It felt like it lasted the entire night.
And when I opened my eyes, I saw everyone preparing for the start of another day.
I caught glances as Metania drooled softly on my shoulder.
I got up quickly, careful not to wake her, and began preparing for the day as well.
The overseer gave me a new task: assist the guards behind the manor.
As I made my way to them, someone grabbed my shoulder.
I turned around.
The man was tall and clad in steel. His armor was thick and battle-worn—shiny in some places, rusted in others, and marked with dents, sigils, and faded ornaments. A halberd, nearly as tall as he was, rested at his side, while his helmet was tucked between his bicep and chest. His skin was dark, his face lined with scars, and his presence radiated the weight of experience. A veteran, without question.
"You must be Cassian," he said with a rough laugh. "Nice to meet you."
I stood there silent staring at the man who could kill me with his bare fist.
"I'm sorry!" He laughed again "You must be wondering who I am. I'm Sir Qahir Veyrahn. You must also be wondering why you don't recognize my family name. I'm a lowborn that rose through the ranks through brute force!"
He must be crazy.
Too eccentric to be an old knight.
"Well, good evening to you, sir," I said, trying to keep respect in my voice. From what I'd learned, disrespect in this world wasn't tolerated. "What can I help you with, sir?"
He towered over me, glancing down.
"Well, to my knowledge, a kid from the Alnilam House named Cassian is supposed to be my new squire."
He looked me up and down, eyeing my face and body.
"Well, you're too dirty to be an Alnilam. So, what's your family name, my newly acquired squire?"
"Well… it's Sol, sir. My name is Cassian Sol," I answered without hesitation.
He stared at me. His eyes widened.
And I felt it. His anger. But why?
Did I say something wrong?
"Did you say Sol?" His tone dropped—dead serious.
"This is not the time or place to be making jokes."
"What do you mean, sir? My family name is Sol."
I didn't understand. Why was it serious? Why did he think it was a joke?
But before I could think, he grabbed me by the throat and lifted me into the air.
My hands clawed at his, trying to pry them loose.
It was no use.
He was too strong. Too powerful.
My two hands combined were smaller than one of his.
I couldn't breathe.
Was this how I died?
There's no way I would die like this.
I didn't do anything wrong.
Or… did I?
"You should know," he roared, "that even speaking that name is treasonous in this land! Now, boy, tell me—is it a joke or not?"
A crowd began to form, murmuring, watching.
Then I heard them—Yasmin and Noura.
"Sire, please, he doesn't mean it!" Noura cried.
"Please, sire! He doesn't know better. He doesn't have a family name. He only started learning our language a few months ago—please let him go!" Yasmin begged.
He dropped me.
I slammed to the ground, the back of my head hitting hard.
Dizzy. Blurry. I could barely see anything—just the looming figure above me.
He was ruthless. And strong.
I'd have to be careful.
"You should've said that earlier, my boy!" he barked out a laugh, as if he hadn't just tried to kill me.
"That was a good laugh! You're the funniest squire I've had yet!" as he grabbed my shoulder with the strength of twelve gorillas and pulled me up.
Noura and Yasmin rushed over.
"You need to be careful, Cassian!" Yasmin scolded, checking my throat.
"It doesn't seem like you're hurt," Noura said calmly, helping me stand.
My breathing was ragged. This unstoppable man had nearly crushed my throat. All I could do was listen to whatever he needed me to do.
As Yasmin and Noura returned to their tasks, I was dragged away by Sir Qahir.
"Starting today, you're under my guidance and training!" Qahir announced, pointing to a sword on a table. "Pick it up. This will be your weapon of war."
"But sir, I don't even know how to use a sword! And what do you mean by war?" I asked, regretting it the moment it left my mouth.
"We're going to war soon, my young squire! And I'll teach you everything you need to know," he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
What do you mean war? Me? This is too much to think about right now.
I picked up the sword. It was heavy and dirty, chips and scratches lining the blade. It had seen many battles. I wrapped my fingers around the hilt—it felt right, but too heavy to hold for long.
"Now, squire, try to hit me. I need to see how truly horrible you are," he said, arms crossed.
He didn't have to say it like that, but he wasn't wrong. I had no skill with a sword, or any weapon for that matter. My life had been simple until now, and I never thought I'd be in a situation like this. But I had no choice.
"Yes, sir. I'll try my best," I said, hesitating, knowing I couldn't hit him.
"Good!" He stood there, arms still crossed, never even reaching for a weapon.
I raised the sword, my hands already shaking under its weight. It felt like they would give out before I even got a swing in.
I charged, sword above my head.
No technique.
Just desperation.
I swung down with all the force I could muster.
In a blink, his hand was in my face, shoving me down.
A crushing force slammed into my back, sharp and powerful, like my spine had snapped.
His elbow.
I hit the mud face-first, coughing, wheezing.
In a single moment, he took me down.
I couldn't stand.
Mud covered my eyes and filled my mouth.
The hit knocked every ounce of air from my lungs.
Shit.
I might actually die soon.
I have to go to war and these types of people will be my enemies.
No chance in hell I'm going to do anything.
Might as well lay down and die right here.
"I barely hit ya!" He said "You'll die if this is all you can handle"
I crawled up to my feet. My sword barely hanging out of my hand with the blade in the dirt.
I already felt exhausted.
I swung my sword upward with the last bit of strength I had.
Flashes burst in my vision—white bleeding into red.
For a heartbeat, Qahir's figure warped into something faceless, shadowed, moving with voices I couldn't place.