Vow

The Blackthorn castle's training arena was a vast, open space carved into the heart of the stronghold. By daylight, it was a place of rigorous drills and loud clangs of steel against steel. But by night, it transformed into a shadowy void, lit only by the pale silver of the moon filtering through narrow windows. The silence was broken only by the rhythmic thud of feet and the sharp whistle of air as a wooden practice sword cut through the dark.

Speed moved with determination, his form lean and precise as he swung his weapon. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow despite the cool night air. His movements, though unpolished, were deliberate—driven by an intensity that spoke of years of silent struggle. The arena was empty save for him, a reflection of the isolation that had become his constant companion.

From the shadows, Parker emerged, his measured footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. He stopped a few paces away, watching as Speed lunged at an invisible foe. "You train as though the weight of the world rests on your shoulders, young master," he said, his tone calm but carrying a note of curiosity.

Startled, Speed spun around, the tip of his wooden sword scraping the floor. His dark eyes narrowed as he recognized the butler. "What do you want, Parker? Come to tell me I'm wasting my time?"

"Quite the opposite," Parker replied, stepping closer. The faint light caught the edges of his face, highlighting the subtle lines etched by age and wisdom. "I came to see what drives a young man to train alone in the dead of night."

Speed frowned, lowering his weapon. "It's not like I'm welcome anywhere else."

Parker's gaze lingered on the boy for a moment before he removed his jacket, folding it neatly and placing it on a nearby bench. "Show me," he said, picking up another wooden sword from the rack. "Let me see what you've learned."

Speed blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by the offer. But then he nodded, squaring his shoulders. "Alright. Don't hold back."

The two circled each other, their footsteps soft but purposeful. Parker's movements were surprisingly fluid, his grip on the wooden sword firm and practiced. When Speed lunged, Parker deflected with ease, the crack of wood against wood echoing in the arena.

"You're quick," Parker noted as they sparred, his tone even. "But you overcommit to your strikes. A skilled opponent would use that against you."

"I'm working on it," Speed muttered, gritting his teeth as he launched another series of attacks. This time, Parker had to step back to parry, his expression betraying a flicker of approval.

They continued for several minutes, the clash of their sparring echoing through the arena. Finally, Parker disarmed Speed with a deft twist of his wrist, the younger man's weapon clattering to the ground. Speed stood panting, his chest heaving, but his eyes burned with determination.

"You're better than I expected," Parker said, handing Speed back his sword. "Raw, but there's potential. With the right guidance, you could become formidable."

Speed stared at him, wiping sweat from his brow. "What's the point? No one cares. Not my father. Not anyone."

Parker placed a firm hand on Speed's shoulder, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "Your father may not say it, but he sees what you're capable of. Tonight, he made a decision—a decision to give you the opportunity to prove yourself."

Speed's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"You're being sent to the Demiri School of Prodigy," Parker explained. "It may not be St. Flatheremere, but it is a place where unconventional talents are forged into greatness. This is your chance, Speed. A chance to define your own worth."

For a moment, Speed was speechless. He glanced at the wooden sword in his hand, then back at Parker. The weight of the butler's words began to sink in, mingling with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

"What if I fail?" Speed asked quietly.

Parker's gaze softened, and he gave a small, reassuring smile. "The only failure is never trying. And from what I've seen tonight, you are anything but a failure."

The soft glow of candlelight illuminated Phillipa's modest chambers, a cozy retreat tucked away in a far corner of the castle. The room, though simple compared to the grandeur of the rest of Blackthorn Castle, was warm and inviting. Worn books lined the shelves, and a vase of wildflowers sat atop the desk by the window, their sweet fragrance mingling with the faint scent of lavender in the air.

Phillipa sat by the hearth, her sewing resting idle in her lap as she gazed into the crackling flames. The faint creak of the door opening made her turn, her hazel eyes lighting up as she saw Speed step inside.

"Speed," she said softly, setting her sewing aside. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Speed hesitated for a moment, his hands fidgeting at his sides. The weight of the secret he carried felt almost too great to bear, but the sight of his mother's kind, patient face gave him courage. He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves might betray him.

"Mother," he began, the words catching in his throat. "I... I have news. Father—he's sending me to the Demiri School of Prodigy."

For a moment, Phillipa stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, her eyes widened, and a radiant smile broke across her face, one of pure, unguarded joy. "Oh, Speed," she whispered, rising from her seat. Her hands reached for his, clasping them tightly. "I knew it. I knew they would see your worth one day."

"It's not St. Flatheremere," Speed said quickly, his voice tinged with both hope and doubt. "But it's a chance. Parker said I can prove myself there."

Phillipa's gaze softened, her thumbs brushing over his knuckles. "And you will. You've always been stronger than you realize, my son. This world may not have made it easy for you, but you've never let it break you."

Speed looked away, his throat tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check. "Parker said not to tell anyone—not even the others. Just you."

Phillipa nodded, her smile dimming slightly as she absorbed the caution behind Parker's words. "It's wise to keep this quiet for now," she agreed. "But that doesn't mean we can't celebrate here, together."

She turned quickly to the small table in the corner of the room, where a basket of fresh bread and a jar of honey rested. With practiced hands, she sliced two pieces of bread, spreading the golden honey across them before handing one to Speed.

"It's not much," she said with a playful smile, "but it's the best feast I can offer at this hour."

Speed took the bread, a small smile tugging at his lips. He bit into it, the sweetness of the honey warming him from the inside out. For the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of something that had been missing: hope.

They sat together by the fire, sharing stories of Speed's childhood and dreaming of what the future might hold. For a brief, precious moment, the weight of the world fell away, leaving only the bond between a mother and her son.