The knock came like a drumbeat against a hollow chest.
Ethan stirred, eyes open but unfocused as he sat up from his bed. The morning light barely crept through the curtains, casting long shadows across the wooden floor of his room. He hadn't slept much, not well, at least. The words from the night before still echoed in his head.
"You are not a Kingmaker. You are a guest. One who has overstayed his welcome."
Edrick's voice had been quiet, but the weight behind it pressed against Ethan's ribs like a vice. He could still see the man's eyes piercing, cold, unwavering.
A softer knock followed. "Good morning, Master Ethan. Pardon the early hour, but it's time for training."
Ethan didn't respond. He just nodded to himself, exhaled slowly, and pulled himself out of bed. His body moved like it was dragging chains behind it every step heavy, as if the ground resisted him.
By the time he stepped into the cool morning air, the gloom hadn't lifted from his expression. Duskmere Manor's training grounds spread out before him stone paths cutting through patches of flattened grass, training dummies lined up like condemned men, and the clang of steel already ringing through the air.
Ceris and Lillia were already sparring.
Sparks danced from their blades as they clashed, the air between them thick with tension and sweat. Ceris's form was controlled but aggressive, her strikes sharp and fluid. Lillia was quick, weaving between attacks with a dancer's grace and countering with precision.
Arthur stood off to the side, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. His eyes, however, flicked toward Ethan the moment he arrived.
Ethan paused at the edge of the training yard, watching silently. The pit in his chest deepened.
Ethan remembered Edrick's words from the night before, echoing now like a cruel whisper: "You show up. You breathe. You flinch. And you call it resolve."
Arthur finally spoke, his voice cutting through the clatter of blades.
"Took you long enough."
Ethan said nothing.
Arthur stepped toward him and tossed a towel at his chest. "No sword for you. Not yet."
He gestured to an open spot near the edge of the training area. "Start with your routine. One hundred push-ups. One hundred sit-ups. One hundred squats. Then run ten laps around the manor. No skipping. No breaks."
Ethan blinked. "You're serious?"
Arthur didn't smile. "Does it look like I'm joking?"
Ceris glanced over briefly but didn't pause her sparring. Lillia didn't even turn.
Ethan let out a quiet breath and walked to the spot Arthur pointed to. The dull ache in his chest hadn't faded. If anything, it was sinking deeper, heavier.
He dropped to the ground, and started his first push-up, the stone cold beneath his palms.
And so, the morning began.
Slow.
Gloomy.
Unrelenting.
Days passed in much the same way. Each morning, Ethan dragged himself from bed, greeted by Carter's calm knock and Arthur's sharp expectations. He completed the routine without fail push-ups, sit-ups, squats, the ten laps around the manor. Not once did he skip. Not once did he complain.
Arthur noticed the change. The quiet gloom in Ethan's eyes, the way he moved like he was somewhere else entirely. It wasn't hard to see Ethan was going through the motions, but the fire was gone.
Still, Arthur said nothing. He never questioned it, never pushed. He simply watched, arms crossed, offering no words of encouragement or judgment.
He wanted Ethan to face it to claw through this wall on his own. Because some things, Arthur knew, couldn't be taught. Only endured.
But his movements lacked fire. He wasn't pushing himself, just completing a checklist.
It wasn't training. It was surviving.
His arms trembled no less than they had on the first day. His breathing still burned halfway through each run. Nothing changed. No progress. No strength gained. Just sweat and silence.
And every time his hands touched the ground, he remembered Edrick's words.
Eventually, Arthur called an end to the day's training. "That's enough for now," he said simply.
Ethan, chest heaving and drenched in sweat, nodded without looking up. "Yeah…" he muttered, barely audible. His body was sore, but his mind felt heavier as if clouded by something far deeper than fatigue.
He didn't linger. He walked straight past the others, not even noticing if Ceris or Lillia were watching, and returned to his room.
The bathwater was hot, but it did little to ease the weight in his chest. As he leaned back, eyes half-closed, Ethan's thoughts spiraled.
He hadn't chosen this. Any of it.
Not the title.
Not the war.
Not the burden.
He was just a guy. A regular, confused, exhausted guy.
