Griffin raised his practice sword and stepped into the training yard beside Florian, watching the crown prince's best friend move toward them across the dirt. They'd trained hard for this — months of drills and sparring, all building toward one goal: becoming knights together. Daveth came at Griffin first, testing his guard with a quick feint and then a brutal overhead strike. Griffin blocked it, felt the shock run up his arm, and countered with a thrust that made Daveth step back and nod. Across the yard, Florian danced around the crown prince himself, his blade moving so fast it blurred. BelloSaros laughed and pressed harder, but Florian turned every strike aside. Griffin's chest swelled watching him — this was what they'd worked for. When the sparring ended, Daveth clapped Griffin's shoulder hard enough to bruise. BelloSaros crossed to Florian and spoke quietly, his face bright with approval. Then the prince gestured to a waiting servant, who brought forward two blue tunics with flowing capes pinned at the shoulder. The fabric caught the light as BelloSaros handed one to Florian and Daveth presented the other to Griffin. Behind them stood a cement statue of a knight in full armor, silent witness to the oath they were about to take. Griffin pulled on the tunic and fastened the cape, then looked at Florian doing the same. They were squires now. One step closer to the knighthood they'd promised each other, one step closer to fighting side by side. Whatever came next, they'd face it together.

Griffin woke before dawn in the barracks beside Daveth's quarters, the blue tunic from yesterday still folded at the foot of his bedroll. Across the way castle, Florian was probably doing the same in BelloSaros's chambers in the eastern tower. A white dove shot through the open window and landed on the wooden table near Daveth's door, a rolled dispatch tied to its leg. Daveth untied it, read it once, then looked at Griffin with an expression that made Griffin's stomach tighten. "Citya are burning villages south of Gracia," Daveth said. "Command is calling squires to deployment. We ride at noon." Griffin stood, hands steady even as his mind raced. This was it — their first real battle, the proving ground they'd trained for. But Florian was BelloSaros's squire now, assigned to the eastern tower, and Griffin had no idea if they'd be sent to the same place or torn apart before they'd even begun. Griffin crossed the yard to the stables where an azure banner hung above the doors, marking the assembly point. Other squires were already gathering, checking weapons and gear, their faces tight with the same question Griffin carried. He scanned the crowd and found Florian near the entrance, already in his blue tunic, his hand resting on the hilt of his scimitar. Their eyes met across the distance. Florian started toward him, but BelloSaros appeared at Florian's shoulder and said something Griffin couldn't hear. Florian's jaw tightened, then he nodded and turned back toward the prince. Griffin's chest went cold. They were being separated. Griffin pushed through the crowd until he stood in front of BelloSaros. "I need to ride with Florian," he said, not bothering to soften it. The prince studied him for a long moment, then glanced at Florian, then back at Griffin. "Daveth's unit goes to the western front," BelloSaros said. "I'm taking mine east. You follow your knight-master, Griffin. That's the oath you swore." Griffin felt the weight of it settle over him — the promise he'd made yesterday, the duty that now pulled him away from the only thing that mattered. But Florian stepped forward and met Griffin's eyes with that same steady certainty he'd always had. "I'll find you there," Florian said quietly. "Wherever they send us, I'll find you." Griffin believed him. He nodded once, turned, and walked back to Daveth's side, the choice already made.

The western unit rode at a hard pace, covering miles before the sun cleared the horizon. Griffin kept his eyes on Daveth's back, matching the rhythm of his knight-master's horse, but his thoughts kept drifting east where Florian was riding toward a different battlefield. By midday they reached the first burned village, just blackened timber and ash where homes had stood. Daveth didn't slow. They pressed on until the road curved past a small timber shed with a lantern still burning above its door, and that's where Griffin saw her — a woman in mint green robes with long red hair, standing over a massive pool of blood that spread across the ground like a lake. The Citya lay dead at her feet, its scaled body torn open by the longsword she held loosely in one hand. She turned as they approached, and Griffin saw no fear in her face, only the calm satisfaction of someone who'd just finished difficult work. Daveth reined in his horse and studied her for a long moment. "You're a cleric," he said, noting the robes and the holy symbol at her belt. "Fighting alone." The woman wiped her blade clean on the grass and sheathed it. "I was headed to the villages when I found this one hunting stragglers," she said. "Couldn't let it keep going." Daveth glanced at Griffin, then back at her. "We're riding to cut off their retreat. You fight like that, we could use you." Griffin watched her face, waiting. This was the first real decision of the campaign — whether she'd trust them enough to join, whether Daveth would risk bringing someone unknown into the unit. She looked at the dead Citya, then at the road ahead, then at Griffin and Daveth. "I'm Niniva," she said. "And yes, I'll ride with you." She moved to collect her pack from beside the shed, and Griffin felt something shift inside him — not just the addition of another sword to their company, but the proof that this war would reshape everything, pulling strangers together and tearing others apart. He thought of Florian on the eastern front, fighting with BelloSaros's unit, and wondered if he was finding his own allies or facing his battles alone. Niniva swung onto her horse and fell into formation beside them. Daveth gave the signal to move out, and they rode west together into whatever came next.

