The town was alive with the energy James had only ever seen during festivals. Banners of white and gold hung from windows, their edges fluttering in the warm breeze. Merchants called out, their stalls overflowing with fresh bread, good food, ribbons, and little wooden trinkets carved with golden laurels—the mark of the Imperium's favor. Mothers and fathers stood proudly, some holding back tears, watching their sons and daughters prepare to leave.

  This was a celebration.

  It always was.

  And James hated it.

  The Master's mansion loomed ahead, its iron gates wide open, the path leading up polished and clean. A welcome and a reminder of the lengths the Master would go to impress the Imperium.

  James walked beside Max, boots kicking up dust from the well-worn road. He could feel the eyes of the town on them. Watching. Measuring. But not with fear, pity, or shame, but with pride.

  Proud of the Master.

  Proud of the Imperium.

  Proud of the children sent to serve. To die.

  By the well, a small group of boys James's age stood together, their uniforms freshly washed, their hair neatly combed, and dress caps tucked neatly under their arms. Volunteers. Their excitement buzzed like insects in the summer heat.

  One of them grinned wide. "Come to sign up, James?"

  James didn't answer. His eyes fixed on the Master's gates.

  Max did.

  "I ain't servin' the Imperium," Max snapped, fists clenching at his sides. "I ain't leavin'. I got a trade now."

  The boys' smiles faltered. One of them scoffed, shaking his head. "Ungrateful, runaway," he muttered under his breath.

  "They're not worth it," he murmured, low enough that only Max could hear. He grabbed Max's arm, pulling him forward.

  Ahead, Ser Edwin marched forward purposefully, his broad frame cutting through the crowd like a blade. He hadn't spoken much since they left the forge. His jaw was set, his hands loose at his sides—but James knew better. That was the stance of a man ready for a fight.

  Miss Silvia had wanted to come. Edwin had forbidden it. The first real fight James had ever seen between the two. Ser Edwin had argued that her presence, that of a witch, would only make things worse.

  Miss Silvia had shrunk back as though the words had struck her; James had never seen her look so hurt.

  The closer they got to the Master's mansion, the heavier the air became. James could feel it pressing in, coiling around his ribs like a snake. A very real weight in his soul.

  The memories.

  The endless lessons. The cold halls. The weight of the Master's gaze was as heavy as the chains he would use for disobedience. The ache in his fingers from switches, broken bones, the bruises and cuts from the blade master's steel when he made a mistake. The lonely nights locked away, hungry, for forgetting a task.

  He felt it all like a boulder atop his shoulders.

  But he was not alone this time.

  James stole a glance at Max. He was pale, but Max stood tall.

  If he can do this, I can do this. Fear is a part of me. Fear can not be bigger than me if it is a part of me.

  The iron gates stood open, flanked by soldiers of the twelfth legion in their white uniforms. Their halberds held high and reflected the fading sunlight.

  The Master, in formal robes of blue and gold, thick and far too heavy for the heat. His blond hair, bound in a tight bun wrapped in a matching ribbon, raised his hands to greet Ser Edwin and the boys. A cruel smile crossed his face.

  "Ah," the Master said, voice smooth as polished glass. "Ser Edwin, I see you've brought my wayward child home. Just in time for him to do what is right."

  James felt Max stiffen. His own body reacted to the barbed words.

  "We're here for judgment." Ser Edwin didn't break stride, didn't blink. He walked past the Master to the man who towered just behind the Master.

  The Master's smile darkened. His blue eyes, sharp and cold, flicked to James, to Max, lingering just long enough to remind James of who he was. Who he had always been.

  The Justiciar gleamed in the setting sun, his plate mail armor almost glowing. A deep contrast against his dark skin and curls. His golden eyes, deep with a weight of years, looked over Ser Edwin, then Max, and settled on James. Though he spoke to Edwin, words of legal code, laws, and punishments, James heard a rich baritone in his mind.

  "Unexpected. That I should find you. The first god-seed in a thousand years. But I see you and your magic that has yet to fully take root. I can help you with that. I can train you as my brothers and sisters trained me.