So why was he here?
Why him?
His gaze drifted to the steam rising from the water, blurring the edges of the room like a distant dream.
He missed home.
The smell of fresh coffee in the morning. The hum of cartoons in the living room. His little sibling's laughter echoing down the hallway. His parents' gentle voices calling him for dinner.
It all felt like another life warm, safe, and impossibly far away.
Tears slipped down his cheeks before he realized it, quiet and unrelenting. He didn't sob. He just sat there, letting it all fall the weight, the longing, the helpless ache of being torn from everything he knew.
He had no answers.
Only the hollow echo of homesickness in a world that never asked if he wanted to be here.
A soft metallic clink echoed from the shadows of the room.
Ethan looked up slowly.
A sharp clink echoed from the shadows and then, as if pulled into existence by the storm inside Ethan, Omen emerged. Silent, uninvited, and unapologetic. His form half-veiled by the dim light, black chains slithering around his arm like restless serpents.
"You gonna sit there and mope forever, or are you planning to actually get stronger?"
Ethan's brow furrowed. "Shut up."
"No," Omen said coldly. "I've been stuck listening to your thoughts for days. 'Edrick was right. I'm not good enough. I don't belong here.' Over and over like some broken echo."
"What the hell do you expect me to do?! I didn't choose this!" Ethan snapped, rising partially from the water, tears still dripping silently down his cheeks. "I didn't ask to be summoned. I didn't ask to be a Kingmaker!"
Omen's voice curled with mockery. "Oh, boo-hoo."
"You think I chose to be chained to some whiny little boy who can't swing a dagger without hesitating?"
"And yet here you are. Curled up like a kicked dog, letting a few sharp words pierce deeper than any blade."
Ethan (irritated)
"Shut up. You wouldn't understand."
"Oh, forgive me. I forgot how hard it is to be handed a bed, food, protection, and the luxury of self-pity."
"Truly, a tragic existence."
Ethan stood up fully, water splashing around him. "Screw you! You don't know anything about me!"
"And I didn't ask to be bound to a sniveling child who drowns in his own helplessness." Omen said coldly.
"But here we are."
Ethan's fists clenched.
"…Why does it even matter what I do? I'm not like Ceris, or Arthur, or anyone here. I'm just—"
"Just a coward hiding behind excuses," Omen cut in.
"Then what do I do, huh? Just tell me!", "I can't swing a sword like Ceris. I can't strategize like Arthur. I'm just a damn civilian!" Ethan stated
Omen replied. "Then stop sulking like you were born wrong. Start becoming someone you can stand to look at."
Silence fell between them, heavy and raw.
"How?! What do I do?!" Ethan asked.
A pause. Omen doesn't answer at first. When he does, his voice is razor-edged.
Omen:
"You train until your hands bleed."
"Until your skin splits and you curse every breath you take."
"You wake up earlier. Sleep later. Move until you collapse."
Then Omen turned, chains dragging behind him.
Ethan (quiet, shaken)
"That's... it?"
Omen mockingly.
"What were you expecting? A divine spark? A secret skill buried in your soul?"
His voice lowers, like a threat and a challenge all at once.
He then continued.
"That's everything."
Ethan replied
"I don't even know how to begin."
Omen said
"Then figure it out. Or die insignificant."
Ethan says nothing. The silence grows.
Omen softer, crueler.
"Or... do nothing. Stay here. Let Ceris fight your battles while you pretend your hands aren't stained with cowardice."
"You don't need to swing a sword to be pathetic."
Ethan's jaw clenches. His pride twists inside him like a knife. He hates how right Omen sounds and how useless he's become.
Ethan muttered
"I'll do it..."
Omen
"Do what?"
Ethan replied
"Train. Bleed. Break. I don't care."
"If I'm stuck here, I'm not gonna be a damn weight around anyone's neck."
A small pause. For once, Omen doesn't have a snide remark.
Then, faintly amused
Omen muttered
"Then try not to pass out on day one, little Kingmaker."
The next morning, before even the first light broke through the clouds, Ethan's eyes snapped open.
5 a.m.
No knock. No summons. No Carter.
He got up anyway.
