Reid left the tavern with tears welling in his eyes.

  “Goodbye,” he murmured one more time. The word trembled on his tongue before he turned toward the caravan waiting at the edge of the clearing.

  Lonesome stood beside it, reins loose, head bowed as if he understood the mood. The Windsprints flicked their tails, elegant and restless, sunlight glinting off their sleek coats.

  Reid wiped his eyes, inhaled deeply, and approached Morty.

  “I thought we were supposed to meet at the city?” he asked.

  Morty adjusted his hat, posture straightening as a calm expression settled over him. “Well,” he began, “I saw two guys at the entrance—one with curly hair and a scar on his face, the other taller with brown hair.”

  He paused, a small but unmistakably amused smile forming.

  “At first they looked scary, but the moment they opened their mouths… all of that vanished. They were talking about you. And what they were saying was—well—interesting enough that I stuck around for a bit.”

  Morty cleared his throat.

  “The conversation went like this:”

  Brog: Yo, Drool.

  Drool: I’m Drool.

  Brog: Yes, you are.

  Silence. They stared at each other, deeply, as if wisdom might ignite between them.

  Brog: If you had a hundred thousand rout—

  He paused. Dramatically. As though this was the continuation of a different conversation entirely.

  Drool: Go on.

  Brog: Go on what?

  Another pause. A longer one.

  Brog: Hey, you know Reid came today, right?

  Drool: Yeah, we just hugged him.

  Brog: Hey Drool, how many times do we hug for our reunion hug?

  Drool: Six times, Brog.

  Brog: And how many times did we hug Reid, Drool?

  Drool’s eyes widened like a man witnessing the heavens crack open.

  Drool: FOUR!

  Brog: You remember the last time we did four?

  Drool: Yes. It was Nanny Nana. Her back was broken the other day because we couldn’t hug her six times.

  Brog nodded gravely, as if confirming a prophecy.

  Brog: We have a bad curse upon us, Drool.

  Drool: Yes, Brog. We need to go back to the tavern.

  Reid groaned softly. “You didn’t have to tell me the whole conversation, Morty.”

  Morty shrugged. “I thought it was entertaining. Anyway—after listening, I asked them where you were. They told me. The tavern was on our way, so picking you up seemed sensible.”

  He paused to readjust his hat, then gave a small, confident nod.

  “Let’s get going, shall we?”

  Reid climbed the wooden stairs at the back of the caravan. At the top, he turned and lifted his hand for one final wave.

  Everyone was there.

  Betty, trying not to cry.

  Roy, standing tall with crossed arms, eyes softer than usual.

  Miriam, holding Arttu’s blanket to her chest.

  Fiona, waving with both hands, braid bouncing with every jump.

  And Arttu—whose attempt at waving looked more like aggressive slapping at the sky with his tiny arms.

  Reid’s throat tightened.

  Morty glanced back over his shoulder. Just before the caravan lurched forward, he said quietly:

  “Hold on tight, kid.”

  Then the Windsprints kicked off the ground, accelerating with breathtaking speed—

  and the home Reid had rediscovered blurred gently into the distance behind him.

  Reid’s vision blurred from the speed, the world streaking past in silver lines. The caravan hummed beneath him like a living creature. Before long, warmth and motion pulled him into sleep again.

  He didn’t know how long he slept—only that when he blinked awake, the world was dark.

  Very dark.

  Shapes melted into the night, and for a moment he wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming.

  “Good morn— I mean… good night, Reid.”

  Morty tipped his hat in greeting, the brim casting a slanted shadow across his face. “We have successfully arrived at Aquilonis.”

  Reid rubbed his eyes, sat up, and glanced outside.

  Sure enough—the towering stone archways, the lantern-lit streets, the crisp cold air—Aquilonis stood there exactly as he remembered it.

  “Thanks, Morty,” he said and hopped down from the caravan.

  He began walking toward the castle, boots crunching softly on the cobblestone.

  Nothing changed, he thought.

  Not that anything could change in just five days…

  When he reached the main gate, one of the guards straightened immediately.

  “Hello, Sir Reid. Nice to see you again.”

  “Hello,” Reid replied, still half-asleep as he moved to pass through.

  That’s when the two guards stepped in front of him, blocking the entrance.

  Reid blinked. “…What are you doing?”

  One guard cleared his throat. “Well, Sir Reid, that is exactly what we wanted to ask you.”

  Reid tilted his head. “I… stay here?”

  The guard who looked slightly more senior stepped forward.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “I’m sorry, Sir Reid, but participants are only allowed to stay in the castle during the exam’s duration.”

  Reid froze.

  For a second, color drained from the world.

  Thoughts scrambled, collided, then exploded.

  DID I JUST BECOME HOMELESS??

  His smile warped into something deeply troubling—part panic, part denial, part ghost-in-training.