  James shifted, uncomfortable with someone speaking into his mind. But he couldn't tear his eyes away.

  "I can see your unease. Fear not. You will seek me out, I can see the path before us now. The light shows me the way."

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  As quick as it had come, it was gone, the golden eyes shifting back to Ser Edwin and the spoken words returning.

  "Your blasted laws be damned, Sir. The boy has lived in my house and eaten my food for months now. By the laws of hospitality, he is my kin, and I do not agree that he can release him to serve." Ser Edwin had drawn himself to his full height. Pointing a finger at the Master. "I request formal judgment."

  "I can grant that, Ser Edwin, but you will be bound to the ruling should I rule not in your favor. Is this a risk you are willing to take?" The rich tone of the Justiciar's voice resonated with power, and his irises glowed on the last words.

  "Of course I do. Does that weasel?" He pointed at the Master again. A look of triumph danced across the Master's face.

  "I do, indeed." The Master's words were nearly gleeful, the smile on his face never wavering.

  "Then let my tent be readied for judgment." The Justiciar clapped in the air twice. "Make way, judgment comes."

  "No, Justiciar, you misunderstand me; I move for Formal Judgment by combat." The gathering crowd gasped at Ser Edwin's statement, the words cold as steel.

  The air was thick with tension, with an energy of the moment. James just stared, mouth slack.

  The growing crowd pushed forward, shoving for an inch to get closer to see what was to happen. A murmur of voices went up like a wave, growing to a cacophony of sound that seemed to press in from all sides.

  James couldn't believe what he had heard. A judgment by combat. Edwin was to fight the Master. A man who had taken Ser Edwin's slap full force without flinching. James's mouth went dry, his lips sticking together as he tried to talk.

  Max did not move; his whole body was rigid, as though if he so much as twitched, the world might come crashing down around him.

  Ser Edwin only smiled a wild, wicked thing, rolling his shoulders and standing the tallest James had ever seen.

  This isn't happening. I have to stop. Ser Edwin could die. I have to stop.

  He reached down for the glowing light that was his power, determined to push it fully open to drag it kicking and screaming to save his friend and the only father he had ever known. The Justiciar's eyes locked on James in an instant, his glowing iris weighing. Then, with a slow shake of his head, James felt that he should not follow through with his plan.

  The Justiciar let the excitement grow, his eyes moving from James to the crowd, to Ser Edwin, before landing on the Master. The Sun dipped lower till it seemed to James and the crowd to just rest behind the Justiciar's head. Casting his figure in shadow, all but the glowing eyes.

  "Silence." The Justiciar raised his hands, and the crowd's roar stopped instantly. His golden eyes matched the halo of sunlight around his head. "The Right of Judgment has been called. By the Law, the combat will be set tomorrow at noon under the Light of Regillius the Father. The rules are simple, no weapons, armor, or outside assistance. They conclude when one of the combatants can no longer continue. There will be no appeal, as though Lord Regillius judged, so be it."

  His golden eyes flicked to Ser Edwin, then the Master.

  "Do you both accept these terms?"

  "Aye. I accept." Ser Edwin squared his shoulders once more, cracking his neck and knuckles with deliberate ease.

  The Master looked to the sky as though in prayer, his ice blue eyes falling hungrily on Max before locking on Ser Edwin's face. With a single motion, he shed his ceremonial robes, letting them fall like discarded trash. Beneath, his sleeveless tunic fit snugly across his frame, the lean muscle of a man who trained his whole life. Rich tattoos of gold and red wrapped around each arm, displays of dragons and other monsters defeated in gory combat.

  "Of course I do." The Master said, a wide grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, stretching across his face. James had never seen the Master fight.

  But he had seen the aftermath.

  Bruises. Broken bones. Boys were left kneeling on cold stone floors, heads bowed, waiting for permission to rise again, to even speak.

  "I must ask, do either of you need to name a champion." The Justiciar splayed his hands before the two men.

