ESPERSIA: Requiem of a Revolutionary

ESPERSIA, YEAR 1889

Luca's gaze locked onto mine, intensely unnerving but without giving much away. It wasn't the kind of blank stare people usually gave when they were hiding something. No, Luca's eyes were always watching—like he was waiting for a move I didn't know I was about to make.

"Gregory's been... reassigned," he said after a pause, his voice low and gravelly.

"Reassigned?" I echoed, frowning. "Other matters to attend to?"

Luca made a noise—a small, almost dismissive hum. "You could say that."

I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms. "So... you've taken his place then? You're not really a guard, though. Are you?"

His lips twitched into something that might have been a smile if Luca ever actually smiled. "No," he admitted, his tone softening just a fraction. "Not usually, but this isn't outside my expertise. Regardless, I've been given new orders."

"Orders?" I raised an eyebrow.

Luca stepped forward, closing the gap between us, his broad frame casting a long shadow in the dim light of the corridor. "Your father's orders," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "From now on, I'll be watching over you. Wherever you go, I'll be there."

I swallowed hard. "Keeping an eye on me, huh?"

His gaze sharpened. "Call it what you want, boy. But from this point on, you're under my watch."

Luca was the only person who spoke to the sons of the Valoria household without the usual pleasantries. No "my lord," no "your highness." Just straight-up names. Titles didn't mean much to him. In a way, I kind of respected that. He didn't care for formalities, and honestly, he didn't need to. He'd earned that right somehow—Zeliot's memories made that clear.

Zeliot hadn't just feared him, though. There was a weird sort of admiration in the way he thought about Luca. He wasn't just some overbearing drill instructor—he had this aura, like every scar on his body was a badge of honor, proof of battles he'd survived. And trust me, there were a lot of scars. Luca looked like someone who'd fought more wars than I could count, which made sense given the stories that floated around in my head.

If the Duke reassigned Luca to watch over me, then he wasn't messing around. Part of me was relieved. With someone like Luca by my side, no one in their right mind would come after me. The other part of me thought…well... why did he have to be so damn intimidating?

He didn't even need to say anything. Just standing there, broad-shouldered, silent, with that piercing gaze—it made anyone second-guess themselves. I could feel Zeliot's old anxieties bubbling up. I knew I was safer with him around, but shit...it's hard to feel reassured when you're half-wanting to bolt in the other direction.

I gave a stiff nod and turned toward my door, my hand hovering just above the handle. There was no point in dragging this out. I needed sleep, and I had more than enough to process already.

"Well, I can't say I am happy about this arrangement, but I understand. Goodnight, Luca," I muttered, pushing the door open.

Before I could step inside, Luca's voice stopped me cold. "Be up early."

I glanced back over my shoulder, frowning. "Why?"

His lips twitched into that not-quite-a-smile. "New training regimen. The Duke's orders. You're not going to be allowed to hide out and avoid these sessions anymore."

Perplexed, I try to object with an annoyed expression. "Avoid? I didn't—"

Luca cut me off with a small grunt. "Doesn't matter now. Be ready."

I sighed, my hand gripping the door a little tighter. "Alright, fine."

Without another word, I stepped into my chambers, closing the door softly behind me.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind me, I let out a long breath and headed straight for the bed, too tired to even think about anything else. My legs felt like lead, and the day's events weighed heavy on my mind, dragging me down with every step. I practically collapsed onto the mattress, sinking into the soft sheets with a sigh.

Luca. Raamiz. The whispers of assassination attempts. And now, a new training regimen? My first 24 hours have been exciting.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, half-expecting it to offer some kind of answer. Nothing. Just the cold, distant quiet of the castle.

"Great," I muttered, pulling the blanket over myself. "Tomorrow's going to be a blast."

This whole "new life" thing wasn't exactly going the way I'd imagined. I've survived, sure, but it felt like I was still dodging bullets—just in a different world. And now, apparently, I couldn't even hide from Luca's brutal training sessions anymore. Guess there's no escaping that, either.

Maybe… maybe that's the point. Maybe this is my second shot—to not repeat the same mistakes I made back then.

