The next few days blurred, each one echoing the last.
Cane's team rose early, training under Elohan's watchful eye. He no longer coached from the sidelines—he trained alongside them, ready in case of another ambush.
But tension in the city had little to do with training.
The time had come.
Executive Officer Brea Tollis of Raptor Battalion—once decorated, now disgraced—was set to face her sentence. Her crimes stretched across a lifetime: desertion, dereliction, the deaths of thousands.
The capital held its breath.
Crowds poured in—commoners, nobles, dignitaries, emissaries from distant lands—all drawn by the rare gravity of public justice. No one wanted to miss it.
At the front of the palace square stood a raised platform. On it: the King, the remaining members of Raptor Battalion, and Cane's team—honored guests for capturing the Zuni spy who exposed Brea's betrayal.
Cane stood in silence, clad in his Glacial Blue Salt armor. Young. Steady. This was the first time many had seen the famed first-year cadet in person.
And the legend outshined the boy.
Cane's Folly.
The Destruction of the Avenger.
The Mythic Glacial Rune.
Interwoven Adamantium Robes.
Scorpion Strait.
The Starsong.
It was a list too long for someone shy of twenty.
Dhalia:"I don't want to watch this."
Clara:"Me neither."
Fergis:"We're here for the fallen—and their families."
Cane: "Duty can be heavy."
Thousands stood packed shoulder to shoulder in the square. Tight. Silent. Not one left.
Late morning bled into noon before the prisoner was led out.
Brea had requested to wear her Zuni uniform.
Request denied.
She appeared instead in a stripped Alliance military uniform—no insignia, no rank. The uniform of a traitor.
Her short, dark hair had been recently cut. Her face was clean. A mask of composure clung to her features, but beneath it—panic, anger, and unwilling surrender lingered in her eyes.
She was led to the gallows.
Before her stood the remnants of Raptor Battalion. Once a few thousand strong. Now, fewer than a hundred.
The air turned heavy, saturated with hatred. Survivors glared at the woman who had once commanded them.
The King rose. The crowd's eyes followed.
King: "Brea Tollis. You have been found guilty of desertion, gross incompetence, and dereliction of duty. The sentence, agreed upon by the Royal Council five days ago, shall be rendered today. In front of the survivors of Raptor Battalion—you will be hanged by the neck until dead."
Silence pressed into the square.
Each footstep echoed as Brea was led to the scaffold.
The executioner waited beside a newly constructed gallows. One rope. One noose. Newly tied, perfectly placed.
Brea faltered at the edge—legs buckling as she faced the drop.
The rope slid over her neck.
The Executioner held her elbow. "Do you have any last words?"
She couldn't look at the surviving soldiers.
Instead, her gaze drifted to the cadets who had captured her.
Brea exhaled. "War is horrifying and dirty. We all start innocent… but living while others fall changes you. If I'm blessed with another life… I hope war won't be part of it."
A pause. Her voice caught.
"I… I am sorry."
A black hood was drawn over her head.
The executioner glanced toward the King.
He nodded.
The lever was pulled.
Brea fell.
The rope snapped her neck with a clean crack. Her body convulsed briefly before going still.
Cheers erupted from the crowd—loud, wild, roaring—making words nearly impossible to hear.
Cane said nothing.
His face was unreadable. But his stomach churned.
It felt just.
But it didn't feel right.
Beside him, Dhalia looked pale—nauseous.
He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Cane: "Look at me… Just breathe. Think of something else."
Dhalia nodded.
And the crowd cheered on.
Unexpectedly, the King remained.
He stood still as the executioner confirmed Brea Tollis's death, then turned slowly to face the crowd. His gaze alone was enough to hush the square.
And then he spoke. "Righteousness has won today. Justice for the fallen—finally rendered. A wound left untreated… can begin to heal."
A beat passed.
"Today, I have another announcement. Many of you know this war cost me my eldest son, Leopold. I stand with all the parents who have lost someone."
His voice dropped, gentled by grief.
"What most of you do not know is that while my son fought on the front lines, he met a merchant woman named Ceferi. From that union, my granddaughter was born—Melina Hellion."
A ripple passed through the crowd—low murmurs, rising whispers.
