspar stepped closer.
"I don't care how spoiled you are or how many servants you've got wiping your arse. When you're training with me, you follow orders. You make a mistake, you learn from it. You make the same mistake because you weren't listening, and we'll have a problem."
Soma studied him for several seconds.
"Understood."
Jaspar's expression didn't change.
"We begin tomorrow. Five o'clock sharp. Training yard."
Soma nodded.
"I'll be there."
"Don't be late."
"I won't."
Something about the answer made Jaspar narrow his eyes, but he said nothing more.
Kara stepped forward and slapped the veteran on the back hard enough to make him stumble.
"Oh, quit trying to scare the poor boy, you miserable bastard!"
Jaspar shot her an irritated look.
"I'm establishing expectations."
"You're establishing that you've got the personality of a constipated mountain troll."
The queen covered her mouth.
Zane burst into laughter.
Even Preston's mustache twitched as he struggled to maintain a serious expression.
Soma looked between his new instructors.
Wonderful. Another pair of adults who desperately need supervision.
The meeting ended shortly afterward.
Soma thanked the king and queen, embraced his parents, and wished his new instructors goodnight.
As he left, he glanced once more at Jaspar.
The veteran stood beside the fireplace, speaking quietly with Preston. His expression remained stern, but Soma noticed something interesting.
His father trusted this man.
The king trusted him too.
Whatever had happened during Jaspar's military career, it had earned him the respect of people who possessed considerable power.
That alone made him worth taking seriously.
Samantha was waiting outside.
"Well?" she asked.
Soma smiled.
"Apparently, I'm going to spend the next five years being educated by a professional bastard and a dwarf who hits people for fun."
Samantha blinked.
Then burst into laughter.
"Soma!"
"What?"
"Please don't call Captain Jaspar that to his face."
"Why not? He seems to appreciate straightforward communication."
"You're going to get yourself into trouble."
"Probably."
She shook her head.
"Did they tell you when training begins?"
"Five tomorrow morning."
"That doesn't sound so bad."
Soma grinned.
"No. It doesn't."
Samantha studied him.
"Why are you smiling like that?"
"No reason."
"Soma..."
"Goodnight, Sam."
He continued toward his bedroom.
Behind him, Samantha sighed.
"You're planning something."
"Not at all."
"You're absolutely planning something!"
Soma laughed.
For ten years, he'd been building a foundation. Reading, studying, running, training, and struggling to understand the extraordinary world into which he'd been born.
Tomorrow, someone new would begin testing that foundation.
And if Captain Jaspar expected a spoiled noble boy who had never worked a day in his life?
Well.
Soma wasn't particularly interested in correcting that assumption.
Not yet.
After all, he wanted to learn what kind of man his new instructor really was.
And sometimes, the best way to understand someone was to let them reveal themselves.
Five o'clock sharp, huh?
Soma smiled as he slipped beneath his blankets.
Guess I'll have plenty of time to warm up.