As exhaustion started to pull me under, one last thought crossed my mind: I needed to figure out what my next move was... before someone else made it for me.

But sleep wasn't exactly restful.

The dream was strange—vivid, almost too real. I found myself standing in a dimly lit room, and across from me stood Amelia—my mother. Or, at least, she was supposed to be. But the warmth that usually radiated from her was gone. Instead, her face had taken on an expression that sent a shiver down my spine—calculated, cold, unnerving. It was like she had put on a mask, something sharp and cruel lurking just beneath the surface.

It seemed like we were having a serious conversation, but no matter how hard I tried to focus, I couldn't make out the words. Her lips moved, forming sentences, but everything was muffled—distant, like I was hearing it underwater. My chest tightened with an uneasy familiarity. Was this how Zeliot felt around her? Or was it just me projecting old fears?

Either way, the room grew colder, and I felt the weight of Zeliot's anxiety pressing down on me, a panic bubbling under the surface.

It wasn't the Amelia I'd seen since waking up here. This version of her was... colder, her usual warmth swapped out for something sharp and calculating. The look in her eyes—intense, almost predatory—sent a chill down my spine.

But even as it played out, something about it didn't feel right. Was this Zeliot's memory? My imagination? Or just my brain mixing up James' old issues with his mom into this new life?

"Up. Now."

Luca's voice cut through the fog like a blade. I blinked awake, my pulse still racing from the dream, and there he was, standing by my bed, arms crossed like he was ready to drag me out himself.

I groaned, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Right. Training. I'm up."

I stumbled out of bed, half in a daze, but the dream kept playing at the edges of my mind. I tried to brush it off. From everything I've seen, Amelia has been nothing but suffocatingly loving toward Zeliot. Maybe this was just my mind adjusting, blending James' old baggage with my new reality. I mean, it wasn't that far-fetched—James hated his mom. Maybe my brain was just scrambling the two.

Regardless, I didn't have time to dwell on it. Reality was staring me in the face, and reality was named Luca.

I dragged myself out of bed, fumbling with my clothes. Luca was still there, looming, watching me get dressed without a hint of shame.

"Uh, some privacy?" I asked, half-expecting him to leave.

He chuckled, a deep sound that made my skin crawl. "You'll get privacy when you stop wasting my time. You're already 15 minutes late."

I sighed, throwing on my clothes as fast as I could, feeling Luca's eyes burning into the back of my neck the whole time. He stood there, arms crossed, looking like he had all the patience in the world, but I knew better. 

I buttoned my shirt, glanced up, and asked, "Do I need to grab anything?"

Luca didn't even blink. "No. Everything's waiting at the training yard."

Training yard? Great. Just what I wanted to do at... whatever ungodly hour this was.

As we stepped into the hallway, I couldn't help but ask, "What time is it?"

"5:30," Luca said without looking back.

I stopped dead in my tracks. "You're joking, right? 5:30 in the morning?"

Luca gave a dry chuckle, barely turning his head. "Don't ask. We're already late."

Late? For what? I could barely wrap my head around the fact that I was being dragged out of bed at 5:30. Man, going back to being bossed around as a kid kinda sucks. Though I guess there are a few perks...

But right now? None. Absolutely none.

The halls were eerily quiet as we made our way through the castle, Luca leading the way like a damn drill sergeant. The only sound was the steady thud of our boots against the stone floors. I was still groggy, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep, but Luca had me on autopilot. Left. Right. Down the stairs. Past the ___.

The cold morning air hit me like a slap to the face as we stepped outside, jolting me fully awake. The training grounds stretched out just beyond the castle walls, bigger and grittier than I'd imagined. It wasn't some pristine, well-kept arena like you'd see in movies—it had this raw, worn-down feel to it. The ground was packed hard from years of use, and everything reeked of dirt, sweat, and iron.

Rows of battered wooden dummies lined one side, and in the distance, I could see the armory keepers already going about their business. A couple of stable hands were up too, tending to the horses in the dim light of dawn. The whole scene was a far cry from the neat training setups back on Earth.

I couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. This is the real deal. I'd never seen anything quite like it. It was like stepping into some medieval fantasy, except this was my reality now. That's the part I couldn't quite wrap my head around.

"Stop dawdling," Luca's gruff voice cut through my thoughts.

I realized I'd slowed down, taking in the scene. "Wait, isn't this where we're supposed to be?"

Luca gave me a look that screamed disappointment. "I guess you really have no training experience," he muttered, shaking his head before turning back toward the path. 

I clenched my jaw, swallowing a snarky response. "Guess not."

"Just follow me," he grunted, already marching forward. "There's something we need to do before we get started."

Luca led me across the training grounds, heading toward the armory. As we approached, I started piecing it together. Of course, I thought. Gotta get fitted with the right gear and training tools, right? Makes sense.

The armorer, a gruff-looking man with thick forearms and a face that had probably seen too many winters, was already up and working despite the ungodly hour. He glanced up when he saw us coming, his eyebrows rising slightly in recognition.

"Luca," the armorer grunted, squinting at him. "You're early, even for you."

"Part of the job," Luca replied, his voice steady.

The armorer's eyes shifted to me, giving me a quick once-over before raising an eyebrow. "Lord Zeliot, huh? Rare to see you out here."

I nodded, keeping my response simple. "Yeah, well, here I am." But internally, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Yep, I get it—I didn't exactly have a rep for showing up to train.

The armorer turned back to Luca. "What'll you need?"

"Padded armor—light," Luca said, then added, "And every weapon this kid could attempt to use."

The armorer blinked, clearly taken aback. His gaze darted between us, lingering on me with doubt. "Every weapon?" he asked, sounding skeptical. "You sure about that?"

"Every single one he might be able to handle," Luca confirmed, his tone firm but casual. "Trust me."

The armorer shook his head and sighed. "Alright, but this ought to be interesting." He turned to start gathering the equipment, leaving me standing there wondering what the hell I was going to do.

In my past life, stabbing people with rapiers and swinging swords around wasn't exactly... standard protocol. Let's be real—none of that medieval stuff made it into modern combat. But that didn't mean I was completely clueless about weapons. I knew how to handle a gun, and not just any gun—the Walther PPK, sleek, quiet, and perfect if you wanted to keep things discreet. Kind of a professional's weapon. So, maybe I'd have some natural affinity toward archery? Bow, gun, same principle, right? Line up, aim, pull the trigger... or string, I guess.

Regardless, if there was one thing I knew it was that Zeliot wasn't going to help me much here. Even from the fragmented memories I had, it was obvious. The kid had barely any experience, and hell, I could tell just from looking at my arms that I wasn't all that strong... even for a twelve-year-old. I glanced down at my arms—they weren't exactly what you'd call combat-ready.

This was going to be... interesting.

The armorer returned moments later, balancing a few weapon cases in his arms, which he set down on a nearby table. "For his weight class," he began, glancing at me with a raised brow, "this is what I'd guess he can handle. No broadswords for Lord Zeliot." His voice carried that polite-but-blunt tone I was starting to get used to.

Luca nodded, seemingly unsurprised. "Yeah, I figured as much."

The armorer opened the cases, revealing a selection of smaller, lighter weapons. Daggers, short swords, a slender rapier—things that looked more manageable for someone my size. As he began handing the cases off to Luca, the armorer suddenly paused. "Hold on. Forgot one thing."

He disappeared into the back of the armory for a moment and returned with a bow and a quiver full of arrows. "Here," he said, holding them out. 

Luca glanced at me, then the bow. "You hold onto that," he said, taking the remaining weapons from the armorer with ease. "I'll grab the rest of the equipment and bring it to the training area."

I stared at the ridiculous number of weapons Luca was casually carrying. My brain was still catching up when I asked, "Uh, isn't that... heavy? Like, really heavy? Are you sure you're gonna be o—"

Luca cut me off with a curt, "I'll be fine." He shifted the load in his arms like it weighed nothing, which was both impressive and mildly terrifying. "Bring the bow over once you're suited up. After that, no more breaks, so be ready."

