Chapter 2: The Weight of Expectations
The morning air was crisp as sunlight filtered through the large windows of the Moran estate. The scent of parchment, polish, and faint embers from the fireplace filled the air. Jessica sat upright in bed, rolling her shoulders to assess her condition. Every movement still felt sluggish, as though her body hadn't yet caught up to the instincts buried deep within her bones.
Her recovery had been slow, but she was well enough to walk, spar, and—if she played her cards right—train in secret. Her mother had hovered over her like a protective hawk, feeding her nourishing meals and fretting over her every step. It was... suffocating, yet strangely warm.
But her father had no such patience.
The first time he entered her room after her recovery, he barely spared her a glance. Tall and broad-shouldered, Baron Gregory Moran was the embodiment of a warrior's discipline, his presence as unyielding as steel. His arms were crossed over his chest, his gaze sharp and calculating.
"She will attend Arcadia." His tone was flat, leaving no room for debate. "Her condition is irrelevant. A knight must rise above weakness. If she fails, she is no daughter of mine."
Her mother gasped, hands clutching at the fabric of her gown as she turned to him in horror. "Gregory, please! She nearly died—she's still recovering!"
"She has had time." His cold gaze landed on Jessica again. "She is a Moran. We do not cower behind illness or misfortune. She will uphold this house's legacy."
Jessica met his stare without hesitation. The authority in his tone was something she might have respected once, in another life, under another man. But this was not a battlefield. This was a demand issued by a father who saw her as nothing more than an extension of his honor.
"If I refuse?" she asked evenly.
His lip curled in disdain. "Then you are no daughter of mine."
A sharp intake of breath from her mother. A quiet chuckle from across the room—Tobias.
She turned her gaze to him, the eldest son of the family, already a Junior Knight in training at Arcadia.
Tobias leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, his usual smug expression firmly in place.
He had the same emerald-green eyes as Jessica, but where hers held sharp calculation, his were filled with something lazier—mocking amusement, barely veiled condescension. His dark brown hair, streaked with hints of gold where the light caught it, framed his angular face in a way that only added to his infuriatingly noble charm.
Despite his casual posture, Tobias was every bit the warrior their father expected of him. His physique was lean yet powerful, a blend of noble refinement and rugged discipline. He looked like an older, more polished version of her—a man sculpted by duty, yet just arrogant enough to wear it effortlessly.
"Father's right, you know," Tobias said lazily. "You barely had any talent before your injury, and now you're practically useless. If you don't go to Arcadia, what will you do? Marry some low-ranking noble out of pity? You should be grateful he's even giving you the chance to prove yourself."
The way he dismissed her so easily, as if she were already a failure in his eyes, sent a flicker of something cold through her chest.
She took a measured breath and let a small, unreadable smile curve her lips. "How fortunate, then, that I don't need your approval."
His smirk faltered for a moment, his brows furrowing. But before he could respond, her father spoke again.
"You leave in a week. Prepare yourself." And with that, he turned on his heel and left.
Her mother rushed to her the moment he was gone, clutching Jessica's hands tightly. Her eyes were glassy with unheard tears. "Jessica, please... you don't have to do this. There must be another way. I can talk to him—"
"No," Jessica said softly, squeezing her hands in return. "It's fine, Mother."
It wasn't fine. But it was necessary.
Tobias scoffed and pushed off the doorframe. "Good luck, little sister. Try not to embarrass the family name."
With that, he left as well, leaving Jessica alone with her trembling mother.
She watched him go, then turned her gaze back to the window. Outside, the sun hung high over the training grounds, where knights and squires drilled in formation.
Fine. If they wanted a knight, they would get one.
But it wouldn't be the one they expected.
Chapter 2.5: A Blade That Feels Like a Tumor
The weight of the Moran family's longsword was suffocating in her grip. Each swing felt like she was hauling a corpse, a dead thing strapped to her arm rather than an extension of herself. The balance was all wrong, the heft unnatural. The more she tried to adjust, the more apparent it became—this weapon didn't belong to her.
It felt like a tumor.
Her grip tightened as she slashed through the air, forcing herself through the drills. The edge was sharp, but her strikes were dulled by the sheer incompatibility between her body and the blade. Every movement was sluggish, like running through water. This wasn't how a sword was supposed to feel.
A dry chuckle sounded from the fence. "Still complaining about the sword, huh?"
Tobias stood with his arms crossed, watching with undisguised amusement.
His golden-brown hair caught the light, the natural streaks of sunlight giving him a regal air that he absolutely did not need.
She exhaled sharply, lowering the blade. "What do you mean 'still'?"
His smirk widened. "You always whined about it before. 'It's too heavy, it's not balanced right, it doesn't suit me,'" he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "Guess some things never change, even after getting your head rattled."
She frowned. So the old Jessica had the same problem. At least she had some sense.
Tobias pushed off the fence, his expression shifting to something more irritated. "But this? What the hell are you even doing? That's not the Moran style." His eyes flickered to her stance, critical and unimpressed. "It's like you forgot everything overnight. Muscle memory should be carrying you, but it's like you're not even trying to use it."
She resisted the urge to sigh. He wasn't wrong. This body had muscle memory, but her instincts came from somewhere else entirely.
She sheathed the sword with a sharp click. "What are the actual entrance requirements for Arcadia?"
Tobias frowned, his irritation growing. "Are you serious?"
She met his gaze evenly. "Would I be asking if I wasn't?"
His lip curled in disbelief. "Unbelievable. You really forgot?" He scoffed, running a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply. "Fine. There are three ways in—"
As he listed them, she listened. Not because she needed permission.
But because understanding the rules would only make breaking them easier.