The morning sun bathed Eldoria's renowned academy in a warm glow, casting light on cobblestone pathways and ivy-covered walls. Among the eager faces of new students, Marcus stayed in the shadows, training by himself in a secluded corner. At 14, he was slightly shorter than most at 5'6", with dark skin, sharp brown eyes, and a guarded expression that masked the storm inside him.
A young boy stood in front of a training dummy, practicing his sword techniques—stabbing, chopping, and slashing. He hid himself in the corner, avoiding attention because he disliked being noticed. As he kept slashing the dummy, he was startled by the appearance of Cedric, the noble he served. Cedric's arrival triggered memories of his past, causing his heart to pound—not from excitement, but from deep-seated anxiety.
Half-formed memories filled with fire flashed in his mind. His village, once his home, had been reduced to ashes. He'd watched it burn, hidden away in a barrel his parents had shoved into the river. He was the only one who survived, his parents' last act of love. But even that memory felt distant, like something out of a nightmare that didn't belong to him. All he could remember clearly was the fire. The fire that took everything.
His parents were gone. His village was gone. And with them, something inside him had burned away too. Marcus couldn't remember the faces of his parents or the warmth of his home—just the flames. The trauma had left a void where emotions should have been, a hollow that felt more like an echo than a real feeling. It wasn't fear that haunted him but the absence of it, the numbness that had settled in place of human emotions.
Master Alaric, the academy's revered instructor, entered the training grounds with a commanding presence. Tall and muscular, with his hair pulled back into a ponytail, Alaric was a figure of authority. His voice was as firm as his posture, cutting through the morning chill with purpose.
"Good morning, young knights-in-training," Alaric began, his tone leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. "Today marks the start of your journey—a path that will test your courage, your strength, and your honor. Some of you will rise to the challenge, and others…" He paused, eyes sweeping over the trainees. "…will not. But know this—deceit and half-measures have no place here."
Alaric's eyes moved past numerous students talking with each other, then focused on the three noble kids and their behavior. He noticed how they treated others, especially those they considered beneath them. In his heart, Alaric didn't like it, but he couldn't do anything about it. After all, they were nobles, the prestigious families of the kingdom.
As the trainees gathered closer at Alaric's command, Marcus's attention drifted to a small fire at the corner of the training grounds, its flames crackling as it consumed the logs piled within the pit. The sharp scent of smoke filled the air, prickling Marcus's senses. His breath hitched, and the world around him began to blur. For a moment, he was no longer at the academy. He was back in his village, surrounded by the suffocating heat of the fire that had consumed everything he loved.
He remembered the smoke that choked his lungs, the desperate struggle for air as he was thrust into the river. The salt of the sea mingled with the acrid taste of ash on his tongue, a bitter reminder of the chaos and loss. His parents' faces were a haze, but their voices echoed clearly in his mind—"Our beloved son, try your best to live a happy life." Those words, meant to comfort, had instead become a constant burden, a cruel irony that life had never truly been happy since that day.
Marcus blinked rapidly, forcing himself back to the present. The fire at the training grounds was nothing like the inferno of his past, but it was enough to stir the memories he tried so hard to bury. He tightened his grip on his sword, the cold metal grounding him in the here and now.
His thoughts shifted to the noble family who had found him, half-drowned and unconscious, on the riverbank. They had taken him in, but not out of kindness. Marcus had been turned into a slave, used as a mere plaything for the young nobles. His body bore the scars of their cruelty, a testament to the harsh treatment he endured. The physical pain was nothing compared to the betrayal he felt when he once trusted someone, only to be tortured and left with deeper emotional wounds.
"Hey, Marcus! Over here!" Cedric's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and demanding. Marcus turned to see Cedric, a young noble with a haughty demeanor and piercing blue eyes. Cedric was flanked by his friends, all dressed in fine clothes that marked their status. Cedric was tall and lean, with an air of arrogance that seemed to radiate from him.
"What's the matter, servant? Can't you carry more than that?" Cedric sneered, his tone dripping with disdain.
