The morning air was sharp and cold, stinging against Alaric's skin as he stood among nearly two hundred recruits in the vast courtyard of Castle Valtoria. Their breath fogged in the crisp dawn, their bodies stiff from a night of restless sleep in unfamiliar barracks. Today marked the beginning of their training, and none knew what to expect.
The castle loomed around them—towering stone walls, banners of House Everest fluttering in the wind, and the distant clang of steel from the training yards. Soldiers moved with purpose, guards patrolled the high walkways, and servants rushed between buildings carrying supplies.
A group of seasoned knights approached, their armor polished but worn from battle. Leading them was Sir Roak Tombstone, the Captain Instructor, a formidable man with a scarred face and piercing eyes. His very presence commanded silence. He stopped before the recruits, surveying them like a wolf sizing up a herd.
"Welcome to Castle Valtoria," his voice rang out, deep and steady. "Forget the homes you came from. This place is your home now. Your past does not matter here—only what you become."
The recruits stood rigid, absorbing his words.
"You are not soldiers yet," Roak continued, pacing before them. "You are green, untested, and weak. That will change. Some of you will break. Some of you will rise. And for a select few, you will become something greater than you ever imagined."
His sharp gaze swept over the crowd, pausing briefly on a few faces—including Alaric's.
"You will learn discipline, strength, and loyalty. And you will follow the rules of this fortress without question. Fail to do so, and you will not last here."
He turned to the knights beside him and nodded. "Take them on the tour."
The recruits were split into smaller groups, each assigned to a senior soldier. Alaric's group was led by Second Sir Hagan, a broad-shouldered knight with graying hair and a voice like grinding stone.
Their first stop was the barracks—long wooden halls lined with rows of simple bunks. The air smelled of straw and sweat. "This is where you sleep," Second Sir Hagan said. "Keep it clean, or I will personally toss your sorry hides into the cold."
Next was the mess hall, a vast chamber filled with wooden tables and benches. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread lingered in the air. "You'll eat here twice a day. Don't waste food, and don't fight over portions—unless you enjoy cleaning the stables."
The armory came next, filled with racks of swords, spears, shields, and bows. "You will not touch these yet," Second Sir Hagan warned. "You will start with wooden training weapons. Earn your steel."
They passed through the training yards, where veteran soldiers drilled with brutal efficiency, then to the infirmary, where healers treated the wounded. Finally, they reached the chapel, a small but well-kept stone hall dedicated to the Northern gods.
Their last stop was the outer wall, where the wind howled like a beast. From this high vantage point, Alaric could see the frozen wilderness stretching endlessly beyond the castle.
Second Sir Hagan faced them. "This is not just a fortress—it is a crucible. Respect it, survive it, and one day, you may stand among Valtoria's warriors."
The recruits stood in the great hall of Castle Valtoria, its towering stone pillars and banners of House Everest casting an imposing presence over them. Torches flickered along the walls, their golden light illuminating the gathered young men. The air was thick with tension, the weight of what was to come settling heavily upon their shoulders.
At the center of the hall stood Second Sir Hagan, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his expression stern. At his right was Sir Roak Tombstone, the Captain Instructor, silent as stone but ever watchful. The recruits, some still catching their breath from the morning's brutal tour, barely had time to settle before Hagan's voice thundered through the hall.
"You stand beneath the roof of House Everest, a name older than this castle, older than any of us," he began, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber. "Before you go any further in your training, before you even lift a sword in the name of Valtoria, you must understand who rules this land and why their name is to be respected."
He took a step forward, his boots echoing against the marble floor. "It began with Landon Everest, the First Lord of the North, the one they call The Ruler and the First Builder. He was not born into power—he took it, wrestled it from the frozen grasp of the untamed lands. Before Valtoria, before the great walls, there were only scattered villages and warring clans. Landon united them, hammering them into one people, one force that no enemy could break."
Hagan's gaze swept over the recruits, measuring their reactions. Some listened intently, others shifted uncomfortably.
"He built the first stronghold, the foundation of what would become this castle. Through war and blood, he carved the Everest name into history. And when he passed, his son took his place—Dorian Everest, The Iron Wolf. Where Landon built, Dorian defended. When the Southern Kingdoms sought to claim the North, he met them in battle and sent them fleeing back to their warm palaces, tails tucked between their legs."
A murmur passed through the recruits, some exchanging glances.
Hagan continued, his voice unwavering. "The Everest line did not wane. Each generation carried the burden, from Garret the Relentless, who drove back the raiders from the Eastern Tundras, to Victor Everest, who established the first trade routes through the frozen sea. Power was never given to this house—it was taken, held, and reforged with each new ruler."
Now, his tone shifted slightly, a dark edge creeping in. "And then there was Edwin Everest—the current Lord of Valtoria. Not a king, not an emperor, but a ruler in every sense that matters. You may never see him, but you will feel the weight of his decisions. His laws shape this land. His justice reaches every corner of this frozen domain."
Hagan's eyes narrowed. "His wife, Lady Merlyn Everest, stands in his place while he is away. Do not mistake her for a lesser leader—her word carries the same weight, her judgment is just as final."
He let that sink in before finally saying, "And the next generation already rises. Edmund Everest, the heir. You have seen him, you will follow him into battle. Disappoint him, and you disappoint this house."
Silence fell over the hall, the recruits standing stiffly, absorbing the names, the weight of history pressing down upon them.
"And lastly," Hagan added, his lips twitching slightly, "there is Alana Everest. She is seven years old, and already, she could probably outsmart half of you fools."
A few chuckles broke through the tension, but no one dared comment.
Hagan took a step back and folded his arms again. "Now you know whose roof you sleep under, whose land you walk upon, and whose banner you will defend if you survive your training. Remember these names, because they are the reason you stand here today."
Sir Roak, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his voice low but carrying weight. "Disrespect them, and you will answer to me."
No one spoke after that. The lesson had been learned.