The slum children splashed in the nearby creek, laughter carrying on the breeze as Suri and Kana’s mother guided them through their first proper bath in who knows how long. On the other side of the clearing, Aldo stalked the perimeter, eyes sharp with his [Eagle Eyes] as he surveyed the land. He traced the ridges with his gaze, already imagining where a small watchtower might be possibly built. Leo had insisted they were safe—after all, this was still within the Capital’s walls—but Aldo had seen too much to take words at face value. Threats didn’t care about borders.

  Inside the newly built house, the kitchen smelled faintly of woodsmoke and herbs. Sunlight filtered through the shutters, falling in slanted beams across the wooden counter where Kana worked. She ground wheat-like berries into flour, her sleeves rolled back, her focus was sharp as if fighting in a life or death situation. The steady rhythm of her hands kneading dough echoed softly in the otherwise quiet room.

  At the nearby table, Suri lounged with her chin in her hands, eyes locked on Kana. Her lips curled in a mischievous smile, watching the process with far more amusement than help.

  Kana pressed the dough flat, then—without hesitation—unsheathed her dagger. Its polished edge caught the sunlight, gleaming like a predator’s tooth. With swift, practiced strokes, she cut the dough into thin, square-edged strips. Each slice was unnervingly perfect, as if she were training rather than cooking.

  Suri tilted her head. “You know,” she said, voice soft with curiosity, “I don’t remember you ever cooking before. Not once. Where did this come from? A book you picked up?”

  Kana didn’t answer. She only moved to the pot waiting on the stove, where oil shimmered with heat. One by one, the strips went in. A hiss filled the room, followed by the rich, mouthwatering aroma of frying dough.

  Suri’s stomach betrayed her with a growl. She clapped her hands together in delight, inhaling deeply. “That smells incredible!”

  Kana shot her a sidelong glare. “Do you have nothing better to do than stare at me?”

  “I am doing something,” Suri replied sweetly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Her tone was playful, but her eyes flickered with seriousness. “I’m tracking. That mana signature hasn’t left. Same one from the wagon. Still watching.”

  Kana stirred the bubbling pot with the tip of her dagger, expression unreadable. “You can’t see them?”

  “Not yet,” Suri admitted, her smile tightening. “Whoever it is, they’re careful. Slippery. But I’ll find them.”

  The scent of sizzling pasta filled the kitchen, warm and comforting. Yet beneath it, the air felt sharp with unease—like steel waiting to be drawn.

  Because both of them knew: the food wasn’t the only thing simmering in this house.

  …

  Boris stood at the creek’s edge, arms crossed and face twisted in a scowl as his father shoved a wooden bucket into his hands. Behind him, the slum kids shrieked and splashed, their laughter echoing over the water as they scrubbed themselves clean under the watchful eyes of Kana’s and Suri’s mothers.

  “You too,” his father barked, jerking his chin at Boris’s mud-streaked clothes. “Clean up. And help the little ones while you’re at it.”

  “What? No way!” Boris snapped, teeth chattering as the cold water lapped at his ankles. “It’s freezing!” He paused, then muttered under his breath, “Though… warmer than the capital, I guess.”

  He knelt reluctantly, scooping water over one squirming boy’s hair. “Hey—don’t move so much!” The child wriggled, sending a spray straight into Boris’s face. He spluttered, rubbing his eyes—

  —and froze.

  That feeling. Subtle, but sharp. A prickle along his skin, like the air itself watching him. The same sensation he’d felt before, the night the shadow man appeared. But… different. Not the same person.

  Boris’s head snapped up. His gaze swept the rolling hills, the wide plains stretching beyond. He squinted, heart pounding, but there was nothing—no movement, no figure..

  “Strange…” he muttered, chest bare and dripping as he stood, straining to see past the sunlit fields. “I swear there’s something—”

  “Hey!” His father’s voice cut through the moment like a whip. “Stop slacking off and skipping your duties!”

  Boris clenched his jaw, turning back reluctantly. But even as he knelt again in the creek, helping scrub mud from the next child’s hair, his thoughts churned.

  He was sure of it. Someone—or something—was out there. Watching.

  And the first person he’d tell was Kana.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  ….

  The chamber was quiet but for the crackle of the hearth. The smell of aged oak and spiced wine lingered, softened by the velvet curtains that shut out the rest of the castle. Two old men sat across from one another, the years etched into their faces, but laughter still found them easily.

  Principal Light chuckled, raising his glass. “Do you remember the annual tournament in our fourth year? You nearly lost your most prized ring.”

