A Banner Torn (Book 1 Complete)

Kaelid:

The tension in the Duke's study was thick enough to cut with a blade. Magistra Elara stood with the composed dignity of someone accustomed to academic debate, while Inquisitor Valerius had begun to pace like a caged predator. Duke Alaric remained seated behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he listened to the competing arguments for Kaelid and Rannek's future.

Interesting dynamics, came the Sturm Marschal's mental voice, tinged with military assessment. The Praxis representative grows agitated. Poor tactical positioning.

Inquisitor Valerius stepped forward, his composure beginning to crack. "Your Grace, if I may interject. The Praxis has conducted a thorough evaluation of these subjects. Their abilities represent a significant strategic asset that could…"

"Your Grace," Magistra Elara interrupted smoothly, "I believe there are considerations beyond mere strategic value that warrant discussion."

Valerius's face flushed red. "Strategic value? These children possess abilities we haven't seen before! The Praxis has protocols for developing such talents, proven methods that…"

"Proven methods for creating weapons," Magistra Elara said, her voice remaining calm despite the interruption. "The Collegium takes a different approach to nurturing young minds with unusual gifts."

"The Collegium has no authority in matters of national security!" Valerius snapped, his voice rising. "These subjects fall under Praxis jurisdiction by right of discovery and evaluation. Any attempt to interfere with our protocols constitutes…"

"ENOUGH!" The Duke's voice cracked like a whip, silencing both representatives instantly. The authority in that single word was absolute, brooking no argument. "Inquisitor Valerius, you forget yourself. This is my palace, and these are my subjects. You will conduct yourself with appropriate decorum or you will be removed."

Valerius's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, his face cycling through shades of red and purple. "Your Grace, I... the Praxis has invested considerable resources in this evaluation. Surely our claim takes precedence…"

"Your claim?" The Duke's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You speak of these children as if they were property to be claimed. Is this the compassion and wisdom the Praxis brings to the table?"

"They are strategic assets!" Valerius burst out, his composure finally shattering completely. "Their abilities are unknown, they could save thousands of lives in the eastern territories! How can you prioritize sentiment over the greater good?"

The Duke stood slowly, his movement deliberate and threatening. "Guard," he called, never taking his eyes off Valerius. "Escort Inquisitor Valerius from my palace. He is no longer welcome at this discussion."

Two armored figures appeared as if from nowhere, their movements too precise to be entirely human. Kaelid recognized the feeling they gave off, bound ones.

Soldiers who had chosen to continue their service beyond death.

"Your Grace, this is highly irregular! " Valerius protested as the guards flanked him. "The Praxis will hear of this treatment! There will be consequences…"

"The Praxis will hear exactly what I choose to tell them," the Duke replied coldly. "And if they take issue with my handling of subjects within my own domain, they are welcome to discuss the matter through proper diplomatic channels. Good day, Inquisitor."

The guards escorted Valerius from the chamber, his protests echoing down the corridor until a door slammed shut, cutting off his voice. The sudden silence felt almost oppressive after the heated exchange.

Kaelid watched the Duke's face carefully as the echoes of Valerius's departure faded. The man's expression had shifted from cold authority back to something more thoughtful, more human. It was like watching an actor step out of character between scenes.

"Now then," the Duke said, turning his attention to Magistra Elara. "You mentioned the Collegium's approach to nurturing young minds. Please, elaborate."

Magistra Elara inclined her head respectfully. "Your Grace, the Collegium believes that true mastery of unusual abilities comes not from forced development or weaponization, but from understanding and gradual growth. These children are barely past their nameday, they aren't ready to be forged into weapons unless you plan to have nothing but broken tools of them."

"They should be learning arithmetic and literature to understand the world around them, not being molded into instruments of war before they even know life without it."

"The Praxis would treat them as objects," she continued, her voice gaining strength. "Valuable objects, certainly, but objects nonetheless. They would be studied, tested, pushed to their limits to see what they could produce. Their childhood would be sacrificed on the altar of strategic advantage."

"They would be completely broken as humans and, if they survived, would be non-functional as adults."

The Duke nodded slowly. "And your alternative?"

"Allow them to remain children," Magistra Elara said simply. "The Collegium proposes placing them under our educational authority, but not removing them from their home. We would assign a qualified tutor to work with them in their village, guiding their development at an appropriate pace. When they reach the proper age, perhaps twelve or thirteen, they would be enrolled at the Collegium as full students."

