Chapter 2: One Sword Shakes the Ancestral Hall

The Ancestral Hall trials began at dawn, and by the third bell half the village had gathered to watch the young hopefuls embarrass themselves.

Lucien was last in line, which suited him. He stood with his hands folded, watching a boy two years older swing the hall's iron practice sword with all the grace of a man chopping firewood, and he catalogued the errors out of old habit: loose wrist, dead hips, breath held at exactly the wrong moment.

"Vale. You're next."

He took the iron sword. It was heavier than he remembered — or his arms were weaker, which amounted to the same thing. The hall master was already turning away.

Lucien breathed in, once, and let the old coal in his chest glow.

The sword did not flash. It did not sing. It simply arrived, point first, at the exact center of the straw target from nine paces away, and the whole hall heard the iron ring like a struck bell as the shock ran up the blade.

The master's teacup stopped halfway to his mouth. Somewhere in the front row, his sworn brother — sixteen, unbloodied, not yet his enemy — was staring at him with his mouth open.

Lucien lowered the sword and bowed, politely, like a good boy who had gotten lucky.