The forge had become home, its heat and rhythm as familiar as his hands. As James settled into his new normal, days turned to weeks and weeks to months. Miss Silvia recovered, though something in her movements had changed. She was still quick and sharp, but careful, deliberate steps replaced the fluid grace that once defined her. Max had grown like a weed, shooting up nearly two feet in what felt like days, his voice cracking between deep baritone and boyish squeak. Ser Edwin drilled them both from sunup to sundown, alternating between blacksmithing and swordplay until their hands were raw and their muscles ached.

  James welcomed this pain. It meant he was alive. It meant he was earning the life he had been given.

  The nightmares hadn't stopped. James would wake in a cold sweat. A lingering feeling of a beautiful woman bathed in light, silver hair falling down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. Her eyes, lacking pupils or irises, were just filled with a field of endless stars.

  Her words slipped away before he could remember them, only the phrase "little seed"—ringing in his head, sometimes in her voice, sometimes in Scar's.

  James never shared this.

  He didn't want to tell Ser Edwin.

  Or Miss Silvia.

  Or even Max.

  They would look at him like they did when the light of the fire grew brighter as he walked into a room or when his bruises and cuts healed, leaving small silver scars. Looks of concern, of worry, then they would smile and tell him things were okay.

  James pushed it down, down inside, near the place where the door of power still lay slightly ajar.

  The morning air was crisp, still holding the last bite of the night, but the forge had already stirred awake. The coals in the banked fire glowed faintly, sending wisps of warmth into the early dawn.

  James moved through Earth stance, slow and deliberate, the wooden sword an extension of himself. Step, pivot, strike. His feet slid into place without thought, his body flowing through each movement as if he'd done it a thousand times before.

  Across from him, Max was struggling.

  "Ah, dammit." The taller boy stumbled mid-step, nearly tangling his legs before catching himself.

  "Grew too fast, didn't ya, boy?" Ser Edwin let out a quiet snort from where he sat near the porch, a steaming cup of tea in hand.

  Max shot him a glare but didn't stop moving.

  "Ain't my fault I woke up one mornin' and me legs was two inches longer." He reset his stance, rolling his shoulders. "Maybe if ya let me sleep instead of runnin' me ragged, I'd get used to 'em."

  "Excuses, Maximus." Miss Silvia chuckled into her tea.

  Max huffed but tried again, stepping into Sky Greets the Mountain like James had—except his stance was too high, and his balance tipped him forward when he swung.

  Thump.

  His wooden sword hit the dirt.

  "Damn, dis be too short now," Max muttered, rubbing at his wrists.

  "A sword doesn't get shorter, boy. Your arms got longer." Ser Edwin sighed, shaking his head.

  "Perhaps it is time you adjust his training rather than berate him." Miss Silvia raised an eyebrow at Edwin.

  "Maybe." Edwin took a long sip of tea.

  James tuned them out, continuing through Fire Meets the Storm, the sequence rolling off him like water. Quick slash, jab, slash, movements. His body moved without thought. One movement moving to the next, each sequence smoother, more fluid.

  He had noticed it lately. How his strikes landed sharper, his steps lighter, his body faster. He had grown, too, but it wasn't just his height or the muscle he had earned under Edwin's brutal training.

  It was something else. He felt the door, the energy there leaking, spreading through his body. James feared what would happen if he pushed it open even a bit more.

  "Ya overthinkin' again." James blinked, coming back to the moment. Max watched him, arms crossed, his wooden sword slung over his shoulder.

  "I'm not."

  "Yeah, ya are. Got dat look again." Max smirked. "Da one where your face gets all scrunchy."

  James frowned but didn't argue. Instead, he reset his stance. Back to the basics. Back to what he knew.

  "Ya dat one." Max, still wobbly, mimicked James as best he could. His footwork was sloppy, and his swings were slightly off, but James could tell he was trying. And that was enough.

  "That's enough for now. Get cleaned up before breakfast." The scent of cooking oats and fresh bread drifted from the house. Ser Edwin stood, stretching with a groan.