I stood there, slightly dazed as the armorer waved me forward to get fitted. "Alright, Lord Zeliot," he said, "Let's get you suited up."

Handing the bow and quiver back to the armorer for a second, I let him strap me into the padded vest—light but snug enough to remind me I wasn't going to be sneaking around anywhere. Then came the arm guards, strapped tightly to my forearms, and padded greaves for my shins and knees. The final touch was a leather helm I was already hating. It wasn't uncomfortable, but the thought of walking around in this all day... well, let's just say I wasn't thrilled.

"Not too bad, right?" the armorer asked as he finished fastening the last strap.

"Feels... weird," I said, rolling my shoulders. "Like I'm prepping for a renaissance fair."

The amorer looks up, a perplex look padded on his face, "What the hell is a renaissance fair?"

"Don't worry about it. It's not something you need to worry about." I said, trying to pass of my slip up as best I could. "The armor does feel weird though."

The armorer offers a confused chuckled. "You're lucky it's not steel, Lord Zeliot. Padded armor's more forgiving for beginners."

"Yeah, lucky me," I muttered under my breath.

Once the armorer finished, I took the bow and quiver back. Surprisingly, it wasn't as heavy as I'd expected—definitely lighter than carrying half a dozen swords like Luca. Speaking of which...

I glanced up just in time to see Luca, who had loaded himself up with all the weapon cases, heading toward the training grounds. He made it look like he was carrying a bunch of pillows instead of actual loads of steel. I shook my head in disbelief. How did anyone manage to be that strong and not end up accidentally breaking everything they touched?

"Alright, let's get moving," the armorer said, giving me a nod of approval. "You're all set."

I nodded back, muttered a quick thanks, and hurried out after Luca, who was already halfway to the training yard. I glanced down at the bow in my hands, feeling the lightness of it, and wondered just how out of my depth I was here.

Yeah... this was going to be rough.

As I neared the training yard, Luca was already standing there, arms crossed, watching me.

"Alright," he said, nodding at the array of weapons. "I'm guessing you're wondering why I had the armorer bring out half the armory?"

"Yeah, that crossed my mind," I muttered, adjusting the bow slung over my shoulder.

Luca's lips twitched in that way they always did before he said something blunt. "We're not going to waste time making you proficient with every weapon. You're behind—way behind—so the plan is to figure out what you're naturally good at and focus on that."

I raised an eyebrow. "Makes sense."

Luca gave me a rare, approving nod. "Good. Glad to see you're cooperating."

I shrugged. "Not like I have much of a choice."

"Not really, no," Luca replied dryly. "Now let's get to it."

The morning felt like it dragged as we went through each weapon. Luca would hand me something, show me a few basic moves, and then stand back as I tried not to embarrass myself too much.

The short sword? It felt like I was waving around a clunky piece of metal, and each swing was more awkward than the last. Luca didn't say much, just grunted and took it back after a few tries.

Then there was the dagger—lighter, but somehow even harder to control. Every time I tried a jab, it felt off, like the balance was wrong. At one point, it even slipped from my grip, clattering to the ground. Luca's silence was starting to feel heavy.

Next came the hand axe. I could barely keep it steady, and when I tried to strike the target, it bounced back as if the dummy was laughing at me.

Luca's sigh was quiet but obvious.

By the time he handed me the spear, I was already dreading how it'd go. And, of course, it didn't feel right either. My attempts at thrusting were weak, and the spear wobbled in my hands like I was trying to steer a boat in a storm.

"None of this feels natural," I finally muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.

Luca raised an eyebrow but didn't seem surprised. "It's your first time handling weapons. That's expected. We're just getting a feel for what works."

"Yeah, I get that," I replied, frustrated. Then I glanced at the bow still slung over my shoulder. "But why don't we try the bow?"

Luca frowned. "We'll get to it in time."

"No," I insisted, surprising myself with how determined I sounded. "I've got a good feeling about the bow."