"To fully develop their talents and understand them."

"This would allow them to maintain their family connections, their sense of identity, while still receiving proper guidance in understanding and controlling their abilities. They would learn the deeper aspects of their gifts gradually, naturally, rather than being forced into premature specialization."

Kaelid felt a surge of hope at her words. The idea of returning to Aldermere, of seeing Curio again and sleeping in his own bed, was almost too wonderful to contemplate. But he could see something in the Duke's expression that suggested the decision wouldn't be so simple.

"Your proposal has merit," the Duke said carefully. "But it assumes these children can simply return to their previous lives. I'm afraid that ship has already sailed."

"What do you mean?" Rannek asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

The Duke's expression grew somber. "Word of your abilities has already spread beyond these walls. The Praxis evaluation, your journey here, the very fact that you've attracted my personal attention… these things cannot be undone. There are those who would see you as threats to be eliminated, others who would view you as prizes to be captured."

"Your quiet life in Aldermere is no longer possible."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The hope that had been building in Kaelid's chest crumbled like a house of cards. He had known, on some level, that things had changed irrevocably the moment Inquisitor Valerius had arrived in their village. But hearing it stated so bluntly made the reality impossible to ignore.

"However," the Duke continued, "that does not mean you are without choices. Magistra Elara, your proposal is noted and will be given due consideration. For now, I would ask you to withdraw so that I might speak with these young men privately."

Magistra Elara bowed deeply. "Of course, Your Grace. I shall await your decision."

As she left the chamber, Kaelid felt suddenly exposed. The Duke's attention, without the buffer of other adults, felt overwhelming. This man held their future in his hands, and they were about to discover what that future would hold.

The Duke waited until the door closed behind Magistra Elara before allowing his formal mask to slip entirely. The change was startling, like watching a statue come to life. His shoulders relaxed, his expression softened, and when he spoke again, his voice carried none of the imperial authority it had held moments before.

"Please, sit," he said, gesturing to chairs arranged near the fireplace. "And, for the love of all that's holy, stop looking at me like I'm about to have you executed. We're just three people having a conversation now."

Kaelid and Rannek exchanged glances before cautiously taking the offered seats. The Duke settled into a chair across from them, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that was entirely human and surprisingly vulnerable.

"Do you know how exhausting it is, being a Duke?" he asked, and there was genuine weariness in his voice. "Every word measured, every gesture calculated, every decision weighed against a dozen different political considerations. Sometimes I wonder if I remember who I actually am beneath all the ceremony and protocol."

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and for a moment he looked less like a ruler and more like someone's tired older brother.

"I want to show you something," he said, rising from his chair. "Something that might help you understand the position you've found yourselves in."

He led them to a section of the study where the wall was covered by what appeared to be an enormous map. But as they drew closer, Kaelid realized it was far more than that. The map seemed to live, with tiny figures moving across its surface and colored lights pulsing in various locations.

"This is the eastern front," the Duke explained, his voice heavy with resignation. "Every red dot represents a battle currently in progress. Every blue line shows troop movements. The yellow markers indicate supply lines, and the purple ones… those are casualty reports."

The map was covered in markers, a constellation of conflict that stretched across hundreds of miles. As they watched, new dots appeared while others faded, the constant ebb and flow of a war that seemed to have no end.

"We've been fighting this war for two hundred and thirty-seven years," the Duke continued. "My father fought it before me, and his father before him. Do you know what we're fighting for?"

Kaelid shook his head, mesmerized by the moving display.

"Neither do I," the Duke said with bitter laughter. "Oh, there are official reasons: territorial disputes, trade-route control, ancient grievances between royal houses. But the truth is simpler and more depressing: we fight because we've always fought. The war has become its own justification."

He pointed to a cluster of red dots near the center of the map. "See that battle there? Three thousand men are dying today for control of a hill that has no strategic value whatsoever. Next week, we'll probably lose it back to the enemy, and then we'll spend another three thousand lives taking it again. It's all just… theatre."

The Duke's voice grew increasingly bitter as he continued. "Every month, I host dinners with politicians from both sides of the conflict. We sit around polished tables, eating fine food and drinking expensive wine, while we discuss the battles like they're moves in a game of chess. They bicker and barter for whatever scraps they can gain, but the battles they casually banter about are people's lives."

