Life at the Ducal Institute had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Now that I was in my penultimate year, my schedule was lighter—primarily focused on theoretical classes. I no longer had to attend the more intensive combat sessions, which allowed me time to pursue other interests and strengthen my network within the Institute. Each day began the same way: breakfast in the great dining hall, followed by a series of lectures on history, politics, and military strategy. And every day, I sat beside Puttock Morrison.
Puttock had quickly become one of my closest companions. Our conversations flowed naturally, ranging from combat theory to philosophical musings about the future. He was sharp, honest, and insightful—a refreshing presence. Our friendship had grown beyond mere classmates, and I found myself genuinely enjoying our talks. Whether discussing swordsmanship or debating political strategy, Puttock was always engaged, thoughtful, and eager to learn.
Between classes, we would meet in the quiet corners of the Institute, sometimes beneath the shade of a garden tree, other times in the dim light of a study hall. But where our bond truly strengthened was in the subterranean coliseum, hidden beneath the Institute's main building.
There, with the permission of Director Viktor Halloran, we faced off in private duels. Puttock and I were the only students currently capable of wielding a knight's aura at the gold level, and these duels were the perfect opportunity to test and hone our skills. The air in the underground arena was always cool and still, except for the clashing of our training swords and the hum of auras that surrounded us.
My aura of silver purification shone brightly, a manifestation of my ancestral lineage. It carried with it a calming energy, like moonlight filtering through still waters. Puttock's emerald wind aura, in contrast, was sharp and unpredictable, moving with the speed and force of a gale. Every swing of his blade carried the weight of centuries of Morrison swordsmanship, a legacy that demanded respect.
We pushed each other to the limit, learning from one another, exchanging techniques, and refining our skills with every duel. Sometimes he would take the upper hand, his swift strikes nearly impossible to predict. Other times, my controlled precision and aura defenses would win the day. But it was never just about winning—it was about understanding. Each duel was a conversation between us, spoken in the language of blades.
In time, our friendship deepened, and I found myself wanting to expand our circle. As I had done with Kira and Cedric before, I began scouting potential allies who shared our ideals and ambitions. Two names quickly rose to the top of my list: March Alistar and Mancil Ray.
March was the 13-year-old son of Baron Alistar, a long-time ally of my family. He had always been warm and approachable, with an easy smile that put others at ease. Despite his youth, March had an uncanny sense of loyalty and a natural ability to rally those around him. There was a quiet charisma in the way he carried himself, and I knew instinctively that he was someone who could be trusted.
The other was Mancil Ray, the 14-year-old heir to Baron Thunder. Mancil father´s reputation preceded him—known throughout the north as one of the fastest knights of his generation. He wasn't just quick with a blade; his mind was sharp too, always thinking two steps ahead. Mancil had an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance, but beneath it, I sensed a young man determined to make his mark on the world.
Before inviting them into my inner circle, I did my due diligence. Through my connections within the Institute and the reports of my organization, Luminarias, I began to piece together their backgrounds and motivations. I wanted to ensure that their values aligned with mine—that they were loyal, capable, and trustworthy.
March's background was straightforward—he was as genuine as he seemed. His loyalty to his father and the people of his barony was unshakable, and he had a natural gift for leadership. Mancil, on the other hand, was more complex. His ambition was fierce, but it wasn't born from greed. He wanted to prove himself, to rise above the expectations placed upon him as the son of a baron. I respected that drive, knowing it mirrored some of my own ambitions.
After careful consideration, I decided to bring them into the fold. Puttock and I approached them after class one day, inviting them to join us for a private meeting. We gathered in one of the secluded study rooms in the east wing of the Institute, away from prying eyes.
"I want to build something that lasts," I told them, speaking plainly. "A group of individuals with the skill, knowledge, and strength to shape the future. Not just for ourselves, but for the people we protect. And I believe you both have what it takes to be part of that."
March looked intrigued, leaning forward with a curious glint in his eyes. "What exactly are you building?" he asked.
"A legacy," Puttock answered simply, his voice steady and assured. "Something greater than any of us individually. But it requires commitment."
Mancil folded his arms, a slow grin spreading across his face. "I've never been one to back down from a challenge."
March nodded in agreement. "If you think I'm the right fit, I'm in."
With that, the decision was made. March Alistar and Mancil Ray became part of our organization, and the four of us began laying the groundwork for what would become the next chapter of Luminarias. Our bond grew stronger with each passing day, fueled by shared ambitions and a desire to leave a lasting impact on the Empire.
Back at the coliseum, the duels between Puttock and me continued, but now, with the addition of March and Mancil, the stakes felt higher. We weren't just training—we were preparing. Every swing of the blade, every strategic maneuver, was part of a greater plan—a future where we would stand together, side by side, as knights and leaders.
Though the road ahead was uncertain, I felt a sense of purpose unlike anything I had experienced before. With Puttock, March, and Mancil by my side, I knew that we were building something extraordinary—something that could withstand even the fiercest storms. And as we trained beneath the flickering torches of the underground coliseum, our auras clashing and intertwining, I knew one thing for certain:
This was only the beginning.