Luca blinked at me, caught off guard for a second. He studied me closely, probably wondering where this sudden confidence was coming from. Then, with a small nod, he said, "Alright. If you've got a good feeling, let's see it."

Hell yes! I thought to myself. Luca wasn't as hard-nosed as he seemed—he was actually listening. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

Luca led me over to the target area, which was set up a short distance from the main training grounds. A series of straw dummies and wooden posts lined one side, but the actual targets—circular, painted in red and white rings—stood about fifty paces away. Each one was nailed to a thick wooden post, surrounded by a few scattered hay bales. The whole setup looked like something out of an archery competition, except there were no cheering crowds.

As we approached, I couldn't help but glance at the targets. They were larger than I expected, with faded paint and a few holes from arrows that had hit their mark—evidence of someone who knew what they were doing. I could already feel a bead of sweat forming on my forehead.

The targets were spaced evenly, each one a decent distance apart, giving whoever was practicing enough room to avoid accidents. There was a clear patch of dirt and stone in front of them, worn smooth by countless feet. This was where I'd be standing.

Luca crossed his arms and gave me a nod, his face a little less severe than before. "Alright, Zeliot. It's just you and the target now. Show me what that 'good feeling' is about."

I took a deep breath and stepped into position, feeling the weight of the bow in my hands. The string felt taut, smooth beneath my fingers, and as I looked down the shaft of the arrow, everything around me seemed to fall away.

The target stood there, fifty paces ahead, waiting.

I nocked the arrow, the fletching brushing against my cheek as I pulled the string back. The tension in the bow felt good—solid, real. I inhaled deeply, steadying myself, and aimed down the arrow shaft at the target fifty paces away. The red and white rings seemed to pulse slightly as I focused in.

For a split second, I felt confident. This was it—this was the moment I'd prove I have some sort of innate talent. With a slow exhale, I released the string.

The arrow flew through the air, and in the same instant, I closed my eyes. I don't know why. Maybe I didn't want to see if I missed, or maybe some part of me just wanted to savor the feeling of it—the brief second where I felt like I had control. When I opened my eyes, I expected the arrow to be at least somewhere near the bullseye.

But it wasn't.

I blinked and squinted. Nothing. The arrow was nowhere to be found.

"Wait... where's the arrow?" I muttered under my breath.

Luca, standing a few paces behind me, walked up with his arms crossed and gave a small chuckle. "I think it's been lost to the woods."

For a second, the realization didn't hit me. Then, like a bucket of ice water to the face, it dawned on me: I'd missed the target. Badly.

Embarrassment surged through me. I dropped the bow, kicking it aside. My chest tightened as something foreign and unfamiliar welled up inside me. Tears? Wait… am I about to cry? Why am I crying? This isn't serious! Come on, stop it. Stop crying!

But the more I tried to talk myself down, the worse it got. My body wasn't listening. Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face.

Luca's heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder, and his voice, usually sharp and cold, softened slightly. "Zeliot. Zeliot, calm down, kid."

I sniffed, trying to wipe the tears away with my sleeve. "How am I supposed to stay calm when I suck at everything? This isn't fair!"

Luca sighed, crouching down to my eye level. "Look, kid. I get it. You want to be good, right now. You've got the passion and desire, and I appreciate that. But there was no way in hell you were ever going to come in and just naturally be good at this. At anything." His voice was steady, firm, but not unkind.

"You see me?" he continued. "You think I just picked up a sword one day and fought like I'd been doing it my whole life? No, I didn't. It took hours, days, and years of hard work. Just like it's gonna take for you. So, please. Calm down, and get some damn perspective."

His words hit harder than I expected. He wasn't mocking me. There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice, no scolding. Just the truth.

I wiped the last of the tears from my eyes, nodding.

Luca gave me a firm pat on the shoulder. "You ready to move on?"

I wiped the last traces of tears from my eyes and nodded. "Yeah."

As we walked back toward the weapons, I couldn't shake the strange feeling in my chest. I wasn't James anymore, not fully, but the memories of being an adult still clung to me, making this whole experience even more jarring. It was weird being talked to like a kid, needing that kind of reassurance. But, damn... maybe I actually did need it.

