CHAPTER 5: FIRST MEETING

Seraphina had wandered off-course while returning from the training grounds, her mind still ringing with the echo of steel and bone. Her limbs ached from endless sparring sessions, but her feet kept moving. The hall she entered was dimly lit, its torches flickering as if sensing a foreign presence.

Then she saw him.

A tall figure leaned against the wall, half-consumed by the shadows. He wore a long, black cloak, the hood drawn low over his face. He also wore a wolf mask, covering the upper half of his face. He didn't flinch or move when she approached. He simply watched her.

Seraphina slowed, instinctively reaching for the dagger hidden in the folds of her belt. "Who are you?"

The man straightened, not threatening, not retreating. "That depends. Who are you?"

Her eyes narrowed. She was no longer the noble daughter of House Sebastienne. That name meant nothing here. "A Thornfell trainee. You're not one of us."

He chuckled—low, amused. "Observant. I'm here because I'm interested."

"Interested in what?"

"You," he said without hesitation.

Seraphina's face turned red. 'What? Does she have a crush on me? Oh my.. Oh my! I'm still not totally over with my jerk of a boyfriend yet. I'm not ready!'

She was squirming in her mind, while the masked man was just watching her wondering why she became silent for some time.

She faked a cough, and straightened her posture.

Seraphina's hand gripped her blade tighter. "Why?"

"I saw you fight," he answered, stepping out of the darkness. She caught the glint of steel strapped to his back and the subtle movements of a man who had lived his life on the battlefield. "There's precision in your strikes. Fury, too. But beneath it, control. Most trainees here fight like starved dogs. You fight like someone with purpose."

She studied him. He didn't look like a soldier from any known house. His clothes were well-made but utilitarian, the kind of garments worn by mercenaries or wandering knights. "Where do you came from?"

"I go where I choose," he said simply.

'Nice answer. So accurate....'

"I don't trust people who skulk in corridors," Seraphina said.

"You shouldn't. Most who do are spies or liars." He smiled slightly.

"So which of the two are you?" she asked.

He shrugged, and avoided to answer. 

"I'm just curious."

"Curiosity here gets people killed."

"Yet you're still alive."

That made her pause. Her instincts told her to walk away. But her pride held her in place.

"You're wasting your time," she said. "I'm not special."

"Not yet," he replied. "But potential isn't always obvious. Not to most, anyway."

Seraphina stared at him. She really want to smack his head. She knows that she shouldn't had entertained this stranger cause she don't know him yet. He may really be a spy or worse, an assassin sent here. 

But her instinct are telling her otherwise. 

She turned to leave.

"Name?" she asked, not looking back.

There was a beat of silence.

"Call me Corven," he said at last.

A lie. She could taste it. But it was a name, and that was more than most gave her here.

—

The next morning, Seraphina returned to the training yard, the encounter still fresh in her mind. "Corven."

Whoever he was, he hadn't appeared again. She wasn't even sure if anyone else had seen him. When she'd asked Lira about late-night visitors, the girl had simply shaken her head.

"Only Lady Thornfell and the instructors are allowed in the estate past midnight," she said. "If someone else is walking around, they'd better be ghosts."

That thought disturbed Seraphina more than she admitted.

In the yard, drills resumed. This time, they're using real swords and not just wooden sword, weighted armor, and endless repetitions of forms and duel. Her body moved on instinct now—faster, and sharper.

In the ring, she faced Jerek—a burly trainee twice her size. The crowd snickered at the match-up. Jerek was known for breaking bones. He was one of the brutal and merciless seniors they were talking about. He was a friend of Valen, the last man Seraphina had a fight with.

The whistle blew.

Seraphina ducked his first swing, twisting her body to drive the pommel of her sword into his ribs. He grunted but didn't fall. His next strike came fast, a downward arc that she barely dodged.

She didn't think. She reacted.

In five moves, Jerek lay sprawled in the dirt.

The other trainees fell silent.

From the far edge of the yard, Seraphina felt it—a gaze. Not Antoinette Thornfell. Not any of the instructors.

She looked up.

In the shadows of the watchtower, a figure stood motionless.

Cloaked. Hooded. And a mask.

She know that mask.

Corven.

He gave the barest nod, then turned and vanished.

'So, I'm not dreaming when I met him last night. And he wasn't a ghost either. I'm glad... I thought I talked with a ghost.' she heaved a sigh of relief.

—

Later that evening, Seraphina stood outside the stables, the night air sharp with the scent of leather and hay. She wasn't waiting for him. Not really. But when he appeared from the treeline, she wasn't surprised.

