Hector's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

Hector wanted to wear the white cloak of the royal guard, but he woke each morning as a slave. He knelt in the mud behind the ancient farmstead cottage, scrubbing pots in cold water before the sun rose. The other academy students still slept in warm beds inside Lumera Academy's tall halls. Hector had earned his seat there through study. He had earned his chains through birth. An orphan owned nothing, not even his own days. He carried firewood into the cottage and stacked it by the couch. His master's rocking chair sat empty. Hector paused, staring at the woven rug where visitors seldom stepped. Today the king's men would choose new recruits at the academy. He had trained for this for years. But a slave could not stand in that line. The door opened. Cade stepped inside, and the room seemed to lighten. He was an elf with pale skin and blonde hair, a golden crown of leaves resting on his brow. He was Hector's mentor, and the man who had taken him in. His blue eyes fixed on Hector like they saw more than the boy standing there. "You stopped working," Cade said. His voice was calm, almost amused. "You never stop working." "The recruitment is today," Hector said. He gripped a log until his knuckles paled. "I could pass every test. But they will see the brand on my papers and turn me away." Cade set a small scroll on the couch. "Then it is good I brought this." Hector picked it up. He read it twice. His hands began to shake. Faint gold light flickered across his fingers, and he shoved his hands behind his back to hide it. He had done that his whole life. "This is a writ of freedom," Hector whispered. "Signed. Sealed." "I petitioned the crown three seasons ago," Cade said. "Elves are patient. I did not want to promise you hope before it was real." He stepped closer. "You are my student. You were never meant to stay a slave." Hector looked up. "Why do this for me?" Cade studied him a long moment. "Because I have seen what you will become. And it does not begin behind a cottage with a scrub brush." He nodded toward the door. "The line forms at midday. Run." Hector clutched the writ to his chest. He was free. For the first time, no chain bound him to the mud. He could stand where he had always been forbidden to stand. But freedom did not make him a knight. It only opened the gate. He would have to walk through it and outmatch every trueborn son in that line, boys who had never carried firewood or scrubbed a pot. Hector ran toward the academy, the writ tight in his fist, and the cold light still glowing faintly between his fingers.