  “I… um… can you call Sir Harven here?” he asked, voice trembling like a baby goat.

  The guard winced. “I’m very sorry, Sir Reid, but Sir Harven is currently on a mission. We were told he’ll be out for several days.”

  Reid’s heart fell straight through his ribcage.

  That’s it. It’s over. I live on the streets now.

  I have a knife. Maybe I can whittle a chair. Maybe the chair can be my friend. Maybe—

  “Thank you… sorry for bothering you,” he muttered, pale as moonlight, turning slowly—very slowly—toward town.

  He lifted one foot.

  Stepped back.

  And—

  “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YOU FELL FOR IT!”

  The laugh didn’t just echo—it detonated off the castle walls.

  Reid whipped around.

  And of course—

  Of course—

  Standing there, arms flung out dramatically, pride gleaming in his eyes…

  Was Harven.

  “Good job, boys! You’re learning from me!” Harven announced proudly, clapping both guards on the back. “Excellent acting! Truly masterful!”

  Reid stared.

  The sadness vanished.

  The despair vanished.

  The homelessness crisis vanished.

  All of it instantly replaced by pure, burning, comically righteous rage.

  He shot forward like an arrow released from a bow.

  “HARVEEEEEN—!!”

  Harven managed exactly half a smirk before Reid’s fist buried itself squarely in his stomach.

  “OOF—!”

  The guards flinched.

  Morty looked behind from in a random street of Aquilonis for a moment.

  Somewhere in the distance, a bird fell off a tree.

  Harven folded over Reid’s fist, wheezing:

  “G-good… spirit… kid…”

  They walked toward the castle gates as if nothing dramatic—or belly-punch-related—had happened. Harven dusted off his coat, straightened his posture, and spoke as casually as one might comment on the weather.

  “So,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back, “how was your holiday, Reid? Did you miss the tavern?”

  Reid’s glare sharpened instantly.

  “It was so good,” Reid said, voice thick with emotion. “The moment I got there, it felt like… home.”

  A tremble crept into his voice, his eyes glistening.

  “It was like Priscilla,” he whispered. “Back when Mom cooked dinner, and I’d hop onto Dad’s back and he’d make me flap my arms like wings… and for a moment, I felt like I was really flying.”

  Harven slowed, turning slightly to look at him.

  “Oh,” he said softly. “You’ve… never talked about your dad.”

  He hesitated. The words teetered on the tip of his tongue before he finally gave in.

  “If you don’t mind me asking… what was he like?”

  Reid lifted his head just enough that Harven saw the sadness in his eyes. Then, just as quickly, Reid looked down again, shoulders curling inward.

  Harven’s expression fell.

  “I’m sorry, Reid. I didn’t mean to—”

  Reid cut him off, the words falling out like stones.

  “My dad left us when I was eight.”

  His voice cracked.

  “A year before Arttu was born. He just… left. No reason. No warning. One day he was there—smiling, laughing, carrying me on his back—and then… he wasn’t.”

  He swallowed hard, a tear sliding down.

  “He was so cheerful. So kind. I wanted to be like him. I still don’t know why he left.”

  His breath hitched.

  “And then Mom died.”

  Reid’s shoulders trembled. He reached out blindly and clung onto Harven’s coat—his height only reaching Harven’s stomach, making the gesture even smaller, even sadder, even more human.

  Harven’s face softened instantly.

  He knelt down—slowly, gently—until he was eye-level with Reid.

  Then he wrapped his arms around the boy, one hand on his back, the other softly patting his hair.

  “I’m sorry, Reid,” he murmured. “You’ve gone through more than most adults ever will. And nothing I say can change that. Nothing will make it fair.”

  He pulled back slightly and held Reid by the shoulders, steadying him.

  “But listen to me.”

  Harven’s voice deepened—warm, firm, resolute.

  “You still have Arttu. Don’t you?”

  Reid’s tears trembled at the edges of his lashes.

  “You still have someone who needs you,” Harven continued. “Someone who looks at you the way you once looked at your dad. Someone who depends on you to be strong.”

  Reid lifted his gaze.

  Harven met it head-on, his eyes sincere and unwavering.

  “You want to protect him, right?” Harven asked softly. “To make sure he never feels alone?”

  Reid nodded—small, shaky, but certain.

  A slow smile touched Harven’s lips. Not his usual smug grin. Something real. Something proud.

  “Then I’ll make sure you get stronger,” he said. “As strong as you can possibly be…”

  His smile grew.

  “…and strong enough to make a life where you and Arttu can both be happy.”

  Reid blinked, stunned.

  In that moment, Harven wasn’t just the silly vice-commander who liked pranks and theatrics.

  He wasn’t just Reid’s eccentric instructor.

  He was someone Reid could respect.

  Someone he could trust.