"You fight well," he said by way of greeting.

"I know," she replied.

He smiled. "Confidence. That's good."

"What do you really want from me?"

'I'm very curious. Who is he? What does he really want? Most especially, he's not a part of the original novel. I can't remember any character who was named Corven on that book. Is he a major character? It's impossible that he is Emperor Aurelius, that guy has golden hair and blue eyes. ' she pondered.

'Or is he Zephyrion? The final villain? That guy has also black hair like him! Oh my god!' she was scare at her own thought and looked at him with fear.

Corven was amused, watching her switching facial expression easily every second like a switch. He never knew there was someone like that.

Corven leaned against the wooden post. "Nothing. Yet."

"That's not reassuring."

'But Zephyrion, according to the novel, should be in the Southern Wastes to gather his forces. And that is located in the South, not here in the west. So... Maybe I'm just overthinking things.'

"You should be used to people wanting things from you. Thornfell wants obedience. The instructors want results. The world wants your surrender."

Seraphina's jaw tightened. "And what do you want?"

"To see what you become."

She folded her arms. "You sound like a philosopher."

"I'm more of a pragmatist. I invest in people who survive."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'll have one less name to remember."

She didn't like the way he said that, calm and detached. But she couldn't deny the curiosity building in her.

"I don't need your help," she said.

"Good," he said, pushing off the post. "Help makes people weak."

He began to walk away.

"Will I see you again?"

He paused at the edge of the shadows. "Only if you keep surviving."

Then he was gone.

*********

That night, her knuckles raw from hours of drills, Seraphina found herself staring up at the cracked ceiling of her cell. The silence was thick. Her muscles ached, but it was a good pain—proof that she was hardening.

A sound snapped her attention to the barred window. A shuffle. A breath.

She slipped silently from her cot and pressed herself to the wall, just beneath the window. Whoever was watching hadn't left. She could feel the presence like a prickle at the base of her spine.

Seraphina waited.

Then, quietly, she said, "You're not very good at hiding."

Silence. Then the faintest sound of boots retreating.

She exhaled, eyes narrowing.

Corven on the other hand, walked out with a smirk plastered on his face.

*******

Morning brought another brutal cycle of drills. Instructor Rythe repeated their old segment—mock combat in pairs. Losers would clean the latrines. Winners earned a ration upgrade. The stakes were real.

Seraphina was paired against a broad-shouldered boy named Luca. He grinned at her as if she were already beaten. The mortal enemy of Valen, one of the senior trainee in the second gate.

"You're fast," he said, raising his training sword. "But that doesn't mean much if I crush your ribs."

Seraphina didn't respond. She waited for the signal. This made Luca irritated.

"Just because you defeated that stupid Valen and his lackey, means that you'll be able to defeat me. You'll suffer a worse humiliation through me, once I defeat you!" he sneered at her.

Seraphina just raised her eyebrow, 'I didn't even say anything, yet he keeps blabbering.'

The moment Rythe's hand dropped, Luca charged.

She sidestepped, pivoted, and used his momentum against him, slamming the butt of her weapon into his exposed ribs. He roared and turned, swinging wide.

Too wide.

She ducked, kicked his knee, and spun behind him—grabbing the collar of his tunic and yanking him off balance. He fell hard.

Gasps rang out.

"Winner—Sebastienne!"

Rythe's voice was sharper this time. Not just approval. Recognition.

From across the yard, Corven watched again, arms crossed, lips curled into a slight smile.

Seraphina wiped blood from her lip, unaware of the eyes she had begun to draw.

That evening, Lady Thornfell summoned her.

Seraphina stood stiffly in the center of the grand study, surrounded by shelves lined with worn tomes and military artifacts. Lady Thornfell sat behind a black oak desk, one hand drumming idly.

"You're progressing faster than expected," she said without looking up. "Some might call it luck. I think it's instinct."

"Thank you, my lady."

Lady Thornfell's gaze lifted. "Don't thank me. I didn't say it was a good thing."

Seraphina remained silent. 'Well, I thought you were complementing me.'

"You're being noticed," she continued. "That brings opportunities. And risks. Make sure you understand both."

"I do."

Thornfell tilted her head. "Good. Then you'll lead your squad tomorrow. Fail, and you go back to cleaning bloodstains."

Her eyes widen in shock, yet at the same time her heart flutters in excitement.

"I won't fail."

For the first time, Thornfell gave a flicker of a smile.

*********