Fergis (quietly):"Damn… he gave her his last name."
Clara:"That's important?"
Fergis:"She just went from illegitimate to princess in one sentence."
The stir of the crowd deepened—nobles, commoners, everyone leaning in, wondering what might come next.
Then the King raised his voice.
"Cane Ironheart. Step forward."
Cane blinked. What?
He didn't move until Fergis elbowed him.
Fergis:"Brother… get over there."
Cane walked forward, bowed low. "Your Majesty."
King: "Take a knee, Cadet Ironheart."
The King unsheathed his sword. Cane knelt, and the square fell silent once again.
"A few nights ago, under cover of darkness, a plot was carried out to kill Princess Melina Hellion."
A gasp swept through the crowd.
"Without pause, you foiled the attempt. You killed the assassin and escaped with the child while conspirators sought to verify her death. For your courage, and your personal service to the Crown…"
The King laid the sword gently on Cane's shoulder.
"…I dub thee Sir Cane Ironheart, Knight Protector of the Realm."
Another touch—opposite shoulder.
"Arise, Knight Ironheart… Protector of the Realm."
Magic lifted the King's voice across the square, echoing to the outer walls.
The crowd erupted.
Cheers swelled. Applause roared. Cane's team stood frozen, mouths ajar, before joining the thunder like a second wave.
Some would later say it was another turning point in the war.
More than an hour later, Cane walked beside his friends under escort, heading back to the estate with six guards in tow.
Fergis: "You're a bumpkin, so I should explain."
Cane:"Explain what?"
Fergis:"There are orders of knights, alright? Most get put into the Order of the Sword or the Shield—those are the big ones. There's a couple others. Lesser known."
Cane:"So I'm one of the minor ones?"
Fergis:"Protector of the Realm is rare. It who has one other member."
Cane:"Who?"
Fergis: "Archmage Telamon."
Cane:"Uncle's a knight?"
Fergis (groaning): "Brother… you've got to stop saying that."
Cane laughed. "I think it's too late at this point."
Sophie sat quietly on the front bench, her hand moving absently over Spud's thick fur. She hadn't gone to the execution—she couldn't. Even knowing the prisoner deserved it didn't make it any easier.
What she hadn't expected was the King's voice rolling across the city like thunder:
"Arise, Knight Ironheart, Protector of the Realm."
Her hand paused.
She smiled softly.
Cane had done so much—accomplishment after accomplishment, always putting others first, always pushing forward. Helping his friends. Helping her.
She chuckled quietly. "I had him chopping wood a few months ago… just for a boxed lunch."
"Miss?"
Sophie turned to find Relen standing nearby, the ever-poised butler holding a small ledger.
Relen: "We're preparing a special dinner. Might I get your advice on the Young Master's favorite dishes?"
Sophie nodded, brushing a curl behind her ear as she followed him into the kitchen.
Across the estate, carpenters moved with steady purpose, erecting the frame of a modest cottage near the gardens. Lumber and stone were being hauled in. Relen had selected a layout he favored—clean lines, warm wood, and wide windows.
Runic experts had already been hired for lighting and hot water. Estimated completion: one month.
Meanwhile, Cane and his team made their way through the city's midday bustle.
Fergis:"I kinda miss the Academy."
Cane:"Yeah."
Clara (from ahead): "Me too. I miss my History of Magic naps...Something about Professor Wallen's voice just knocks me out."
Dhalia (with a sigh):"How are you even passing that class?"
Clara (grinning): "Charm and genius. Equal parts."
Cane chuckled as the estate gates came into view. The guard at the entrance stood taller when he saw them.
A few minutes later, after the guards said their goodbyes and took their leave, Clara waved them off.
Clara:"Those guys were very friendly."
Cane laughed, shaking his head as he began removing his armor piece by piece. His psi-rune pulsed once.
Sophie (via rune):The staff is making a big dinner. It'll be ready at 6pm.
Clara (yawning): "Perfect. Nap time."
Cane (via rune): Come to the smithy if you like, Sophie.
He pulled off his overshirt, tied his leather apron in place, and stepped into the forge.
The heat, the rhythm, the sound of metal meeting metal—it always helped settle his thoughts.