"The countries don't even hate each other any more," he said, gesturing at the map. "The commoners of the Eastern Empire are pretty much the same as the people in your village. They want to tend their crops, raise their children, live in peace. But the board was set up generations ago, and the pieces must be moved. The game must continue."

Kaelid found his voice. "Then why don't you just… stop?"

The Duke's laugh was hollow. "Stop? You think I haven't considered it? But I'm bound by the same rules as everyone else, perhaps more so. If I withdraw from the eastern front, I'm seen as weak. Other nobles would move against me, claiming I'm unfit to rule. The war would continue under someone else's leadership, someone who might be far less concerned with minimising casualties."

"So I play my part," he continued, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "I send young men to die for meaningless objectives. I attend dinners where we toast victories built on corpses. I smile and nod while politicians who have never held a sword discuss strategy like it's an intellectual exercise."

He turned away from the map, his face etched with pain. "And now, you two have been caught up in this same web. Your abilities make you valuable pieces on the board, whether you want to be or not. The game has noticed you, and once the game notices you, there's no going back to being invisible."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of unwelcome truth. Finally, the Duke spoke again, his voice tired but resolute.

"I have to prepare for another dinner tonight," he said. "More politicians, more discussions about battles and casualties and strategic advantages. I'll smile and play my part, just as I always do."

"But before I go, I want you to understand something. You have choices ahead of you, real choices, but none of them include returning to the life you knew. The Praxis wants to turn you into weapons. I could place you under my wing directly, house you here in the capital, have you educated and trained here… it would keep you safe but isolated, like exotic birds in a gilded cage, bound to my service when you were called, part of my collection. The Collegium offers education and growth, but even that comes with obligations and expectations."

"Think carefully about what you want your lives to become," he said, moving toward the door. "Because tomorrow morning, you'll need to choose. And whatever you decide, you'll have to live with the consequences for a very long time."

As the Duke reached the door, he paused and looked back at them. For just a moment, his mask slipped again, and they saw not a ruler but a man trapped by circumstances beyond his control.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm sorry that the game has claimed you. I'm sorry that your childhood is ending before it should. And I'm sorry that I can't offer you the one thing you probably want most: the chance to go home and pretend none of this ever happened."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Kaelid and Rannek alone with the weight of impossible choices and the flickering lights of a war that would never end.

Kaelid:

The silence in the Duke's study felt oppressive after his departure. Kaelid stared at the living map, watching the red dots pulse like infected wounds across the landscape.

Each one represented hundreds or thousands of people fighting and dying for reasons no one could adequately explain.

He felt his throat tighten as he saw another purple mark flare.

You're troubled, came the Sturm Marschal's voice, gentler now than it had been during their first contact.

Wouldn't you be? Kaelid replied, not bothering to hide his distress.

I've watched this war consume three generations of rulers, the ancient consciousness said. Each one starts with noble intentions, plans to end the conflict, bring peace to the realm. But the machinery of war is larger than any individual, even a Duke. It grinds on regardless of who sits on the throne.

Is he right? That we can never go home?

There was a long pause before the Sturm Marschal answered.

The boy you were when you left Aldermere is already gone. The question is what kind of man you choose to become in his place.

Rannek had been silent since the Duke's departure, staring at his hands as if they belonged to someone else. Finally, he looked up, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

"What are we going to do?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kaelid wished he had an answer. The three paths before them all led away from everything they had known and loved.

The Praxis would turn them into weapons, the Duke's collection would make them prisoners, and even the Collegium's offer, generous as it seemed, would bind them to a life they had never chosen.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But we have until morning to decide."

They sat in silence, two nine-year-old boys contemplating futures that felt too large and too frightening to comprehend. Outside the study windows, the capital continued its bustling life, unaware that two children from a small village were being forced to choose between different forms of captivity.

The war map continued its grim display, red dots appearing and disappearing in the endless dance of conflict.

Somewhere out there, people were dying for causes they didn't understand, caught up in a game that had forgotten its own rules.

And now, Kaelid realised with growing dread, he and Rannek had become pieces in that same game. Whatever they chose tomorrow, they would be choosing not just their own futures, but their roles in a conflict that seemed destined to continue forever.