  "Thank the Blessed Mother." Max dropped his sword with an exaggerated sigh.

  James smirked but didn't say anything.

  Miss Silvia gathered the empty cups and glanced at him, her gaze lingering a fraction too long.

  James caught the look and hesitated. Pausing in putting away the practice blades.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  She sees it too, the way I move and improve…

  "C'mon, Max. Before Edwin eats all the bread." He swallowed hard and forced a smile.

  "Ya old man, dontcha even think 'bout it!" Max perked up.

  "Move faster, and maybe you'll get a piece." Edwin snorted.

  The boys took off toward the house, leaving behind Miss Silvia and Edwin, who watched them go, each lost in their thoughts.

  The scent of fresh bread and warm oats filled the small house, which made the place feel homey. The crisp morning air wafted in with the promise of another long day ahead.

  James and Max stormed in, fresh from practice, still half-covered in sweat. James wiped his brow with the back of his hand before grabbing a slice of bread off the counter. Max all but collapsed onto the stool.

  Ser Edwin sat down across the table, one hand lazily turning a knife over his knuckles, the other holding a bowl of oats. Kicking his boots out in front of him was a picture of ease, but James knew better. Edwin was replaying the morning practice in his mind. Constantly pushing the boys to improve.

  Miss Silvia moved slowly around the kitchen, her steps. Though she never said a word about it, James could see the stiffness in her frame, the moments she favored one side over the other. She had healed, but something in her had changed. She saw him watching and gave a warm smile.

  "Good training?" Edwin asked, his voice muffled as he shoveled another bite of oats into his mouth.

  "I think I broke Max," James said, smirking. "He keeps falling over himself."

  Max shot him a glare.

  "I think I grew another inch since this morning," he muttered, rubbing his leg.

  "Good." Edwin took another bite, chewing slowly before continuing. "Maybe by next month, you'll finally have some balance. Your kata is sloppy; you need a better overhand swing into the quick uppercut we were working on."

  "I ain't that bad." Max let out a low groan, slumping forward against the table. "I'm doin' the movements, my arms just don't do what I tell 'em."

  Ser Edwin gave him the look.

  "You're all limbs, Max. Like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time." James grinned.

  "Yeah, well, at least I'm not perfect all da time." Max stuck his tongue out at James.

  "Not my fault you keep tripping over yourself. Have you tried just being perfect?" James took a slow bite of bread, chewing thoughtfully before giving an exaggerated shrug.

  "If you two spent half as much effort on your studies as you do on antagonizing each other, you'd both be master blacksmiths by now." Miss Silvia chuckled softly, setting cups of tea on the table.

  "So–" Max nudged James, ignoring Miss Silvia's words. "Ser Edwin, ya said we'd start makin' our own real swords soon."

  "Yeah, you promised. We're ready." James' spoon fell back into his bowl, forgotten. His eyes met the older man's gaze.

  "I did say that, didn't I?" Edwin glanced between them, swirling his spoon through the last of his oats. He leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. "And you will. Soon enough."

  Max nearly knocked the table over, jumping up from his stool.

  Then the bell rang.

  Clang

  A deep, resonant toll carried over the town, cutting through the moment like a knife.

  Clang

  James's hand froze halfway to his mouth.

  Clang

  Miss Silvia's grip tightened around her cup.

  Clang

  Ser Edwin let out a slow breath, setting his knife down carefully on the table.

  Clang

  Max swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to the door as if expecting someone to walk through it.

  Five tolls.

  They all knew what it meant.

  The Imperium was coming.

  "They're close." James was the first to speak, his voice quieter than before.

  "They will be here by tomorrow." Miss Silvia nodded, barely above a whisper.

  "And the recruiters?" Max shifted uncomfortably. His gaze locked on the floor.

  Ser Edwin sat up on his stool, arms still crossed, his expression unreadable. But there was something hard in his voice when he spoke.

  "Straight to the Master's house," he said. "To count his stock."

  Max's spoon slipped from his fingers, clattering against the wooden table. Tears forming in his eyes.

