By sunrise, Rowan Hale had learned three things.
The first was that surviving a monster attack did not make a person a hero.
The second was that royal soldiers asked too many questions for people who claimed to have all the answers.
The third was that his younger sister could complain more loudly than an entire army.
“My ankle is going to fall off.”
“It isn't.”
“You don't know that.”
“I have seen ankles before, Lily.”
“And I have seen stupid brothers before. Unfortunately, mine is still alive.”
Rowan glanced at her from the other side of the wagon.
Despite everything, he almost smiled.
Lily sat on a pile of blankets, her injured ankle wrapped in clean cloth. Captain Seraphina had insisted that a royal healer examine her before they left the village. The healer had declared the injury painful but not serious, and Lily had spent the next twenty minutes explaining why that diagnosis was clearly wrong.
Rowan preferred hearing her complain to hearing her cry.
Outside, horses trotted along a narrow forest road. The surviving villagers had been divided among three wagons, escorted by twelve soldiers. Smoke still stained the distant horizon where Ashbourne had burned through the night.
Rowan had not looked back since they entered the forest.
He was afraid that if he did, he would ask Seraphina to turn around.
He knew what waited behind them.
Nothing.
No home. No land. No neighbors who would remember his father as a quiet man who worked too hard and spoke too little.
Only ashes.
And questions.
Too many questions.
“Are you thinking about Father again?” Lily asked.
Rowan looked at her.
“How did you know?”
“You've been staring at the same tree for ten minutes.”
“It's an interesting tree.”
“It's dead.”
“Perhaps I appreciate its honesty.”
Lily sighed and lowered her voice.
“Do you think what the captain said is true?”
Rowan knew exactly what she meant.
Their father had not died of a fever.
Someone had murdered him.
“I don't know,” he answered.
“But you believe her.”
“I believe someone wants us to believe something. That doesn't mean I know the whole truth.”
Lily looked down at her hands.
“Father never told us anything about War Mages.”
“No.”
“He used to say that magic was dangerous when people wanted it for the wrong reasons.”
Rowan frowned.
“When did he say that?”
“The winter before he died. I was helping him repair the roof, and he asked me what I would do if I could have any magical ability.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I wanted healing magic so I could make sure neither of you ever got sick.”
For a moment, Rowan could not speak.
Their father had smiled when Lily said that. Rowan remembered the story now. He had been nearby, splitting firewood, and had laughed when Elias told Lily that the world needed more people who wanted to heal rather than destroy.
At the time, it had seemed like an ordinary conversation.
Now it felt like a warning.
“What else did he say?” Rowan asked.
Lily hesitated.
“He told me that if anything ever happened to him, I should never let you open the cellar beneath the old barn.”
Rowan went completely still.
“What?”
“He made me promise.”
“Why didn't you tell me this before?”
“Because nothing happened to him when he said it! And after he died, I was frightened. I thought maybe there was something dangerous down there.”
Rowan leaned forward.
“Lily, our barn collapsed last spring.”
“I know.”
“The cellar entrance was buried under the floor.”
“I know that too.”
He stared at her.
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was sixteen, Rowan! You were already working yourself to death trying to feed us. I didn't want to give you another problem.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
For all his efforts to protect Lily, she had been carrying a secret of her own.
He reached across the wagon and squeezed her hand.
“When we find a place to rest, you're going to tell me everything you remember.”
She nodded.
“And after that, we're going to find out what Father was hiding.”
Before Lily could answer, the wagon lurched to a halt.
A horse whinnied outside.
Then a man's voice rang through the forest.
“Captain Vale! We have a problem.”
Seraphina appeared beside the wagon.
“What happened?”
“The road ahead is blocked.”
“By what?”
The soldier swallowed.
“A carriage.”
Rowan climbed down before anyone could stop him.
Seraphina caught his sleeve.
“Stay with the wagon.”
“I've spent my entire life being told to stay where I am. It hasn't worked out particularly well.”
“Rowan—”
“I'm not going to attack anyone. I just want to see what's happening.”
The captain studied him, clearly reconsidering the wisdom of bringing him along.
Finally, she released his sleeve.
“Stay behind me.”
They walked toward the front of the convoy.