The road turned north through rocky hills, and the pace slowed as the horses picked their way across loose stone. Griffin rode beside Daveth now, close enough to see the way sunlight caught the steel of his knight-master's armor and turned it brilliant. The blue cape swept back from Daveth's shoulders, and his horse — a magnificent creature in silver-trimmed barding — moved with the steady confidence of a warhorse that had seen a hundred battles. This was what Griffin wanted to become. Not just the armor or the cape, but the certainty in every movement, the way Daveth sat his saddle like knighthood was something he wore in his bones. Niniva rode on Griffin's other side, and after a long silence she spoke. "I'm from Gracia," she said, her voice steady but careful, like she was testing how much she could trust them. "The southern edge, where the stables meet the forge district." Griffin glanced at her and saw she was watching Daveth, waiting to see if the information mattered. Daveth nodded once, acknowledging it, and Griffin felt the weight of what she'd just done — offering them a piece of herself, proof she wasn't just a sword they'd picked up on the road. Griffin wanted to match her honesty, to say something about Florian and why this first separation felt like a knife in his chest, but the words wouldn't come. Instead he asked, "The villages south of Gracia — are those where the Citya started burning?" Niniva's hand tightened on her reins. "Yes. My aunt lived in one of them. I was riding to find her when I killed that creature." The silence that followed was heavy, and Griffin understood that she didn't know yet whether her aunt had survived. He'd wanted to connect with her, to build the kind of trust that would make this unit stronger, but now he'd only opened a wound. Daveth spoke without turning. "We're riding to stop more villages from burning," he said. "That's the work now." It wasn't comfort, just fact, but Niniva's shoulders straightened and she nodded. Griffin felt something shift — not forgiveness for his clumsy question, but a shared understanding of what they were riding toward. The dream of knighthood had always been about fighting beside Florian, but now Griffin saw it could also mean this: strangers bound together by the refusal to let more people burn. It wasn't the future he'd imagined, but it was the one he had, and he would make it count.

The western unit crested a rocky rise just as the sun reached its peak, and Griffin saw riders approaching from the north. Two figures, moving fast. His hand went to his sword before he recognized the blue cape streaming behind the first rider. Florian pulled his horse to a stop beside Griffin, dirt flying from the hooves. BelloSaros reined in next to him, and both looked like they'd ridden hard through the night. Griffin wanted to reach for Florian, to ask if he was hurt or just tired, but Daveth was already dismounting and the moment slipped past. "The eastern front pushed them back," BelloSaros said, answering the question no one had asked yet. "We're riding west to join you." Griffin felt something loosen in his chest — not relief exactly, because they were still riding toward fire and death, but the certainty that he wouldn't face it without Florian beside him. They rode together through the afternoon, and the road turned south where a wooden signpost marked the way to Gracia. A man in gold armor stood waiting there, purple cape draped across his shoulders and a crimson scarf tied around his neck like a banner. He didn't move as they approached, just watched with the stillness of someone who knew exactly what he was worth. Daveth raised a hand and the unit slowed. "Leandre," he called, and the mercenary inclined his head. "Daveth. The duke of Gracia sent word you'd be coming this way." He pulled a sealed letter from his belt, the wax stamped with a duke's mark, and handed it to BelloSaros. "He's hired me to fight the Citya. Looks like we're riding together." Griffin watched Florian's face as Leandre joined their company, saw the way his jaw tightened when the mercenary's gaze lingered too long on BelloSaros. This was what war did — it pulled strangers into your ranks and forced you to trust them with your life before you even knew their names. Griffin had wanted to prove himself as a squire, to earn his knighthood through skill and courage, but now he understood that becoming a knight meant learning to fight beside people you hadn't chosen. Niniva rode forward and offered Leandre a nod, no words needed, and Griffin realized she'd already made that choice. He urged his horse closer to Florian's and their hands brushed, just for a moment, before they turned south together toward Gracia and whatever waited beyond it.