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Chapter 1: The Weight of Lines and Mud

Arcane Genesis

I was born under an incessant storm in early spring. In practice, this meant that the winter frost had melted, transforming the streets of Aritel into a sea of dark, sticky mud with a strong stench of fresh manure brought in from the fields. The stone castle of my father, Baron Horus, was damp and noisy due to its robust architecture. It was in this gray and muddy scenery that I came into the world.

After the birth, as soon as I fell asleep in my mother's arms, the midwives finally allowed my father to enter.

Hearing the Baron's heavy footsteps outside, my mother, Isis, called to him sweetly:

— You may come in, my dear. But be careful not to wake the baby. — As he approached the bed, she whispered with shining eyes, — Look what a cute little thing!

— He is... — he said. You could tell how much he held back the urge to take me in his arms, afraid of his own strength. — What will his name be?

— It will be Lycon, — she replied.

Baron Horus repeated the name in a low whisper, savoring the syllables as if testing the weight they would have in the future. A rare smile appeared on his tired face. He extended a calloused finger from the hilt of his sword and lightly touched my tiny hand. Instinctively, I grabbed it with surprising strength.

In the months that followed, the spring storm gave way to a stifling heat that dried the streets of Aritel, but the foul smell of dampness remained impregnated in the air. My first two years of life boiled down to three great challenges: learning not to fall face-first onto the castle's stone floor, learning to walk instead of dragging myself like a worm, and trying to babble words, creating a new language that only my mother could decipher. I used to be much quieter than the other children in the barony; I preferred to sit on the thick rugs in the hall and watch the movement of guards and servants coming and going.

When I turned three, the routine of Aritel began to be part of my daily life. My father, although very busy, used to carry me on his shoulders through the city fairs when the weather was "pleasant" — which, by our standards, meant neither a furnace nor an icebox. The local market was noisy, full of peasants negotiating bags of wheat and vegetables harvested in the humid and fertile lands of the south. I was easily distracted by the horses' snouts, the shine of the copper coins exchanged among the merchants, and the mud that stubbornly clung to my father's leather boots.

At six years old, besides speaking clearly, I gained a natural curiosity to try to figure things out on my own. One day, at lunchtime, I was quietly making my toy knights fight each other when, in a more violent clash, the arm of both flew off. As the pieces had sharp edges, one of them scraped my arm, opening an irregular cut that stung quite a bit.

— Ouch! — I shouted, looking at the damage. — I broke my toys...

Examining them closely, I noticed that the arms had small reliefs that fit perfectly into the torso. Since the knights' lances were intact, I forced the pieces back into place.

— Phew... Good thing I managed to fix it.

In the midst of my relief, my mother ran into the room, alarmed. Her scream echoed so loudly that it could be heard all the way from the kitchen, which was quite far from there.

— Son, are you okay?!

— Yes, I'm fine... — I tried to explain what had happened, but she spotted the reddish scratch on my arm. Right then, she started to glare at me without mercy.

— Then what is this cut? — she scolded, crossing her arms. — Wow, right on the day your father is going to give you a new toy you go and get hurt like this?

I finally found a gap to defend myself:

— It was nothing, Mom! It's just that I was playing, one of them came loose and scraped my arm. That's all, I've already fixed it! — I argued, trying to convince her it wasn't a drama.

— It doesn't matter. Look at what an ugly cut. Anyway, come quickly, your father can't be kept waiting.

I just nodded with a deflated "yes" and followed her. It seemed a great surprise awaited me: the banquet hall was filled with foods that looked delicious to my childish palate.

— Father, what is happening? — I asked, curious about the sudden midday feast.

— Today is a great day, my son, — said my father proudly. — Starting tomorrow, you will have someone to accompany you and teach you everything you need to know.

What?! I thought, shocked. I used to be very lonely, as I didn't like any children in the region. Would I finally have someone nice to play and talk with? I thought with a naivety greater than the walls of Aethelgard.

My father, noticing my eyes shining, smiled contentedly:

— Glad you're happy, son! Since you liked the news so much, I will introduce him. This is Monk Alistair No. 6. It was hard to convince him to come teach you personally, you know!

My joy evaporated in the same second. While my childish mind imagined a calm and fun companion to pass the time with, the figure before me exuded the complete opposite: a rigid, severe man who clearly considered himself unquestionable.

I'm going to have to deal... with him?! The man barely looks like he has ever slept in his life! I despaired in my thoughts.

While I digested that brutal breaking of expectations, Monk Alistair No. 6 took a step forward. His dark Church robes smelled of cheap incense and moldy parchment. He gave a slight nod to my father, but when his tired eyes, sunken by dark circles, landed on me, I felt a chill. He wasn't looking at a child; he was looking at a block of rough stone that needed to be sculpted by force.

— It is an honor, Baron Horus, — Alistair's voice was as dry as the western desert. — I guarantee that young Lycon will learn to respect the dogmas of the Church and the boundaries of the River Charter. But intellect is only half the work. To rule the south, the body must also be disciplined. Noble children tend to be soft.

I swallowed hard, looking at my piece of roast chicken which suddenly seemed to have lost all its flavor. My days of calm had ended before I even got to enjoy my childhood.

— Excellent! — celebrated my father, slamming his heavy hand on the table and making the metal goblets vibrate. — He really needs firmness. Lycon has a weird habit of taking things apart and staring into the void. Fencing, posture, and logic will do him a lot of good.

The lunch proceeded in a tense manner. While my parents tried to maintain a polite conversation about the wheat harvest and the taxes of the muddy lands, Alistair didn't take his eyes off me. Every time I rested my elbows on the table or tried to grab a piece of bread with my left hand, he cleared his throat with a loud, hacking sound, forcing me to correct my posture on the spot. My mother smiled softly, seeming relieved to finally have someone to bring order to my chaos.

