Evoker

Madam Aldwin had never encountered a student quite like Leon. In all her years of instruction, she had seen talent and diligence, but nothing that compared to the way this boy absorbed information. Most students required constant correction, repetition, and refinement, especially in the finer points of Imperial etiquette. But Leon was different.

It had only been a few months since she’d begun training him, yet he seemed to commit every lesson to memory after hearing it just once. His recall was near perfect, often quoting her instructions word for word before she even had a chance to correct him. It was uncanny. Whenever he fumbled with the physical aspects of etiquette—misplacing a hand, faltering in a bow—he would murmur the exact phrasing of her advice under his breath as if reminding himself. And more often than not, he fixed the mistake before she could even speak.

Initially, Madam Aldwin had planned to stay only a year at Highfield Manor. Lord Roderic, her former student, had taken a full year to master the basics of Imperial etiquette, and she had expected much the same from Leon. But what was meant to be a year-long course had been completed in just six months. Leon had already surpassed her expectations in every area of study—his mind sharp, his memory impeccable.

She found herself genuinely enjoying their lessons. It wasn’t often that she encountered a student so eager to learn, nor one who provided such rapid progress. There was a sense of satisfaction in watching him grow, in knowing that her instruction was being absorbed so thoroughly. More than that, there was a certain amusement she took in knowing that Leon—this farm boy with his strange, untapped power—would enter the academy far more prepared than his peers. The idea of him outclassing the sons and daughters of noble families, at least in matters of etiquette, brought a sly smile to her face.

Initially, she had only planned to teach him the basics, enough to make sure he wouldn’t embarrass himself or the Highfield estate when he eventually left for the academy. But now, she had set her sights higher. It would be both amusing and prestigious if Leon entered the academy not just competent, but exceptional—ready to navigate the complexities of Imperial society with ease. And if she could be the one to ensure it, so much the better.

Her decision was made. She would teach Leon far more than the basics. He would enter the academy with knowledge far beyond what any of his peers could boast.

“Leon,” Madam Aldwin said one afternoon, standing with her hands clasped behind her back as she observed him reciting the proper titles for Imperial dignitaries. “I must say, you’ve completed your basic training with remarkable speed.”

Leon, standing straight and holding his posture with practised poise, allowed himself a small smile. “Thank you, Madam.”

She raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth quirking up slightly. “And so, as a reward for your swift progress…”

Leon’s smile widened just a fraction—until she pulled a new stack of thick books from her side table and set them on the desk in front of him with a solid thud.

“You’ll be advancing to the next level. These are the texts we’ll be studying from now on.”

Leon blinked, staring at the intimidating pile of tomes that seemed to grow taller by the second. His earlier satisfaction vanished, replaced by quiet horror. Was she serious?

“...What?”

Madam Aldwin allowed herself a rare, soft chuckle. "Oh, come now, Leon. You didn't think the journey would end at the basics, did you?"

Leon sighed quietly, eyeing the stack of books with resignation. "No, Madam," he muttered, his tone half-amused, half-resigned.

“Good,” she said briskly. “Let’s begin.”

Leon squared his shoulders, mentally preparing himself for what he knew would be an even more intense round of studies.

Leon’s body had changed significantly over the past months under Captain Loren’s rigorous training. Where he had once been slight and soft, there was now muscle—lean but firm—coiling around his arms, shoulders, and legs. His posture had straightened, and his movements had become more deliberate, more controlled. The once awkward gait of a village boy had transformed into the steady stance of someone who knew how to handle a weapon.

He wasn’t done growing yet, but already he was starting to look the part of a young warrior. His limbs, no longer too long for his body, moved with a newfound grace born of relentless drilling and sparring sessions. His chest had broadened, and the simple physical tasks of farm life seemed like a distant memory compared to the precision and discipline required in Loren's harsh regimen.

This morning’s session was brutal, as always. The sun was just rising, casting a golden light over the training yard, but Leon was already drenched in sweat. His wooden training sword felt heavy in his hand, the weight familiar now after months of sparring, but the burn in his muscles was ever-present. Loren was relentless, forcing him to anticipate every strike, every feint, while keeping his balance intact.

Captain Loren moved with the ease of a seasoned fighter, his blows swift and sharp. Each strike was calculated, testing Leon's reactions, waiting for him to slip up. Leon’s heart pounded in his chest, and every muscle screamed for rest, but he couldn’t afford to slow down. Not against Loren. Not today.

As Loren moved in for another strike, aiming low at Leon’s legs, something clicked in Leon’s mind. He’d seen this movement before—Loren had used the exact same sequence during a training session weeks ago. It was like a memory bubbling up from the back of his mind, perfectly clear and vivid.

Leon remembered the last time he had seen that strike, remembered the mistake he had made back then, how Loren’s sword had knocked him off balance. But this time, he didn’t need to think about it for long. The memory was there, and his body responded quickly—not by instinct, but by choice.

In a split second, Leon shifted his weight, sidestepping the attack. His wooden sword came up smoothly, not just to block, but to counter. He knew what Loren’s next move would be, remembered the exact angle at which the captain had aimed last time. Leon anticipated it, and before Loren could fully recover from his initial strike, Leon swung his sword, landing a clean tap on Loren’s side.

The sound of wood hitting flesh echoed through the training yard.