  Someone who felt… safe.

  Reid wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

  Then he leaned forward and hugged Harven fully—arms around his shoulders, face buried in his coat.

  Harven’s arms wrapped around him again, steady and warm.

  And for a moment, right there under the quiet castle lights…

  Reid didn’t feel alone.

  Not at all.

  They walked down the long stone hallways together, their footsteps echoing softly against the high ceilings. Torches flickered along the walls, casting wavering shadows that stretched and shrank as they passed. The castle always felt a little colder at night, but walking beside Harven made it feel less empty.

  After a moment of quiet, Reid looked up at him.

  “Did anything happen while I was gone?”

  Harven scratched his chin, gaze drifting upward as if trying to scroll through memories inside his head.

  “Hm… no, I don’t th—”

  He stopped mid-sentence.

  His whole expression shifted—mouth tightening, eyes widening slightly, a strange seriousness settling over his features.

  “Actually…” he said slowly. “Yeah. Something did happen.”

  Reid felt his stomach tighten. “What happened?”

  “Do you remember that kid?” Harven asked. “The ‘Demon kid.’”

  A chill shot down Reid’s spine so fast his breath caught.

  Corbin’s face flashed into his mind—the blank stare, the burning red eyes, the unsettling calm that felt less like a person and more like an omen.

  Reid shivered.

  “YesIrememberhimyoumeanCorbinright??”

  The words came out in one breath, tangled together like he was trying to outrun the memory.

  Harven blinked. “…Yes. Him. And he got into a fight.”

  Reid stiffened. “With who?”

  “Your buddy.”

  “My… buddy?”

  “Quill.”

  Reid’s eyes lit up in panic. “What happened to Quill? Is he okay? What did Corbin do? Did Quill fight back? Was there blood?? Does he still have all his limbs??”

  “Calm down,” Harven said, holding up a hand. “Quill’s fine. Perfectly fine. He only got a little scratch on his cheek.”

  Reid’s shoulders dropped with relief, though his heartbeat was still running laps inside his chest.

  Harven continued, “Apparently, Quill tried talking to Corbin about something casual. Just small talk. Corbin ignored him, so Quill tried confronting him—because, well, it’s Quill.”

  Reid could imagine it clearly:

  Quill marching up, all confident, trying to befriend the scariest kid in the academy.

  “And?” Reid urged.

  “And that confrontation became a fight immediately. No buildup. No warning.” Harven sighed. “Luckily Wynne was nearby, otherwise we’d be cleaning them off the walls.”

  Reid exhaled. “So Quill’s okay… good. And Corbin?”

  Harven’s steps slowed. His voice lowered.

  “That’s complicated.”

  Reid waited.

  “The Lance family is trying to expel him from the academy,” Harven said. “They’ve been looking for a reason, and this fight gave them one.”

  Reid felt a strange twinge in his chest—fear? Pity? He wasn’t sure.

  “But Wynne and several other professors are objecting,” Harven added. “They’re pushing back hard. Nobody can make a final call yet. The last word will be King Rucons’s.”

  Reid swallowed.

  The king himself.

  Things had escalated far more than he expected.

  “Well, forget about those things for now,” Harven said, patting Reid on the back. “Go get some sleep. You need it.”

  I don’t think I do, Reid thought… then immediately remembered how he had literally passed out during the ride.

  Okay… maybe I do.

  Harven stepped back, giving him a reassuring nod.

  “Good night, Reid. Just focus on getting good rest. I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

  Reid smiled faintly.

  I know you will.

  He turned down the hallway, walking toward his room. The torches flickered in warm lines across the floor as he moved. His hand lingered on the door handle for a moment before he pushed it open.

  Inside, everything was exactly as he’d left it.

  The neatly stacked books.

  The wooden desk scarred with little knife marks.

  The window that let moonlight spill in like silver water.

  And the bed—his bed—still slightly sunken where he usually slept.

  He let out a long breath and dropped face-first onto the mattress.

  “Tomorrow is the first day of school,” he whispered into the sheets.

  A familiar knot of excitement twisted in his stomach—one he hadn’t felt in years.

  It reminded him of that morning in Priscilla, walking beside Lucius on their way to the tiny village school. The air had been crisp and clean. Birds chirped in the trees. His mother was alive then—packing their lunches, kissing their cheeks, reminding them not to get into trouble.

  Reid felt a sting behind his eyes.

  For a moment, the memories came too quickly—too warmly—and they hurt.

  He didn’t cry.

  Not because it didn’t ache.

  But because he knew he shouldn’t.

  Knew he didn’t want to start the night with sadness.

  So he wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, drew the blankets up to his chin, and closed them gently.

  “Tomorrow…” he whispered, letting the words comfort him, “tomorrow will be a good day.”

  And with that thought holding him steady, Reid finally drifted into sleep.