When the banquet ended, the monk stood up, adjusting the sleeves of his dark tunic. He looked directly into my eyes and decreed my game over:

— Be in the inner courtyard tomorrow before sunrise, boy. Light clothing. We will begin with calisthenics and running to test your lungs. Then, we will spend five hours in the library studying the grammar of the Quadrivium. Delays will result in double extra time. In other words: do not be late.

He bid farewell to my parents with a formal bow and left the room with firm and meticulously measured steps. I stood there, looking at the cut on my arm. The toy lance's point had hurt much less than the future that awaited me the next morning.

I wanted to cry, but the despair was such that tears didn't even fall. With nothing to do, the only option left for me was to gather what remained of my pride and return to my room.

The Weight of Lines and Mud (Part 2)

With nothing to do, I went back to my room. I tried to play with my toys, but the anger built up in my chest was so great that I couldn't concentrate on anything. I decided to go out to the spacious courtyard to breathe some fresh air. My parents were quite permissive about this: as long as I didn't go past the castle gates, I could walk around the yard and gardens without a problem.

However, not everything is sunshine and rainbows. The grumpy monk seemed to sprout from the ground. He found me walking alone, right at the moment I was trying to de-stress.

— Look at that, already wanting to get a head start on the running training? Good boy! — Alistair sneered, with his hands hidden in the sleeves of his tunic. — Come on. One full lap around the courtyard!

Hearing that, I wanted to sit down and cry. But knowing it would be worse if I refused, I thought it best to obey. I started running wildly over the stones and the damp grass. To my despair, the monk stayed right behind me, marching with firm steps and hunting me with his eyes.

I kept going back and forth like that for about ten minutes, until my legs locked up and I stopped, completely out of breath.

— Good. You managed to do five laps, — he said, showing no sign of fatigue. — I'll let you rest for five minutes. Then, we'll do calisthenics!

At that moment, I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. Since disappearing from the world wasn't an option, I tried to make the most of every second of the allotted time. But the clock seemed to run faster than I did, and the grumpy monk soon returned to torment me.

— Come on, calisthenics. Just the basics to start: five push-ups.

What the bastard didn't warn me about was that these push-ups needed to be meticulously perfect. For every crooked movement I made, he told me to start over. It took about ten frustrating attempts before I managed to complete a single correct push-up.

Seeing that my six-year-old arms were already shaking and that I wouldn't get past that point, he let out a sigh of disdain.

— Soft boy... We'll leave the rest for tomorrow, as I agreed with your father. For now, rest.

I was frying with anger on the inside. What do you want me to do?! I don't even know how to do this properly and you already push five on me right away? Why don't you go back to your damn monastery, you idiot?!

If I changed my tone of voice or if he could hear my thoughts, he would certainly make me pay triple the punishment. Luckily, nobody there knew how to read minds. He just turned his back and headed toward the castle's main entrance. Night had already fallen and dinnertime was approaching. I gathered my last bit of strength to run as fast as I could, eager to get inside, eat, and finally hide in bed.

The monk, seeing my sudden sprint, shouted from behind:

— Still have energy in your body? Let's run some more, boy!

I ignored the call. My only goal was the front door. I didn't even feel my legs anymore; it was probably pure desperation that fueled that last effort.

But fate is cruel. When I reached the entrance, my foot caught on a stone and I fell face-first into the dark mud on the ground. The monk, who was right behind me, let out a mocking laugh at seeing my deplorable situation.

Wretched monk! Can't you see that YOU caused this, you idiot?! I thought, more indignant at my own weakness than at his mockery.

My mother, Isis, appeared at the door right as the cleric wiped a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye. Seeing me sprawled out, face planted in the dark mud and my new clothes ruined, she let out a cry of horror that echoed through the hall. She ran toward me, ignoring the dirt, and pulled me up by the arms to assess the damage.

— By the gods, Alistair! What have you done to my boy? — she raged, wiping the mud from my cheek with the sleeve of her expensive dress. — He is just a six-year-old child, not a soldier of the royal guard! Look at the state of him!

Before the grumpy monk could invent a theological excuse, my father, Baron Horus, appeared right behind her. He looked at my muddy situation, then at Alistair's sweaty face, and a smile of pure satisfaction broke out in his thick beard.

— Now, Isis, calm down, — said my father, placing a heavy and comforting hand on her shoulder. — The boy is just gaining some fiber. Aluvia doesn't need a ruler made of sugar. — He looked at the cleric and nodded in a sign of respect. — Excellent work, Monk Alistair. I see I didn't waste my money hiring you. If he's already running until he drops on the first day, it means the training will be efficient.

— Just doing my duty by the River Charter, Baron, — Alistair replied, adopting that falsely humble posture that made me nauseous. — The body must be punished so that the mind can flourish free from laziness. Excuse me, I will see you at dawn.

I could barely breathe, let alone speak. While my father guided my mother back inside, trying to calm her nerves with promises that it would be good for me, I was dragged by the servants to the baths. The warm bath felt more like a punishment than a reward, as the water stung right on the scratch on my arm.

Dinner was a torture of its own. I sat at the table with my muscles shaking so much that I could barely balance the wooden spoon to eat the beef and root vegetable stew. The food was great, but my mind couldn't stop swearing. Fiber? Punish the body? That bastard almost killed me out of pure whim! I complained mentally, chewing the bread with an anger that almost broke my baby teeth. I couldn't accept that my peaceful life had been destroyed in a single afternoon.

When I was finally released to my room, the only thing I managed to do was throw myself onto the bed. I passed out immediately, sleeping like a rock from extreme exhaustion.