For a moment, both of them stood still—Leon wide-eyed and breathless, Loren staring down at where Leon’s blade had touched him. Then, to Leon’s surprise, Loren let out a sharp burst of laughter, the sound loud and sudden in the quiet morning air.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Loren chuckled, stepping back and lowering his weapon. “You actually got me.” His eyes twinkled with amusement, the sternness in his face softened by the genuine surprise. “Didn’t expect that.”

Leon stood there, blinking, a mix of shock and pride welling up inside him. He had landed a hit. He had finally done it.

Loren shook his head, still grinning. “Looks like you’ve been paying attention after all.” His voice held a note of approval, but also something lighter—almost playful, a side of him Leon hadn’t seen before.

“Thank you, sir,” Leon managed, his voice rough from exertion, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. He’d done it.

But even as pride swelled in his chest, his thoughts flickered back to what had just happened. He’d remembered Loren’s moves from weeks ago—remembered them in such detail that he’d been able to anticipate and counter. It wasn’t instinct; it was like recalling something that had already been written into his mind.

Loren watched him closely, his sharp eyes narrowing, though the humour still lingered in his expression. “One hit doesn’t make you a swordsman,” he said, his tone returning to its usual gruffness, but with a glimmer of amusement. “You’ve improved, yes, but don’t think this means you’ve mastered anything.”

Leon nodded, his grip tightening on his wooden sword. “I understand,” he said, though the victory still burned bright in his chest. He had a long way to go, but this felt like a breakthrough.

“Good,” Loren said, stepping back and giving Leon a nod. “You’ve learned to anticipate. That’s important. But don’t rely too much on what you’ve seen before. You’ll need to be ready for the unexpected.”

Leon nodded again, but he couldn’t help the grin that crept onto his face. The unexpected... that was something he could handle, now that he knew his mind could work this way.

As Loren turned and walked away, Leon stood there for a moment longer, staring down at his hands. His memory had always been sharp, but this... this was something else. He didn’t fully understand it yet, but whatever his power was, it wasn’t just about recalling facts. It was insight, foresight—like catching glimpses of the past or predicting moments just before they happened.

For now, though, the small victory was enough. He’d landed a hit on Loren—a moment he’d been working towards for months. But as he stared at the wooden sword in his hand, he couldn’t shake the thought that this was only the surface of what he could do.

His power wasn’t just about fighting or training—it was something deeper, something still unfolding.

Leon couldn’t help but smile, not from pride but from curiosity.

He had barely scratched the surface.

As the afternoon light filtered through the windows of Highfield Manor, Roderic found himself in the small sitting room with Mira. It had become a regular occurrence lately, these conversations that seemed to start with Leon and then wander into territory Roderic hadn’t quite expected. Today was no different.

Mira was in high spirits, her smile warm and genuine as she spoke about Leon's progress under Madam Aldwin's and Captain Loren's guidance. She thanked Roderic again for everything he’d done to support Leon's training. “I never imagined he’d come this far, this quickly,” she said, a hint of pride in her voice. “It’s more than I ever could have hoped for.”

Roderic shifted slightly, the awkwardness of these conversations still something he struggled with. “He’s... remarkable,” he managed, nodding slowly. “But a lot of that is down to you, Mira.”

She blinked, a little taken aback. “Me?”

Roderic looked at her then, really looked at her, and he felt that strange, unfamiliar twist in his chest again. “I do believe in him,” he said quietly, almost more to himself than to her. “But more than that, I believe in what you’ve done for him, Mira. Raising him on your own, making sure he’s had everything he needed... that takes a strength not everyone has.”

Mira's expression softened, her eyes meeting his with a hint of surprise. “Thank you, my Lord,” she said, her voice quieter now, touched by his words. “I just did what I had to do.”

Roderic nodded, the awkwardness still there but less sharp now. “It’s more than that, though. You’ve been the rock he’s built his life on. Hardworking, dependable... you’ve given him a foundation to stand on when everything else in the world might be uncertain.”

Mira’s smile grew warmer at that, a hint of colour rising to her cheeks. “You flatter me,” she said lightly, though her voice held a note of genuine gratitude. “But I think Leon’s own determination has a lot to do with it. He’s always had that spark in him.”

Roderic gave a small, awkward smile, clearly unused to this kind of conversation. “He’s fortunate to have you. And I’m fortunate to have both of you here.”

Mira’s eyes flickered with something—a softness, a warmth that Roderic wasn’t entirely sure he knew how to handle. “We’re both grateful to be here,” she said, her voice gentle. “Leon especially. This place, this opportunity—it means everything to him.”

He wanted to say more, to express the jumble of emotions he was barely starting to understand himself. But he wasn’t ready yet. Not now, not when he was still figuring out what all of this meant. So he simply nodded, offering her a smile that was almost shy, a hint of vulnerability in his otherwise stoic expression.

As they stood there, a comfortable silence settling between them, Roderic found himself at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, exactly—something warm and awkward all at once, like he’d stumbled into a place he wasn’t sure he belonged. It was confusing and unsettling, a far cry from the certainty he was used to in his role as a lord.

He’d always prided himself on knowing how to navigate complex situations, but this—whatever this was—felt different. Uncharted. He didn’t quite understand why he kept seeking out these moments with Mira or why her smile seemed to ease the weight he carried. All he knew was that it mattered, even if he couldn’t yet put a name to it.

For now, that was enough. He could leave it at that—a feeling to be figured out later, when he wasn’t caught so completely off guard.

He offered her a slightly awkward smile, the kind that seemed to say more than his words ever could, and Mira returned it with a warmth that left him feeling strangely lighter, even if he didn’t quite understand why.