Jacob had stayed up all night again, his eyes stinging slightly in the early morning light that filtered through the high windows of his room, the desk before him littered with open books, scattered parchment, and a single carefully written page, the summary. He'd done what had been asked, although he hadn't told the full truth.

He'd written only about the surface-level functions of his aspect, downplaying the more extraordinary abilities it offered, and focusing instead on smaller, innocuous details, little things that wouldn't draw suspicion. It looked plausible enough, so without much ceremony, Jacob had handed it over to Belemir with a quiet request: "Please submit it for me."

Yawning, Jacob pushed himself up from the desk and stretched his arms until his back gave a satisfying pop. He glanced absently around his room, his mind still half-lost in thought, then stepped out and began making his way down the quiet corridors of the estate, his destination clear he needed food, even if he had little appetite.

There was a lingering heaviness in his body, a residue left behind by the nightmare he'd endured the night before. He was used to waking up in cold sweat by now, yet the sense of dread still clung to him like damp clothes. Even as he walked, he found himself chewing on the same thoughts he had been turning over since finishing the handbook the night prior.

If what he suspected was true, then there really was no point in studying normal runes anymore, not for him. Yes, they could still be useful in theory, and they were far more accessible, appearing in countless books and papers, carefully cataloged and studied but they weren't real. Not like true runes.

The difference felt too vast to ignore. In a sense, the runes used by the rest of the world were just poorly made imitations, traces of something once powerful and precise, reduced to crude approximations.

That was what explained so much inconsistency in rune theory, Jacob thought. It was why some formations that looked sound on paper failed when drawn. The shapes were correct, perhaps, but the essence, the foundation was wrong. And the truly legendary runes, the ones associated with death, immortality, and the fundamental forces of the world? They couldn't be replicated for the same reason. They only existed as true runes.

The only issue, and it was a large one, was that Jacob had no clue how to learn them. There were no guides, no diagrams, not even vague theories. If he wanted to pursue them, he'd be doing it blind. Still, that path felt more real than any alternative.

Somewhere between these thoughts, Jacob arrived at the kitchen without realizing it. The room was quiet. A plate of food, likely left for him, waited neatly on the side counter. Without a word, he took it and turned back toward the stairs. He had no desire to linger. Today was a training day and Alex had warned him that it would be different.

Back in his room, Jacob sat down and picked at the food in silence. His stomach twisted uneasily. The truth was, he rarely felt hungry after one of his nightmares. They left him cold and jittery, and the idea of eating only added to the nausea. But he forced himself to chew, swallowing slowly. If he didn't eat, he wouldn't make it through training.

He winced slightly as he remembered past sessions. Brutal didn't even begin to describe them. They left his body aching and his mind frayed. There was no mercy in Alex's teaching, only a hard, relentless push toward some ideal that Jacob didn't fully believe in. Yes, he wanted to be strong, he hated being weak but he feared pain more than he longed for strength. Death terrified him. And physical suffering? He found no glory in it.

Finishing what little food he could manage, Jacob checked the time and groaned. He changed into his usual training clothes, a plain black shirt and worn brown trousers and with slow, reluctant steps, left his room, heading toward the training yard.

The morning was still young, a pale grey sky looming overhead, soft wind stirring the dust along the stone path as he approached. But something made him pause.

Ahead, near the centre of the yard, stood Alex and beside him, to Jacob's growing confusion, Jessica.

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"Jessica?" he said, his brows furrowing as he approached. Both turned at the sound of his voice.

"Jacob," Jessica replied, tilting her head slightly. "What are you doing here?"

Jacob glanced warily between them. Had Alex forgotten today's session? Had Jessica just been out here for some unrelated reason?

His hopes were dashed a moment later.

"Jessica," Alex said, his tone calm but final, "I want you to spar with Jacob this week."

Jacob froze. His stomach dropped.

Once, not too long ago, he wouldn't have reacted to that sentence at all, back when he had no real understanding of what it meant to be a knight. But things had changed. Since training with Alex, Jacob had come to understand just how wide the gap was. Knights were monsters in human skin. And Jessica, his younger sister had been training to become one since childhood.

