Two Years Later
The late afternoon sun poured golden light through the high windows, casting long shadows across the heavy oak desk where Arasha sat, a stack of reports neatly arranged before her.
Two years had flown by, and Kane had grown before her very eyes. No longer the timid boy hiding in the corners of the training fields, but a young man whose talents, resolve, and sheer determination caught the admiration of the whole Order.
She watched through the open door as Kane crossed the courtyard below, sparring with one of the senior knights. His movements were quick, sharp, almost instinctive. Every step, every swing of his blade, told a story of perseverance.
With a sigh both proud and bittersweet, Arasha turned to Sir Garran standing beside her.
"It's time, isn't it?" she said quietly.
Garran nodded. "He's ready. And Duke Lionel's knights will temper him further. It's a good opportunity... safer than most fronts."
Arasha leaned back in her chair, tapping a finger against the polished surface, considering. She didn't like the idea of sending him away. Yet... if she held him back, she would only do him a disservice.
Later that evening, she called Kane into her office.
He entered with a casual knock, his hair slightly mussed from training, a curious light in his eyes. "You called for me, Commander?"
Arasha smiled softly—just enough to unsettle him a little—and gestured to the chair before her.
"I have a new assignment for you," she said. "I'm sending you north. You'll train and serve with Duke Lionel's knights for a time."
Kane froze. "The north?"
"You'll gain firsthand experience with border patrols, tactical planning, even diplomacy. It's... safer than other assignments. And Duke Lionel will ensure you're treated well."
Kane's hands clenched at his sides. He opened his mouth to protest, but Arasha, anticipating it, reached into her drawer and pulled out a small silver sigil—engraved with her own crest.
"This," she said, pressing the sigil into his hand, "is linked to mine. You can contact me directly, anytime. If anything happens—if you ever need me—I'll know."
Kane stared down at the sigil, his chest tight.
"I don't want to leave you," he said before he could stop himself, voice rough.
Arasha's eyes softened. She stood, stepping around the desk to place a steady hand on his shoulder. "Kane, you're strong enough now to walk a little farther from me. And I... I trust you'll find your way back."
For a long moment, Kane didn't move. Then, slowly, he curled his fingers tightly around the sigil.
"…I'll go," he muttered, looking away to hide the storm of emotions in his gaze.
Arasha's smile was quiet but brilliant, and she ruffled his hair lightly—a gesture she would never dare with any other squire, but Kane was... Kane.
"Good. Pack lightly. They expect you in a week."
As Kane left the room, heart heavy yet burning with new resolve, he didn't see the way Arasha's gaze lingered at the door long after he was gone.
****
The northern air was crisp, biting even in the late spring. Snow still clung to the mountains in the distance as Kane arrived at Duke Lionel's fortress, his Order-issued cloak heavy on his shoulders. It was different here—less ceremonial, more raw. The soldiers were hardened by the cold and the ceaseless vigilance required of the frontier.
Waiting for him at the gates were: Lucian, tall and lean with a boyish smirk, and Levi, the younger, with a mischievous gleam in his wide eyes. Both were bundled in the thick furs of the north, but their postures betrayed a certain excitement.
"You're the famous Kane?" Lucian asked, one brow raised, voice dry with a hint of amusement.
Kane stiffened at the word famous, wary. "I don't know about famous..."
Levi giggled and leaned close to whisper, loud enough for Kane to hear, "Papa said you're special to Arasha."
Kane flushed instantly. "W-What?"
Lucian crossed his arms, staring him down like a hawk. "Father doesn't just say things like that lightly. Must mean you're important. To her."
Kane scrambled for words but found none that wouldn't make him sound more suspicious. So instead, he looked away, mumbling, "I'm just... part of the Scion Order."
Levi laughed outright at that, and even Lucian's lips twitched in amusement.
They didn't press further, but their keen stares said enough: they were watching. Judging. Testing.
And thus began Kane's life in the north.
****
It didn't take long for Kane to realize something: Lucian was annoyingly gifted.
While Kane had his memories of a life once lived, and the system's subtle, guiding hand, Lucian... absorbed. Techniques, strategies, martial nuances—he picked them up with an instinctual grace that infuriated Kane to no end.
They sparred often, pushed by their mentors, and every time Kane expected to dominate easily, Lucian would adapt, adjust, and rise to match him.
It was maddening.
At first, Kane rationalized it away—he's just lucky, I have knowledge he doesn't. But over time, the excuse wore thin.
One afternoon, after an intense session where neither could land a solid hit on the other, Kane found himself sitting alone atop one of the watchtowers, staring at the sunset bleeding across the sky.
Lucian is... something else.