"Let's try again," I said, steadying my breath, ready for another round of whatever Luca threw at me.

"Good," Luca replied, his usual no-nonsense tone creeping back in. "There's still plenty of options. We're not done yet, so keep that hope alive."

I nodded, a small smile creeping onto my face. "Good guy Luca," I muttered, more to myself than anything.

Luca caught the look and snorted. "Don't get too comfortable. I still expect you to give it everything you've got. No slacking."

Classic Luca. 

We moved down the line, and it wasn't getting any better. The battle axe was an immediate failure—too heavy, too large, and I nearly toppled over just trying to lift it. Then there was the flail, which looked straightforward but ended up smacking me in the shins when I couldn't control the chain properly. I winced but kept going.

When we finally got to the throwing knives, I figured they'd be easier. Small, light, simple. How hard could it be? But as soon as I let one fly, it hit the dirt a few feet in front of me. The second knife sailed off into a bush. Luca's arms were crossed, his eyes following my every move. His face gave away nothing, but I knew he had to be holding back some comment.

By now, the sun had fully risen, casting long shadows across the training grounds. Workers started to move around—stable hands walking horses out for their morning rounds, armory keepers hauling equipment back and forth. A couple of guards walked by, their curious glances making my frustration burn hotter.

I glanced at Luca, expecting some biting remark, but he just grunted. "Next."

Luca approached me with a new weapon. I stared at it for a moment, not quite sure what to expect. It looked different from the other weapons—sleeker, lighter. I glanced at Luca, who gave me a slight nod.

"This is a rapier," he said. "Unlike the other swords you've tried, this one's about precision, speed, and finesse. It's not for brute strength, but it rewards accuracy and control."

I took it in my hand, feeling its balance, and swung it experimentally. It was light, almost like it wanted to move with me, rather than against me like the other weapons had. I stepped toward the dummy and gave it a few quick strikes, each one feeling smoother than the last.

Wait... this feels... good, I thought, a flicker of excitement building. I moved again, quicker this time, testing different thrusts and cuts. The rapier felt like an extension of my arm, responding naturally to every movement.

Luca watched in silence, arms crossed, as I tested different thrusts and cuts with the rapier. For once, he wasn't frowning, which I took as a promising sign. After a few more strikes, I lowered the blade, glancing over at him. "This feels... different from the others. Better, actually."

Luca gave a small nod. "Makes sense. The rapier's all about speed and finesse, not brute strength. You're not built for heavy swings, but you've got agility. This weapon works with that."

I blinked, surprised by the hint of approval in his tone. "So… I'm not completely hopeless?"

A faint smile tugged at Luca's lips. "There's some promise here. Looks like we found a good fit." He paused, then tilted his head thoughtfully. "Alright, let's take it a step further. I want you to practice striking at me. Just follow your instincts for now."

"Wait—" I held up the rapier, giving it a wary look. "Isn't this a real blade? Couldn't I, you know, hurt you?"

Luca snorted. "Get real, kid. There's no chance in hell you'll reach your target. But still, try your best."

Luca strolled over, stopping about ten paces in front of me. He stood there, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "Go whenever you're ready," he said, as if he hadn't a care in the world.

I tightened my grip on the rapier, glancing up at him. Luca was... big. Bigger than he looked from a distance, and up close, his sheer size was a bit unnerving. But I was here to learn, and there was no way I'd back down now. My mind whirred through a dozen scenarios, but in the end, none of them felt right. Screw it, I thought. Let's just go for it.

With a surge of determination, I charged forward, swinging the rapier with all the strength I could muster. I nearly stumbled, barely catching myself, but kept going. Luca dodged my first strike with ease, not even shifting his stance. But I kept swinging, trying to push him back, each strike wild and unrefined. By the fourth swing, my arms already ached, each failed attempt taking its toll. I'd tested three other weapons already today, and even with the rapier's lighter weight, I was tiring fast.

Still, adrenaline pushed me forward. I wasn't done yet. I wanted to at least make Luca blink, maybe even startle him for once.

