The name Olapa carried a faded legacy. Once a proud baronial house with a history spanning two centuries, its founder had been a legendary knight, a hero of wars long past. But time had not been kind to the Olapa lineage, and by the time of Enver's birth, the family was all but forgotten, its last remnants reduced to obscurity. House Olapa was now a small house of moderate strength, boasting five knights and a standing force of one thousand men. While no longer a dominant power, it still held the echoes of its former prestige. Enver, however, would not let history erase him so easily.
The Olapa Territory was a land of rolling hills, dense forests, and crystal-clear streams. The people who lived there were hardy and loyal, their lives tied to the land and the rhythms of the seasons. The heart of the territory was Olapa Keep, a sturdy fortress of gray stone that had stood for centuries. Though it was no longer the grand seat of a baronial house, it was still a place of strength and resilience.
Located south of the territory of Viscount Edmund of House Aelthorn, it was a small region of modest people. Being a land near the border, just 25 kilometers away from the Tetrad Kingdom, the people of Olapa were no strangers to war, making them a hardy bunch.
Enver Olapa was born in the rolling hills of the Olapa Territory, a modest but fertile land that had once been the heart of his family's barony. The Olapa lands were far from the grandeur of Velmoria's marble streets and towering spires, but they were home. Here, beneath the shadow of the ancient Olapa Keep, Enver spent his childhood under the watchful eye of his mother, Lady Elara Olapa. His father, once a fourth-rank knight, after a crippling injury and unable to recover, was now reduced to a drunkard in the city of Velmoria, not caring for his duties as a lord, wasting away in their old estate in the capital near the slums.
House Olapa had once been a proud and powerful baronial house, its knights renowned for their valor and skill. But a series of misfortunes—a failed rebellion, a devastating plague, and the betrayal of a trusted ally—had brought the house to its knees. Enver's father, a knight of great renown, had been disgraced in the final days of the house's fall. He had turned to drink, leaving Lady Elara to shoulder the burden of their family's legacy.
Though the Olapa name carried little weight in the wider world, it still meant something to the people of their territory. They looked to Lady Elara for guidance and protection, and she did not disappoint. She rebuilt their lands, forging alliances with neighboring territories and ensuring that their people thrived. But she knew that their house's true restoration would fall to Enver.
Lady Elara was a woman of quiet strength and sharp intellect. Once a mage of considerable skill, she had been forced to abandon her craft after the fall of House Olapa, but her knowledge of magic and strategy remained. She ruled the Olapa Territory with a firm but fair hand, ensuring that their people were fed and their lands protected. Though their house had fallen from grace, she refused to let it fade into obscurity. She instilled in Enver a deep sense of duty and pride, teaching him the history of their family and the values of a true knight.
Enver spent his days exploring the forests and fields, his imagination filled with tales of knights and heroes. His mother often joined him, teaching him the ways of the land and the secrets of their family's history. She showed him how to track animals, identify medicinal herbs, and navigate by the stars. But her most important lessons were those of leadership and honor.
Olapa Keep, Southern Border of Velmoria
The first light of dawn crept over the eastern hills, painting the mist-shrouded forests of the Olapa Territory in gold. Enver Olapa stood atop the weathered battlements of Olapa Keep, his breath visible in the chill autumn air. Below him, the village of Greenwood stirred to life—smoke curling from chimneys, farmers driving cattle to pasture, and the distant clang of the blacksmith's hammer. It was a humble scene, yet to Enver, it was a kingdom worth fighting for.
Enver was a striking figure, even at fifteen. His physique was that of a young man who had spent his life in rigorous training and outdoor labor—lean, muscular, and perfectly proportioned, as if chiseled by the hands of a master sculptor. His black hair, thick and unruly, framed a face that was both handsome and commanding, with sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and piercing amber eyes that mirrored his mother's. His presence carried an air of quiet confidence, a blend of youthful vigor and the weight of responsibility that had been thrust upon him.
"Enver!" A voice rang out, sharp but warm. Lady Elara Olapa climbed the stone steps to the ramparts, her emerald cloak billowing in the wind. Though streaks of silver threaded her chestnut hair, her posture was that of a general. In her hands, she carried a wooden practice sword. "You'll miss your lessons staring at the horizon."
Enver grinned, brushing a lock of unruly black hair from his eyes. "I was just watching the patrol return. Ser Jorah's men found tracks near the Tetrad border last night—wolves, maybe. Or raiders."
"Or deer," Lady Elara said dryly, tossing him the practice blade. "Wolves don't wear boots."
The clatter of wood against stone echoed as Enver caught the sword. His movements were fluid, his body honed from years of scrambling over hills and sparring with the keep's guards. His mother's amber eyes—the same as his own—narrowed in appraisal.
"Again," she commanded.
They fell into the rhythm of a hundred mornings. Enver lunged, swinging high. Lady Elara parried with effortless grace, her movements economical. She had abandoned magic long ago, but her body remembered the precision of spellcraft.
"Eyes on my shoulders, not my blade," she chided as Enver overreached. "A knight who chases shadows dies on his feet."
"Yes, Mother," Enver panted, sweat stinging his palms.
"Ser."
"What?"
She struck his ribs with the flat of her sword. Enver stumbled, biting back a curse.
"You address me as 'Ser' during drills," she said, her voice cool. "The academy won't coddle you, Enver. The other boys will be sons of dukes, earls—wolves in velvet. They'll see your provincial accent and your patched cloak and try to break you."
Enver straightened, jaw tight. "I'm not afraid of nobles."