She had endured everything that he could barely survive. No hesitation. No complaints. Every miserable exercise that left him gasping, she had long since made her routine.

He looked at Alex, betrayed. "You want to kill me."

He took a step back, then another, his hand rising instinctively in protest.

"If you leave," Alex said evenly, "I'll tell Father."

Jacob stopped moving. His face twisted into a grimace, but he said nothing. He turned and walked toward the centre of the yard with a kind of resigned dread. As he passed Alex handed him a wooden sword without a word.

Across from him, Jessica smiled. Not a mocking grin, but something far more terrifying, confidence. Her stance was sharp and practiced, feet firm against the ground, sword held in perfect posture. Meanwhile, Jacob barely managed to hold his own weapon straight.

He turned and looked at Alex with pleading eyes, mouthing a single word: 'please.'

Alex met his gaze, then smiled faintly. "Begin."

Jacob barely registered the word before Jessica moved.

One moment she stood across from him. The next, her sword struck his arm with a hard, precise motion. Pain flared immediately, sharp, jarring and he stumbled back, eyes wide. His body hadn't even processed the movement. It hadn't been broken, but it felt close.

"Shit," he muttered, dropping the sword without thinking.

That was a mistake.

Jessica's second strike came down on his shoulder like a hammer, and his knees buckled. He fell, landing unceremoniously on the dirt, staring up at her dumbfounded.

Alex's voice rang out from the sidelines, cold and analytical. "You can't track her movements. You're not used to fighting. You can't use a sword. You're distracted by pain."

Each sentence stung worse than the last, but Jacob couldn't argue. He was on the ground. Again.

"We'll train four hours a day now," Alex continued. "First with me then weapons with Jessica."

Jacob clenched his jaw, seething.

It wasn't enough that he had to train like this. Now he had to do it in front of her. Every failure witnessed. Every humiliating fall.

Still, he stood.

He picked up the sword again, faced her once more.

Jessica's smile widened.

She moved like wind impossible to follow. She struck his back before he could turn. In a blind panic, Jacob swung the sword wildly, the force pulling him off balance, and he tumbled forward, hitting the dirt again.

He tried again. And again. Swing after swing, his arms screaming, his breath ragged, the sword a weight he couldn't control. Then another blow, his legs this time and he dropped like a sack of stones.

Lying there, panting, Jacob stared at the weapon in his hand. Then he let it fall. He stood up and walked, limped toward the edge of the yard.

"I didn't say you could go," Alex called after him. "Father will hear about this."

Jacob didn't respond.

The limp back to the house was slow. Pain bloomed with every step. Reaching his room, he slammed the door shut behind him, crossed the space, and collapsed into his chair. The candle was nearly burned out, but he lit a new one with shaking fingers.

He reached for a book on basic runes.

For a moment, he just sat there, breathing heavily, mind fogged by exhaustion and shame. He knew what would happen. His father would call him in. Demand an explanation. Likely force him back into the yard tomorrow.

But right now, Jacob didn't care.

He was tired, tired of being weak, tired of failing, tired of watching others move with certainty while he floundered.

He turned the pages slowly, letting the frustration settle into cold focus. He was studying the fire runes today, simple ones, common in basic texts. Not hard to understand. Something he should have been able to replicate. But he wasn't trying to draw them yet. For now, he only read, only observed, searching for something deeper.

He wanted to see what the true fire rune might look like. He needed to see it in his mind before tomorrow, before he met his mentor.

Then came a knock.

He sighed. 'Here it comes.'

He opened the door, expecting Belemir with a summons. And indeed it was Belemir, but the message was anything but expected.

"Young master," Belemir said, face neutral but voice tinged with odd amusement, "an Arthur with no apparent surname is at the gate. Claims he's a friend. Says he's here to hang out."

Jacob blinked. For a moment, he didn't understand. Then his expression shifted, and he sighed, running a hand down his face.

'What the hell is this guy thinking?'

Still, the thought sparked another, one that made him pause.

If Arthur was around, perhaps his father would be less likely to call him in.

"…Let him in," Jacob muttered at last, turning back to his desk.

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