The truth settled heavy in Kane's chest. Lucian didn't need a system, memories of a past life, or fate's meddling to be strong. He was simply himself—pure, unburdened brilliance.
It's humbling, Kane thought bitterly. But maybe it should be.
He gripped the sigil Arasha had given him, tucked safely in a pouch over his heart.
I still have my own path.
The thought firmed his resolve. He would not falter. Not here. Not now.
And unbeknownst to Kane, his meeting—and growing rivalry—with Lucian was a tiny, crucial nudge in the great gears of fate.
A nudge that, in the years to come, would either save their crumbling world...
...or shatter it beyond all repair.
****
The mission had been straightforward: scout the outer perimeter of the northern forests and eliminate any monstrous stragglers before the next merchant convoy.
No one had expected the sky to darken so quickly, nor the winds to howl with such ferocity.
The blizzard came down like a living beast, devouring sound, sight, and warmth. Within minutes, Kane and Lucian found themselves separated from the rest of the unit, swallowed by a maelstrom of white.
"Damn it!" Kane cursed, gripping his cloak tighter as the cold stabbed through his armor like knives. "Lucian!?"
A faint shout answered him—and then a gloved hand grabbed his wrist.
"We have to move!" Lucian barked over the howling winds. "There's a rocky overhang not far—I saw it earlier!"
Half-blind, Kane stumbled after him, boots crunching through knee-deep snow until they finally found shelter under a jutting outcrop of stone.
Breathing hard, their faces red and raw, the two collapsed beside each other. Snow piled at the entrance, muffling the world beyond.
For a while, they said nothing, merely catching their breath and sharing body warmth against the encroaching cold.
Finally, Lucian broke the silence, a chuckle rumbling low in his chest. "This... wasn't how I thought today would go."
Kane huffed, unable to help the wry smile tugging at his lips. "Same."
A quiet stretched between them, but it wasn't tense like before. It was... hesitant. Almost companionable.
After a moment, Lucian tilted his head, studying Kane. "You really care for her, don't you? For Big Sister Arasha."
Kane stiffened but didn't deny it. Not this time. Not when the storm outside felt like the edge of the world itself.
"Yeah," he admitted, voice rough. "I... I love her."
Lucian leaned back, a soft, knowing grin on his face. "I figured. You look at her portrait in the study hall like she's your whole world."
Kane flushed, embarrassed but oddly relieved. No mocking, no challenge. Just understanding.
"But..." Kane stared at the snow piling higher, heart twisting painfully. "I'm younger. We're worlds apart in strength, in experience. Sometimes... it feels like no matter how much I try, I'll never catch up."
Lucian was quiet for a long time, then sighed, brushing some snow from his hair.
"Let me tell you something," he said, voice steady. "When I was small, about seven, Big Sister Arasha came here with my father. I was reckless back then—wanted to prove myself. Climbed a cliff, fell, broke my leg."
Kane turned to him, startled.
"I cried like a baby. Thought I was worthless. That I'd never be good enough to be a knight." Lucian's smile was wry. "Big Sis sat beside me the whole night. Told me... strength isn't measured by how fast you climb. It's measured by how often you stand back up after falling."
Kane's throat tightened.
"She doesn't need someone who's already at the top," Lucian continued gently. "She needs someone who chooses to stand with her, no matter what. Even when it's hard. Even when it's hopeless."
Kane lowered his head, the words sinking deep.
"So..." Lucian grinned and nudged him lightly. "If you're serious about her, then stand. Every time. And I'll help you. As her little brother... it's my duty to make sure she's got the best by her side."
Kane stared at him, overwhelmed by a sudden fierce gratitude—and a warmth that cut through the biting cold.
"Thank you," he said, voice hoarse.
Lucian just shrugged, casual and confident. "Well, you better survive this blizzard first. Otherwise, I'll have to find someone else."
Kane laughed, the sound carrying into the swirling snowstorm outside.
That night, under the cover of white chaos, a bond was forged—a bond of brotherhood, of shared dreams and stubborn hearts.
****
After a month in the blizzard had stripped them raw — both body and spirit.
Kane and Lucian stumbled back into the North's capital, half-frozen, armor battered, cloaks torn. The moment they crossed through the main gates, warmth rushed to meet Lucian.
The Duke was the first to reach them, his sturdy arms pulling Lucian into a fierce embrace, murmuring proud, relieved words only family could speak. Levi, energetic as ever, tackled Lucian's leg, laughing and crying at the same time. Even the Duchess, dignified and graceful, pressed Lucian into a motherly hug, her hands shaking slightly from worry finally released.
Kane stood beside them, smiling faintly, but the hollow space inside him ached.