Alright, let's change things up a bit, I thought, regaining my stance. This time, I faked a blow toward his torso, watching his eyes for any reaction. Then, with all the speed I could summon, I shifted my aim, driving the rapier toward his legs.

For a split second, it looked like my plan had worked; I had a clear angle to strike. But before I could even register the success, Luca's massive leg shot up and swung toward my blade. I froze, heart pumping, convinced he was going to knock me flat. Instead, his foot met the rapier with a controlled, forceful kick, launching it clean out of my grip and sending it clattering to the ground several feet away.

"Not bad, kid. Not bad," he said, a small smirk breaking through his usual stoic expression. "This is something we can work with."

Dripping with sweat, I stood there, still processing the whole encounter. "You… you think so?"

Luca only responded with a simple nod, but I could not help but be excited.

I walked over to the rapier an appreciative look, grabbing it, then turned to Luca. "Why didn't we start with this earlier?"

Luca sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "To be honest, I didn't think you had the finesse or talent for it," he admitted, his tone blunt. "Your brothers sure didn't."

I raised an eyebrow."Really? So this is a 'me' thing?"

Luca nodded. "Seems like it. They're all about power, brute force—smashing through obstacles. But you? You've got something different. Speed, accuracy... you're more suited to this kind of weapon."

He paused, then added, "Well, the exception is Raamiz. He's... a wildcard."

"A wildcard?"

"Yeah," Luca said with a smirk. "He doesn't rely on raw strength either, but he's deadly with the bow and daggers. That's where he really excels—precision, stealth." 

From the time I've spent with Raamiz, that checks out. But there's one thing that didn't quite line up for me…

I smirked. "Its hard for me to imagine Idris as someone who relies on brute strength. I've always pegged him as more of a strategist than someone who'd swing a sword around."

Luca chuckled, a rare laugh slipping through his usually stoic demeanor. "You're not wrong. He's got the brains for it, but for his age, he's got some serious strength too. Kid can handle a broadsword—though not for long. He's got more stamina and technique than you'd expect. That's why I thought you might be able to handle something similar."

I raised an eyebrow. "Guess I didn't exactly live up to the family's standards, huh?"

Luca grunted. "You're different, not worse. Each of you has your own strengths. We just have to figure out where yours are."

Luca nodded, his tone still firm but with a hint of approval. "That being said, you've got a long way to go before you're anywhere near proficient. This is going to take a lot of training—more than you can imagine. But for today, this will do. Good work, Zeliot."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and nodded. "Thanks, Luca. I really appreciate it."

He waved a hand dismissively. "You're free to go. I'll see you back at your corridor."

I sheathed the rapier, satisfied. As I turned to head toward the castle, the blade still at my side, I was already picturing it as my own. But after a few steps, Luca's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Where do you think you're going with that, kid?"

I stopped and turned, a bit sheepish. "Uh… isn't this mine now?"

Luca rolled his eyes. "Gods, no. That rapier's meant to stay in the armory. You're not ready to have one of your own yet."

I tried not to show my disappointment as I handed the weapon back to him, but he must've noticed.

"Maybe someday you'll earn one," he said with a rare flicker of encouragement. "But you'll need to prove you deserve it."

That lit a spark of determination, and I gave him a small nod. "Understood."

Heading back to the castle, I stopped at the armory to hand off the rapier to the armorer and unfastened the training armor, feeling a strange sense of pride despite my exhaustion. I was halfway to the gate when Luca's voice echoed through the training yard.

"By the way, training starts at the same time—every other day. So be ready!"

I sighed, dragging a hand over my face. "Yep, I understand," I called back without turning around, too tired to even fake irritation. All I could think about now was how good a nap was going to feel. Every step back reminded me just how far I had to go, but for once, I didn't mind.

The walk back to the castle was a blur. I kept my head down, ignoring the bustle of servants and workers around me. My mind was already on my bed—soft, warm, and waiting for me. Finally reaching my room, I collapsed onto the mattress without a second thought and immediately drifted off, hoping to squeeze in a much-needed nap before the rest of the day hit me.