Marcus nodded silently and moved to pick up Cedric's belongings. His friends, Edwin and Lionel, snickered as they watched him struggle with the heavy load. Edwin, shorter and stockier with a perpetual smirk, nudged Lionel, who was lanky and had a mop of unruly blond hair.
"Look at him, trying so hard to impress," Edwin mocked, his voice laced with sarcasm.
"Yeah, like a trained monkey," Lionel added, laughing. "Hey, Marcus, how about a little performance for us? I hear you're quite the entertainer."
Marcus was used to this kind of treatment. It didn't bother him anymore. He had learned to endure, to keep his head down and do what was expected of him. Trusting others had only led to pain and betrayal. He had no illusions about his place in this world.
As he carried Cedric's things, he overheard their conversation. They spoke of their families, their ambitions, and their plans for the future. Cedric wanted to become a knight like his father, Edwin aspired to manage his family's estates, and Lionel dreamed of traveling the world.
"I hear the King is looking for new knights," Cedric said with a smirk. "Maybe I'll be one of the chosen few."
"Ha, as if!" Edwin scoffed. "You'd have to actually practice, Cedric. I bet you'll end up being more of a pampered prince than a knight."
Lionel nodded. "True. It's all about who you know, anyway. And Cedric's family has the right connections."
Their dreams seemed so distant from Marcus's reality. But he had his own dreams, too. Dreams of escaping this place, of leaving behind the pain and the memories. For now, though, he would focus on surviving the academy and finding a way to break free from this life.
Later that day, during training:
Marcus found a quiet spot at the edge of the training grounds, away from the prying eyes of the other trainees. He practiced his swordsmanship, each swing of the blade a reminder of his determination to escape. The physical exertion helped him clear his mind, if only for a moment.
As he trained, he noticed a group of nobles nearby, laughing and joking as they sparred with each other. Cedric, Edwin, and Lionel were among them, their camaraderie evident in their easy banter.
"Cedric, you call that a swing? My grandmother could do better!" Edwin teased, dodging Cedric's attack with a grin.
"Shut up, Edwin. At least I don't trip over my own feet," Cedric shot back, his tone playful.
Lionel, watching from the sidelines, chuckled. "You two are hopeless. Maybe I should show you how it's done."
Marcus couldn't help but feel a pang of envy as he watched them. Despite their arrogance and cruelty, they had something he didn't—status. They were born into privilege, their paths paved with opportunities that Marcus could only dream of. They had the power to shape their futures, while Marcus was trapped in a life he didn't want.
But he quickly pushed those thoughts aside. He couldn't afford to get distracted. His goal was clear: survive the academy, find a way to escape, and leave this kingdom behind. He couldn't let anything or anyone get in the way of that.
In the evening, after training:
Marcus returned to the small room he had been assigned, a modest space with a simple bed and a small window that overlooked the academy grounds. He sat on the edge of the bed, his body aching from the day's training. The room was quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling activity outside.
He reached under the bed and pulled out a small, worn journal. It was the only possession he had managed to keep from his past life. Opening it, he flipped through the pages, each one filled with his thoughts, memories, and dreams. Writing had become his way of coping, a means of processing the pain and trauma he had endured.
As he wrote, he thought about the future. He didn't know where he would go or what he would do, but he knew he couldn't stay here. The academy, the nobles, the memories—they were all chains that bound him to a life he didn't want. He had to break free.
The next morning:
Marcus woke early, the first light of dawn filtering through the window. He dressed quickly and made his way to the training grounds, hoping to get some practice
in before the others arrived. As he trained alone, his mind was focused on the challenges ahead. He knew that every day at the academy would be a test, a trial that would push him to his limits.
Master Alaric approached, his sharp eyes scanning the trainees. "Good morning, Marcus," he said, his voice carrying a hint of approval. "I see you're taking your training seriously."
Marcus nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Yes, Master Alaric. I'm determined to make the most of my time here."
Alaric's gaze softened slightly. "That's the spirit. Remember, the path to becoming a knight is not just about skill and strength, but also about character and perseverance. Show me that you have both."
As Alaric walked away, Marcus kept thinking about his future. The journey ahead would be difficult, but he was ready. For the first time in a long time, he felt a glimmer of hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, he could escape his past and forge a new future.
---