The soreness in his limbs remained, but he didn't drag his feet. There was no gloom in his step. Just a steady rhythm, driven by something harder than anger, sharper than doubt.
He stepped into the courtyard as the sky still wore its dusky blue, breath curling in the cold air.
The manor was already stirring with life. In the distance, kitchen staff clattered pots and pans, the aroma of baked bread and sizzling meat drifting faintly through the morning air. Maids swept the outer paths of the estate, their soft brooms brushing away fallen leaves and dew. Gardeners moved methodically through the hedges, snipping overgrown branches and plucking weeds with practiced hands.
Yet in the courtyard, Ethan stood alone, no one else was there to train.
Ethan took position in the same spot Arthur always pointed to, palms flat on the cold ground.
"One hundred push-ups," he muttered to himself.
"One hundred sit-ups. One hundred squats. Ten laps."
And he began.
Not out of obligation. Not to check off a box.
But with eyes set like steel.
With breath that burned because it meant something now.
Because this time… it was his choice.
And he wasn't going to waste it.
As he trained, the world around him stirred. Time passed.
And then footsteps approached from across the courtyard.
Ceris, dressed in her training uniform and tying back her hair, had just rounded the corner toward the field her usual path before sunrise drills.
She stopped.
Her eyes landed on Ethan already in the middle of his squats, shirt clinging to his back from sweat, movements sharp and driven.
Her brows lifted slightly.
"…He's already here?" she murmured.
She stood still for a moment, surprised.
Ethan was always late.
Always the last to show up, barely awake, often dragging his feet to start. She had long since gotten used to it.
But today…
Today, he had beaten her there.
And not just that he was working. Hard.
Focused.
She watched in silence for a while longer, then slowly made her way across the field toward her usual spot. No teasing remark. No greeting.
Just a quiet glance his way.
And a thought she didn't voice:
Something's changed.
Before beginning her own drills, Ceris took a detour toward him. Her footsteps were light on the stone, but Ethan noticed her approach and slowed his movements.
"So," she said quietly, crossing her arms, "what happened?"
Ethan paused after his final squat and glanced over, sweat dripping from his brow. He didn't force a grin, just exhaled and replied, "Nothing much. Just figured it was time to give myself a little nudge."
Ceris nodded once, slowly. "I see," she murmured, and something in her expression shifted not much, but enough to be noticed. A subtle softening in her gaze. A flicker of new respect.
She turned and walked toward her training spot, not saying another word.
But in her silence, the message was clear.
Something's changed.
Meanwhile, Carter approached Ethan's room with his usual measured grace. He gave a courteous knock, firm yet polite, and waited. When no reply came, he cleared his throat softly and spoke through the door, "Master Ethan, pardon the intrusion. I shall enter now."
He opened the door slowly, revealing a meticulously tidy room. The bed was neatly made, the pillows fluffed, and not a single crease hinted that anyone had slept there the previous night.
The only sign of Ethan's presence was a faint trail of water droplets leading from the washroom to the now-empty training yard.
Carter blinked, then allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
He turned and proceeded toward the training grounds.
There, he spotted Ethan mid-run, his breathing steady, sweat trailing down his brow, and footsteps sure.
Carter paused at the edge of the yard, arms behind his back.
A rare sense of pride lit his expression as he watched. He had expected Ethan to resist, to be dragged into responsibility. But seeing him now moving of his own will meant more than progress. It meant choice.
He waited until Ethan came around the bend, then raised a hand and clapped slowly.
Ethan glanced over mid-run, eyebrows raised.
"A fine start to the morning, Master Ethan," Carter called. "When you finish your final lap, be sure to eat breakfast. No hero survives on an empty stomach."
Ethan gave a short nod, too breathless to reply.
But the message landed.
Carter smiled again, then turned to leave.
The sun was still rising, but the day had already begun on Ethan's terms.
Ethan was the first to arrive at the dining hall that morning. The long table had already been set with gleaming silverware and steaming plates of food arranged with meticulous care. The warm scent of fresh bread and spiced meat drifted in the air. It was unusually quiet, Ethan found the silence almost too still, like the calm before something uncertain.