No one was here for him.
Of course not. He wasn't from the North. He wasn't family. He was just... a squire sent to train.
Kane quickly excused himself, keeping his head down as he slipped away from the joyful reunion. No one noticed. No one called after him.
He trudged back to the barracks, his steps heavy with exhaustion. The room he had been given was cold and silent, the hearth unlit, the bed unfamiliar after so many nights of survival in the wild.
Kane shut the door behind him and leaned against it, finally allowing the weight of his disappointment to crush him.
He had known. Deep down, he knew Arasha wouldn't be here.
But still... he had hoped.
Stupid, foolish hopes that maybe she would have come. That maybe she'd be waiting at the gates. That maybe—just maybe—her warm smile would be the first thing he saw coming back.
He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to will the sting away.
It aches. More than it should have.
"Get a grip, Kane," he muttered bitterly to himself.
Just as he moved to collapse onto the bed, the sigil communicator he always wore at his side — the one Arasha had given him — suddenly lit up, casting a soft, glowing light across the dim room.
Kane's heart jumped.
Fumbling with the sigil, he barely got out a, "Commander—" before Arasha's voice cut through, firm, clear, and full of a warmth that nearly broke him.
"Kane. I believed in you. I knew you'd come back safely."
Kane froze, every breath trapped in his lungs.
"You promised, remember?" her voice softened, almost fond. "You promised you'd stand by my side."
The room spun slightly, and Kane gripped the communicator tighter, his heart hammering wildly in his chest.
The coldness, the loneliness, the disappointment — all washed away by those simple words.
A broken laugh bubbled from his throat, and Kane sat heavily onto the bed, cradling the communicator like it was the most precious thing in the world.
"...Yeah," he whispered, blinking rapidly as a grin broke across his face. "I promised."
And he would keep that promise. No matter how far, no matter how hard, no matter how long it took.
Because in the end, her believing in him — that was everything.
****
Parchments stacked high towered over her desk, and urgent letters bearing broken seals screamed for immediate attention.
Reports of famine in the western provinces poured in — crops ruined, granaries looted, fields scorched by monster hordes. Merchants had been attacked in remote villages, cutting off vital supplies. And as always, the nobles only sent pleas for help after the situation had already turned dire, their self-serving reports full of excuses and finger-pointing.
Arasha pressed her fingers into her temples, trying to stave off the brewing headache. Her breakfast sat abandoned by her side — just a half-eaten piece of stale bread she barely remembered biting into hours ago.
There was no time to rest. No time to falter.
Each report she stamped and delegated meant people might live a little longer. Might have a chance.
"Commander," Sir Garran's voice broke through the tense quiet. There was something... heavier about his tone.
Arasha lifted her head.
Sir Garran hesitated for a heartbeat before delivering the news:
"We received word. A blizzard overtook the northern patrol. Kane was among those caught in it."
For a split second — no more than a heartbeat — Arasha's hand froze mid-motion.
The feathered quill she held trembled slightly before she placed it down carefully on the table. Her face betrayed nothing but calm as she met Garran's eyes.
"Don't worry," she said, her voice even and firm. "Kane will be fine."
Garran frowned, unconvinced. "Commander, permission to dispatch a few scouts to assist—"
Before he could finish, Arasha stood from her seat, slowly, deliberately. Her cloak brushed the ground as she moved to stand before him. Her expression was calm, but her eyes—
Her eyes burned.
A deep, unwavering certainty lived there.
"No. If we send aid," she said quietly but fiercely, "it will be telling him that we don't believe in him. That I don't believe in him."
Garran opened his mouth, but Arasha continued, voice lowering into something almost tender:
"Kane trusts me. He promised to come back."
She placed her hand over her chest, steady, resolute.
"I will honor that trust. I will believe in him."
Silence stretched between them — thick and heavy.
Garran saw it then.
The stiff set of her shoulders.
The way her gloved hands clenched ever so slightly at her sides.
The minute tremble of her breath she controlled with iron will.
She was worried.
Terrified.
But Arasha carried her worries in silence, like she carried everything else.
Because she knew what her faith meant to those who fought under her banner.
Finally, Garran sighed heavily, bowing his head in respect and reluctant agreement.
"As you command, Commander."
She gave him a small, grateful smile — a rare, fleeting thing — before returning to her desk.
As she bent once more over the endless reports, it was not the fields of ruined crops or the ravaged villages that weighed most heavily on her heart.
It was a young boy's laughter, stubborn promises, and the bright spark of life she refused to believe would be snuffed out.
"I believe in you, Kane. Come back to me," she murmured under her breath, soft enough that only the walls — and maybe the gods — could hear.