  King J barked a laugh, shaking his head. “And you nearly got expelled for cheering against your own classmates.”

  They drank, memories settling like the wine on their tongues.

  Then Light set his glass down, eyes narrowing. “Did you hear about Artin’s request?”

  “I did,” King J replied.

  “She’s exceptional,” Light said, voice steady. “Kana. She’s inherited the Bane Dagger Arts.”

  That made the king pause, the flicker of surprise cutting through his usual composure. “I didn’t know that.”

  “It was in my report.” Light’s gaze sharpened, measuring.

  A strained chuckle slipped from King J. “I must have missed it… or perhaps I haven’t read it yet.”

  “I don’t blame Artin,” Light continued. “Kana is more than qualified to stand as a Royal Knight. What unsettles me is how she grew that strong, that quickly. Perhaps there’s something special in that village of hers.”

  The king leaned back, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. “I’m eager to meet this girl.”

  “You’ll be surprised,” Light said, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I nearly mistook her for your bastard child.”

  King J almost spilled his wine but chose silence instead.

  Light’s expression hardened, his tone dropping low. “I have other interesting news. I’ve found her, J. The one. The person who can do what we dreamed of.”

  The king’s amusement faded, his eyes sharpening. “You’re serious?”

  “As serious as I was the day we swore our pact,” Light said, leaning forward. “Do you remember? Back in the dormitories, after witnessing the council bribes, the executions of innocents, the rot eating its way down to the very roots of this kingdom. You said we would find someone who could cut through it all.”

  King J’s jaw tightened, shadows flickering across his face as the hearthfire snapped. “That was idealism, Light. Dreams from boys too young to know what weight they carried.”

  “And yet here we sit,” Light countered, “old men, watching corruption spread faster than ever. How many nobles do you trust in your court? Three? Two? None? The time for dreaming is long past. The time for action is upon us.”

  The king was silent, eyes on his cup, though his grip had turned white around its stem.

  The hearth crackled. For a long moment, only the fire spoke.

  Finally, King J exhaled, voice grim. “If you are wrong, Light… if this person cannot bear the weight—then you will have destroyed that person, and perhaps us all.”

  Light lifted his glass again, unflinching. “I am not wrong. Four years is all I needed .”

  King J sat in silence for a moment, rolling the stem of his glass between his fingers. Then, almost absently, he slipped the ring from his left hand.

  It was a simple metal—dull in color, fashioned from a metal that no smith in the kingdom had ever been able to identify. Old. Worn smooth with years of use. To most, it would look unremarkable, hardly worth notice. But King J’s gaze lingered on it with something close to reverence.

  He remembered the words of the [Appraiser] all those years ago: “Its description is short, almost empty. Not a top-rank item.”

  Yet King J had doubted that verdict from the beginning. He knew in his bones the ring was different. A dungeon item, yes—but one that had never shown its true nature or perhaps he just didn’t know it. And in his heart, he was convinced it was one of the quiet reasons for his rise, for the strength that had carried him further than most men dared dream.

  “Now might be the time,” King J murmured. He lifted the ring up to the light, the firelight glinting faintly along its surface. “Tell me, Light… do you believe in destiny?”

  Principal Light let out a hearty laugh, the sound filling the private room. “Destiny? Are you dying, perhaps? No. I believe effort is destiny. Nothing more.”

  King J chuckled at that, shaking his head. “I don’t believe in it either, not truly. But my uncle—he was eccentric, you see. He told me once, the moment you wear this ring, you’ll never part with it. Not for gold, not for glory, not even for your children.”

  “And he was right.” King J twisted the ring between his fingers. “I’ve never been able to even think of giving it away. But… he also told me something stranger. That someday, I would give it. Not because I had to. Not because someone forced me. But because I would feel it—the way he felt it, when he gave the ring to me.”

  He exhaled, almost wistful. “He said the world has its own way of choosing. I never understood him. Not then. But now…” His eyes gleamed in the shadow. “Now I think I do.”

  He placed the ring carefully on the table between them. The simple metal seemed to carry weight far beyond its size.

  “I want you to put my ring as a prize for the annual tournament,” King J said quietly. Then, with deliberate care, “As the reward for third place.”

  Principal Light blinked, caught off guard. His brow furrowed. “Third place? Why not the champion?”

  King J leaned back, laughing, though there was an edge of certainty in his tone. “The first-place victor will take glory, the second will take pride. But the third…” He tapped the ring with a single finger. “The third will surprise us both. That, Light, is how I’ll prove to you the world has its own hand in choosing. Choosing someone worthy.”