Soon after, Ceris and Lillia entered together, their steps soft but composed. They nodded to Ethan before taking their seats at a noticeable distance from him. Not long after, Sylviane arrived with Sayo gliding silently behind her. She sat with the grace expected of a noble, Sayo standing just behind her chair with hands gently folded.
No one spoke. The tension hung in the air, brittle and unspoken. Arthur and Edrick were absent, likely occupied with their duties, Ethan thought.
Just as he reached for his cup, Sayo let out a soft hum. "Hmm…"
It wasn't loud, but it cut through the quiet like a ripple across still water. Ethan glanced up. It felt like it had been directed at him, though her blindfolded face revealed little.
He tilted his head slightly. "Did you say something?"
Sayo smiled faintly, almost teasingly. "You seem more grounded today. Like the wind has stopped tossing you around."
Sylviane side-eyed her Kingmaker but said nothing.
Ethan gave a small smile. "Maybe the wind just changed direction."
Sayo's expression didn't shift, but the corners of her lips twitched, as if in approval.
The silence returned but this time, it was less suffocating.
Ethan finished his meal first and politely excused himself from the table. Rising from his seat, he made his way out of the dining hall and sought out Carter. Spotting the butler near the corridor, Ethan approached with a respectful nod.
"Carter, would it be alright for me to visit Arthur in his office?" he asked.
Carter bowed slightly, hands clasped behind his back. "Of course, Master Ethan. Shall I escort you?"
Ethan nodded. "Yes, please."
With his usual poise, Carter gestured down the hall. "Right this way, Master Ethan."
Soon after, Carter knocked gently on Arthur's office door before opening it with graceful decorum. "Master Ethan wishes to see you, Lord Arthur."
Ethan stepped inside. The room smelled faintly of parchment and ink. Arthur sat behind his desk, a stack of documents before him, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He appeared to be mid-sentence in a document, quill still in hand.
Arthur looked up calmly. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Ethan?"
Ethan bowed his head slightly. "I came to apologize, sir. For how I've been acting before. I took your hospitality and your effort to train me for granted. You've been patient with me, even when I didn't deserve it."
Arthur regarded him in silence, then placed his quill down and removed his glasses.
"I've heard from Carter," he said, standing up slowly. "You took the initiative to train today without Carter having to drag you out."
Ethan scratched the back of his neck, then nodded. "Yeah. I've decided… I'll embrace my role as a Kingmaker."
Arthur repeated the words, as if weighing them. "Your role… as a Kingmaker."
The air shifted.
Arthur's presence loomed larger, not physically but in spirit an overwhelming gravity pressing down on Ethan like a silent force of nature. His eyes, calm and unwavering, bore into Ethan.
"Then tell me… are you prepared to carry the burden and responsibility that title demands?" Arthur asked. "To be a true Kingmaker is no trivial matter. You will face Candidates and Kingmakers of fearsome power Sayo, for example. Can you truly stand beside your Candidate, Ceris, with pride and offer her protection? Can you uphold the dignity of House Duskmere… and safeguard our people and region?"
Ethan gulped, shoulders stiffening under the weight of the question.
"I… I don't know," he admitted after a pause. "But this time… I'm sure of one thing: I'm not backing down. I'll move forward, even if I'm scared, even if I stumble. I'll fight for her for this place that's starting to feel like home."
There was silence.
Then, to Ethan's surprise, Arthur laughed. It wasn't mocking. It was low, deep, and relieved like the chuckle of a man who had waited a long time for someone to finally step up.
"About time you started acting like a man," Arthur said with a hint of pride. "From now on, Carter will oversee your training each afternoon. Sparring, etiquette, and proper manners for formal gatherings."
Ethan blinked. "Wait, etiquette?"
Arthur gave a small smirk. "Yes. There will be a gathering soon all Candidates and their Kingmakers of our region will attend a formal ball in the capital. Until then, your task is simple: learn enough not to embarrass yourself."
Ethan groaned inwardly.
Arthur returned to his seat. "Dismissed. And Ethan, well done."
Ethan left the office with a renewed sense of purpose… and maybe just a little fear of what "etiquette training" with Carter would entail.