  "I can fight my own–" James's body moved before he knew what was happening. He grabbed Ser Edwin's shoulders and spun the older man to face him. A look of surprise crossed Ser Edwin's face before his gaze hardened.

  "Let me fight for you."

  "No." Ser Edwin tried to turn, but James forcefully held him in place. "I said no, boy."

  "You saved me from this monster. Let me save Max." The stern look on Edwin's face softened for a moment. "Please."

  Max stepped up, stoic resolve on the taller boy's face. He placed his hands next to James on Ser Edwin's shoulders. The tears were gone, but there was a spark in the boy's eyes.

  "I can't let either of you fight this fight." Ser Edwin's typically loud voice was all but a whisper. "He can't hold back with me, and with you, if he fought all out, you would die."

  The boys gasped.

  "That's not allowed," James said. "He would get punished."

  "It is allowed. Death is one way a combatant can not continue," Max whispered, his voice cracking. "The easiest way to win, really."

  "Under Imperium law, a champion may be named. Ser Edwin, do you wish to appoint one in your stead?" The Justiciar stepped forward, eyes unreadable, voice even. Placing a hand on each boy's shoulder. "But they must be considered an adult by the Imperium. This judgment is to name these boys your wards, thus not an adult."

  "But–" James's words were cut off by the look Ser Edwin gave a look.

  "No, Justiciar, I will fight my battles." Ser Edwin tore free of the boys' grip to face the Master again. The Justiciar's gaze seemed sorrowful as he looked down on the boys.

  "Master Declin, do you choose a Champion?" The Justiciar called.

  "No, Cornelius, I will also fight for my judgment." Those blue eyes lingered on Max before falling to James. They seemed to say I'm about to take everything you love from you.

  "Then the Judgment is set tomorrow at noon." And with a clap of his gauntleted hands like thunder, the Justiciar turned to the gathered crowd. "Let us now celebrate the heroes who have joined the ranks of the Imperium today."

  James's breath came in sharp gasps. His vision blurred, red tinges on the edges of his sight, heart pounding in his ears like war drums.

  "You old fool. You stupid, stubborn old fool." He shoved Ser Edwin hard. The older man didn't budge. James's fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. "No wonder you didn't let her come! She would've stopped you! She would've called you on your shit—"

  "James—" Max grabbed him from behind, arms locking around James's waist.

  James lashed out. His boot shot back, catching Max square between the legs. Max grunted, doubling over, the air leaving his lungs in a wheeze.

  Ser Edwin turned just in time for James's fist to crash into his jaw.

  It was like punching a stone wall. Pain jolted up James's arm. Edwin didn't move, didn't flinch. His eyes held something James didn't understand—not anger, not disappointment. Something quieter. Something like regret.

  In one swift motion, Edwin yanked James into a crushing embrace.

  James fought against it, hands pushing at Edwin's chest, but the fight was already leaving him. He clenched his jaw, chest heaving. Tears stung his eyes.

  The scent of sweat, steel, and forge oil filled his lungs—the scent of the man who had saved him, who was basically a father to him. A man who, come tomorrow, might be dead.

  Ser Edwin exhaled deeply. With a soft voice so low, James could barely hear it over the sounds of celebration.

  "He won't kill me, boy." His grip tightened, desperate and fleeting, for just a moment before releasing James. "Not yet, anyway."

  James staggered back, and Max, having recovered from the cheap shot, yanked him further away. With a flicker of unease, Max stepped between the two but quickly saw the fight was already over.

  Ser Edwin sighed, rubbing his jaw and tugging on his beard. The fire in his eyes dimmed, and he looked like he was staring at something far in the distance. "Not yet. Hopefully." The words were all but a whisper as though speaking to himself. Ser Edwin drew himself back to his full height.

  "I guess…" he said, voice rough, "it's time I told you both why I came to Oakwood in the first place."

  A pause as he seemed to look for something.

  Then, he motioned toward one of the cider stalls. "Come on. We're gonna need a drink."