A black carriage stood across the road, its polished sides marked with a silver crest. Four horses stood motionless before it, their coats unnaturally pale beneath the morning light.
A dozen armed men surrounded the vehicle.
Their armor was black, trimmed with gold. Unlike Seraphina's soldiers, they wore no royal insignia.
At their head stood a young man in a fitted dark coat, a silver sword hanging from his waist.
He looked to be in his early twenties. His blond hair was neatly combed, his boots were spotless, and his expression suggested that the entire forest had personally inconvenienced him.
When he saw Seraphina, he smiled without warmth.
“Captain Vale. What a pleasant surprise.”
Seraphina's hand moved toward her sword.
“Lord Cassian.”
Rowan glanced between them.
“You know him?”
“Unfortunately,” she replied.
Cassian placed one hand over his chest in a mock bow.
“And who is this charming young man?”
“None of your concern.”
“Everything that happens on a royal road is my concern.”
His gaze moved to Rowan's torn shirt, bloodstained trousers, and dirt-covered hands.
He laughed.
“You brought a farmer?”
Rowan said nothing.
Cassian stepped closer.
“Tell me, peasant, have you wandered away from your fields? Or are you hoping the captain will find you employment cleaning her boots?”
Several soldiers snickered.
Rowan looked down at his own clothes.
Then he looked at Cassian's polished armor.
“Your boots look expensive,” he said.
Cassian raised an eyebrow.
“They are.”
“That's unfortunate.”
“Why?”
“Because you'll have to pay someone to clean them when you fall into the mud.”
The laughter stopped.
One of Cassian's guards reached for his sword.
Cassian lifted a hand, stopping him.
For a moment, the nobleman stared at Rowan as though trying to decide whether he had heard correctly.
Then his smile returned.
“You have a sharp tongue for someone who looks as though he lost a fight with a plow.”
“And you have a lot to say for someone standing behind twelve armed men.”
Seraphina closed her eyes briefly.
“Rowan, please stop talking.”
“I'm only answering his questions.”
“You are making new enemies.”
“I haven't even learned the names of my old ones.”
Cassian's expression hardened.
He drew his sword.
The blade gleamed with a faint golden light.
“Perhaps a lesson in respect would benefit you.”
Seraphina stepped between them.
“Put the sword away, Cassian.”
“Move, Captain.”
“This man is under military protection.”
“Then your military protection has become remarkably cheap.”
Cassian turned his attention back to Rowan.
“I challenge you to a formal duel.”
Rowan blinked.
“A what?”
“A duel. One strike. If you lose, you kneel and apologize for insulting a member of the nobility.”
“And if I win?”
Cassian laughed.
“You?”
“Yes, me.”
“Fine. If you win, I'll personally apologize.”
Rowan considered the offer.
Then he glanced at Seraphina.
“Is he serious?”
“Unfortunately,” she muttered.
Rowan looked back at Cassian.
“I accept.”
“Rowan!” Seraphina snapped.
“What? He offered.”
“You have barely recovered from your injuries.”
“And he has barely recovered from being born arrogant. We all have our burdens.”
Cassian's face darkened.
He stepped into the middle of the road and raised his sword.
“Come, farmer.”
Rowan approached.
He had no sword, no armor, and no formal training. His only weapon was a broken hunting knife that Seraphina had confiscated because she considered it more dangerous to its owner than to an enemy.
He stood opposite Cassian with empty hands.
The nobleman's smile widened.
“You intend to fight me unarmed?”
“I thought it would be fair.”
Cassian attacked.
His sword flashed toward Rowan's shoulder.
Rowan moved instinctively.
He stepped aside, and the blade passed within an inch of his shirt.
Cassian's eyes widened.
Rowan had not thought about dodging. His body had simply reacted.
The nobleman recovered and struck again, this time aiming for Rowan's legs.
Rowan jumped backward.
The sword cut through empty air.
A murmur spread among the watching soldiers.
Cassian's expression changed.
He attacked a third time, faster than before.
Rowan barely avoided the blade, feeling its edge brush his sleeve.
His heart hammered.
He could not keep dodging forever.
And he could feel it now—the faint, familiar stirring of mana beneath his skin.
But he did not know whether he could control it.