"You should be. Fear keeps you sharp." She sheathed her sword. "But today, fear the chores you've neglected. The storeroom won't inventory itself."
Olapa Keep was a fortress of echoes. Its vaulted halls, once filled with tapestries and the clatter of armored retainers, now stood half-empty. Enver's footsteps reverberated as he passed the Gallery of Ancestors—a corridor lined with portraits of grim-faced Olapas. The last portrait, his father's, hung crookedly.
Lord Cedric Olapa had been a mountain of a man, his beard bristling, his eyes blazing with the vigor of a fourth-rank knight. Now he was a ghost haunting Velmoria's taverns, his legacy reduced to empty wine casks and unpaid debts.
Enver paused, fists clenched. He could've stayed. He could've helped her.
"Master Enver!" A croaking voice shattered his thoughts. Old Tomas, the seneschal, hobbled into the hall, his arms laden with ledgers. "Your mother wants the grain reports by noon. And the smith's requesting iron from the south mines—bandits again, no doubt."
Enver sighed. Since his father's departure, the keep's burdens had fallen to him and Lady Elara. While other noble heirs studied poetry or courtly dances, Enver balanced ledgers, mediated disputes between farmers, and learned the price of barley.
"Tell Garrick I'll escort the shipment myself," Enver said.
Tomas snorted. "You? The last time you 'escorted' a caravan, you let that peddler swindle us out of three silver marks."
"He said the silk was cursed!"
"And you believed him?"
That evening, Enver found his mother in the Chamber of Echoes, a windowless vault beneath the keep. Dust motes swam in the light of a single candle as Lady Elara traced her finger over a yellowed map.
"Come," she said without looking up. "You'll need to know this."
The map depicted Velmoria's fractious borderlands—the Aelthorn Viscounty to the north, and the jagged peaks of the Tetrad Kingdom to the south. Red ink marked Olapa's territory, a stubborn splinter wedged between rivals.
"Our strength lies here," Lady Elara said, tapping the forested hills west of Greenwood. "The Aelthorns control the trade routes, but these woods hide game, herbs, and iron. Resources win wars, Enver—not valor."
Enver frowned. "But the ser ramond said Baron Hestor Olapa defeated the Tetrad hordes with just fifty knights!"
"Baron Hestor starved the hordes," she corrected. "He burned their supply lines and poisoned their wells. A knight's blade is useless if his army cannot eat."
She unrolled another parchment—a genealogy of House Olapa. Enver's gaze lingered on Lady Lysara Olapa, a mage-knight who'd dueled a dragon to a standstill.
"Will I… awaken a gift?" he asked hesitantly. Magic was rare, a blessing (or curse) bestowed at birth.
Lady Elara's face hardened. "Our bloodline's magic died with Lysara. The Olapas survive by wit, not spells." She rerolled the scrolls. "Fetch your sword. We'll spar under the stars tonight."
The Letter
Three days later, the letter arrived.
Enver was mucking the stables when Old Tomas burst in, waving a parchment sealed with crimson wax. "From the capital! From the Royal Knight Academy!"
Enver dropped his shovel. The academy was the realm's pinnacle of martial training, a crucible where nobles and commoners alike competed for knighthood. Only twenty aspirants were admitted each year.
Lady Elara broke the seal in the great hall, her face unreadable. Enver's heart hammered as she read aloud:
To Lord Enver Olapa of House Olapa,
By decree of His Majesty, King Aldric III, you are hereby summoned to present yourself…
The words blurred. Summoned. Not invited. Commanded.
"They want me to enroll," Enver whispered.
Lady Elara set the letter aside. "Viscount Aelthorn's doing. He's been scheming to annex our territory for years. Sending you to the academy is a trap—he expects you to fail."
"Then I'll prove him wrong."
For the first time that day, his mother smiled.
Preparations began at once. The keep's armorer fitted Enver with a leather brigandine embossed with the Olapa crest—a falcon clutching a sword. Lady Elara gifted him her ancestral dagger, its hilt inlaid with moonstones.
"A knight's first duty is to survive," she said, fastening the blade to his belt. "His second is to remember why he survives."
On the eve of his departure, Enver climbed to the Watchman's Tor, a rocky outcrop overlooking the border. The Tetrad Kingdom's fires flickered in the distance like malevolent stars.
Will I be enough? He wondered. The academy's trials were legendary—duels, hunts, tests of strategy. Boys had died pursuing knighthood.
A rustle of cloth broke his thoughts. Lady Elara joined him, her face etched in the moonlight.
"You'll hate the capital," she said quietly. "Its streets reek of greed, and its nobles will mock your accent. But you'll endure. Because Olapas are stone—we weather the storm."
Enver nodded, throat tight.
"And Enver?" She cupped his face, her calloused hands warm. "Don't shame your ancestors by dying to something foolish… like poetry."
They laughed, the sound carried away by the wind.
Departure
At dawn, Enver rode out beneath Greenwood's timber gates. The villagers lined the road, offering loaves of bread, charms for luck, and a hundred murmured blessings. Old Tomas pressed a wineskin into his hand ("For the road, lad—don't tell your mother").
Lady Elara stood atop the keep, her cloak snapping like a banner. She did not wave.
"A true knight," she said, "is not defined by his sword or his armor, but by his heart. He protects the weak, upholds justice, and remains true to his word."
Enver nodded and said, "I will remember it, Mother. Don't worry. I will honor your teachings."
Enver turned his horse south, toward Velmoria. Toward glory, or ruin.
Behind him, Olapa Keep dwindled into the horizon, its stones holding fast against the rising storm.