  The silence stretched between them.

  James felt the ache he knew was coming bloom in his chest. He glanced at Max, whose usual easy grin had faded, replaced with something tight, something frightened.

  James knew that feeling well.

  He clenched his hands beneath the table, forcing himself to stay still. He had spent months learning how to fight, move, and shape things from metal, but none of that would stop what was coming.

  "Eat. Ain't no use starin' at each other like ghosts. Maybe the Masters forgot about Max," Ser Edwin breathed heavily, taking a deep pull from his tea.

  "Eh, maybe If pigs flew." Max picked up his spoon again but didn't take another bite.

  James wasn't sure if he was hungry anymore.

  Midday brought with it a thick, oppressive heat, the kind that made the air feel heavy and sluggish. The forge roared, the rhythmic clang of Ser Edwin's hammer beating against metal filling the yard like a heartbeat. Max worked the bellows, sweat dripping from his brow, while James wiped soot from his face, setting another piece of iron onto the coals. The worries of the morning before were forgotten for a time.

  Then James heard a steady rhythm of hoofbeats, almost in opposition to Ser Edwin's hammering.

  James paused in his task to glance towards the road. A rider in the white and gold of the Imperium thundered forward like a storm cloud. His white mare stretched out in a trot and tacked with a short bow and messenger bags.

  Ser Edwin stilled at the anvil, shoulders squaring. Max hesitated, the bellows half-pulled, as they followed James' gaze.

  The rider slowed as he reached the yard, reining in his mount with practiced ease. His gaze swept over them, lingering on James and Max before landing on Ser Edwin. In a flourish, the rider dismounted, his small half cape swirling in the movement. The Imperium Messenger crest emblazoned upon it—a falcon clutching arrows and bound scrolls above a crown of golden laurel leaves.

  "Ser Edwin of Arrows Fall:" His voice was crisp, formal. "I bear word from Justiciar Cornelius Rholl and Master Declin Garp."

  "That so?" Ser Edwin set down his hammer and wiped his hands on a rag, taking his time before meeting the rider's gaze.

  The messenger pulled a sealed parchment from his belt. The wax bore the Imperium's sigil: a sword balanced on the scales of justice. James's stomach twisted at the sight.

  "The Justiciar Rholl assigned to the Twelfth Legion has agreed to hear the Master's grievances against you," the messenger said, his tone flat, uninterested as he clicked his heels together. "You, along with the boys—Maximus and James—are to appear before him before sundown for judgment."

  Max stiffened beside James. Both boys were wiping their hands on their aprons.

  The Master never lets his toys get away. We should've known. I should've known.

  James forced himself to breathe evenly, keeping his hands loose at his sides. He could feel his dread of the moment pressing down, settling into his bones.

  Ser Edwin took the letter, turning it over in his hands. He didn't break the seal; he didn't need to. He already knew what it said. He exhaled, slow and controlled. Then, without a word, he ripped the parchment in two.

  "That is an official order—" The messenger blinked, aghast.

  "I heard you the first time," Ser Edwin said, his voice calm. He tossed the torn parchment onto the forge's embers, watching as the flames devoured the wax and paper whole.

  "Disobedience will not go unnoticed." The messenger's jaw tightened, and he straightened his back.

  Ser Edwin's eyes darkened—the same cold steel, the look of a man who had stared down armies, monsters, and more. The messenger recoiled a step.

  "I said, I heard you," Edwin repeated. "We'll be there."

  The rider nodded and didn't run but walked, just short of a run, back to his horse, mounted, and galloped away as fast as he could.

  The boys' whole bodies relaxed, shoulders sagging as they let out identical long breaths.

  "What's gonna happen, Ser Edwin?" Max swallowed hard, voice coming out quieter than usual.

  Ser Edwin rubbed at his face, a long sigh pushed out of his lips before meeting Max's gaze.

  "Nothing good."

  The forge crackled behind them, the flames hungrily licking at what remained of the Master's summons. And despite the noon heat, James felt cold to his core.