He remembered what had happened when he faced General Varkesh. The crimson light. The crushing pain. The terrifying sensation of his body consuming more energy than it could bear.
He could not risk that again.
Cassian lunged.
Rowan caught his wrist.
The entire road fell silent.
The nobleman's sword stopped inches from Rowan's chest.
Cassian tried to pull away.
He could not.
Rowan stared at the hand gripping his opponent's wrist.
He was holding a trained noble warrior with one hand, and he was not even using his full strength.
Cassian's face turned red.
“Release me!”
Rowan did.
The nobleman stumbled backward, nearly falling.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then one of the soldiers whispered, “How did the farmer do that?”
Cassian heard him.
His embarrassment turned into fury.
“You cheated!”
Rowan stared at him.
“You challenged me to a duel. I accepted. You attacked me three times, and I stopped you.”
“You used magic!”
“Did I?”
Cassian hesitated.
Rowan lifted both hands.
“Then explain what spell I used.”
The nobleman had no answer.
Seraphina stepped forward.
“The duel is over.”
Cassian pointed his sword at Rowan.
“This isn't finished.”
Rowan gave him a tired smile.
“Of course not. You haven't apologized yet.”
Cassian looked as though he might explode.
Then a voice came from inside the black carriage.
“Enough.”
The word was quiet.
Yet every armed man on the road immediately lowered his head.
Cassian sheathed his sword.
Seraphina's expression became guarded.
The carriage door opened.
An elderly man stepped out, leaning on a black cane. His silver hair was tied behind his neck, and his dark robes bore a symbol Rowan recognized immediately.
A black stalk of wheat surrounded by seven crimson stars.
The same symbol from his father's pendant.
The old man looked directly at Rowan.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he bowed.
Not a shallow nod.
Not the polite gesture of a noble acknowledging a commoner.
A deep, deliberate bow.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I had begun to fear that the Hale bloodline had truly vanished.”
Rowan felt the air leave his lungs.
Seraphina drew her sword.
“Lord Edric, step away from him.”
The old man ignored her.
Instead, he reached inside his robe and withdrew a small silver object.
A ring.
Rowan recognized the engraving.
It was identical to the symbol on his father's pendant.
“My name is Edric Voss,” the old man said. “I served your father for eleven years.”
Rowan stared at him.
“You knew my father?”
“I did.”
“Then tell me who killed him.”
Edric's expression grew grave.
“I will tell you everything. But first, you must understand why your father spent nineteen years hiding your identity.”
Rowan's hands tightened.
“Why?”
“Because the man who ordered his death is not a monster in the forest, nor a commander hiding beyond our borders.”
The old man leaned closer.
“He is a man who sits on the royal throne.”
Nobody spoke.
Even the horses seemed to have fallen silent.
Rowan stared at Edric, waiting for him to take back the words.
He did not.
“The king?” Rowan whispered.
Edric nodded.
“And if the king learns that you have awakened the power of the first War Mage, he will not send soldiers to arrest you.”
His eyes moved toward the distant forest.
“He will send an army to erase you.”
Rowan felt Lily's hand close around his.
For the second time in less than a day, everything he believed about his life had been shattered.
But this time, something else rose alongside the fear.
Anger.
Someone had taken his father.
Someone had burned his village.
Someone had decided that a poor farmer's son had no right to exist.
Rowan lifted his chin.
“Then I'll find out why.”
Edric studied him carefully.
“And what will you do when you discover the truth?”
Rowan looked toward the road leading to the capital.
“Whatever it takes to make sure nobody else loses their family because of him.”
For the first time, the old man's expression changed.
A faint, sorrowful smile crossed his face.
“Your father said almost exactly the same thing.”
Then Edric turned toward the carriage.
“Come with me, Rowan Hale. There is something you must see before the royal army reaches us.”
“What is it?”
The old man opened the carriage door.
Inside lay a long wooden box covered in dust.
Across its lid were seven crimson stars.
And beneath them, carved into the wood, were five words that made Seraphina step backward in horror.
THE WAR MAGE'S LAST COMMAND.
Rowan stared at the box.
Then, from somewhere deep inside it, something knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
As if whatever was inside had been waiting nineteen years for him to arrive.
2026-10-17 23:44:05
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