A New Appearance
Aveline Leonheart tapped her foot impatiently as the maids worked behind the closed doors of the bathing chamber. She had ordered them to scrub every inch of that street rat until he looked presentable.
"Hurry up!" she snapped. "I don't have all day!"
The doors finally opened. The maids stepped aside, and—
Aveline's breath caught.
Standing before her was not the filthy beggar she had dragged in, but a strikingly handsome boy. Cedric's raven-black hair, now clean and neatly trimmed, framed his sharp features. His piercing blue eyes—always his most striking trait—now gleamed even brighter against his fair, unblemished skin. The simple but well-fitted clothes he wore accentuated a lean frame that promised strength with proper training.
"Y-You clean up… adequately," Aveline muttered, looking away with a faint blush.
Cedric frowned. "Adequately?"
"Don't get cocky!" she huffed, grabbing his wrist. "Come on. You need to learn your way around."
The Mansion Tour
Aveline dragged Cedric through the sprawling Leonheart estate, her voice brisk as she pointed out key locations:
The Grand Hall – Where formal gatherings were held beneath banners of blue and silver.
The Training Grounds – Knights sparred under the watchful eyes of veteran instructors.
The Library – Filled with ancient tomes on magic and warfare. ("You'll study here when I say so," Aveline ordered.)
The Gardens – A rare place of quiet, where Aveline admitted she sometimes hid to read.
Finally, she stopped before a heavy oak door. "This is my wing. You'll attend to me here. Fetch my books, deliver messages, and—" She narrowed her eyes. "—never enter without knocking."
Cedric nodded, though his mind was still reeling from the sheer luxury surrounding him.
The Lord's Command
That evening, a servant summoned Cedric to Godfrey Leonheart's private study.
The head of the house sat behind an ornate desk, his presence like a gathering storm. Cedric's instincts screamed at him to lower his gaze, but he forced himself to meet the man's piercing blue eyes—so like Aveline's, but infinitely colder.
"Cedric," Godfrey rumbled. "My daughter has taken a liking to you. That does not mean I trust you."
A beat of silence. Then—
"However," Godfrey continued, "I see potential in you. If you are to stand beside Aveline, you must be more than a servant. You must be a shield."
He stood, his shadow stretching across the room. "Starting tomorrow, you will train with Umbra—my personal squad. They are masters of the dark element and dagger arts. You will learn to move unseen, strike swiftly, and protect my daughter with your life."
Cedric's pulse spiked. "Why?" he dared to ask.
Godfrey's lips curled slightly. "Because Aveline is impulsive. Because our enemies are many. And because…" His gaze hardened. "...I prefer to test a man's loyalty before he's in a position to betray us."
The Training Begins
At dawn, Cedric was led to a secluded courtyard where five figures clad in black awaited him.
"This is the whelp?" one sneered, twirling a dagger.
The tallest of them stepped forward. "The Lord commands it. We'll make him bleed until he's worthy."
Cedric barely had time to react before the first blade flashed toward him.
By nightfall, he collapsed in his new quarters—bruised, cut, but alive. The Umbra had been merciless, but they'd also been precise. Every strike had been a lesson. Every drop of blood, a reminder:
You are Aveline's now. Act like it.
As he drifted into exhausted sleep, one thought burned in his mind—
What have I gotten myself into?
Before the sun had even risen, Cedric was dragged from his bed by a member of the Umbra squad—a towering figure named Kael, who tossed a weighted vest at his chest.
"Put this on. You'll wear it every day until it feels like skin," Kael growled.
Cedric barely had time to fasten the straps before he was shoved into the training yard. The vest might as well have been made of lead. His muscles screamed as he was forced to sprint laps around the courtyard, his breath ragged in the cold morning air. The Umbra moved like ghosts beside him, their steps effortless despite the same burden.
"Faster," one hissed. "Or do you want the young lady to see you collapse like a weakling?"
The mention of Aveline sent a jolt through Cedric. He gritted his teeth and pushed harder.
The Dark Element
After the brutal conditioning came magic training.
The Umbra were masters of the dark element—a rare affinity that allowed them to manipulate shadows, cloak themselves in darkness, and strike unseen. Cedric sat cross-legged in a dimly lit chamber, his hands trembling as he tried to summon even a wisp of shadow.
"Focus," Instructor Vex, a wiry woman with a voice like scraping steel, commanded. "Darkness isn't just absence of light. It's a living thing. It hungers."
For hours, Cedric strained, his mind reaching for that elusive power. Just as frustration threatened to consume him, a tendril of black mist curled around his fingers.
Vex's eyes gleamed. "Hmph. Not completely hopeless."
Dagger Arts
The real test came in the sparring ring.
The Umbra fought with daggers—quick, lethal strikes meant to end battles before they began. Cedric was handed a blunt training blade and immediately thrown into combat against one of the squad's youngest members, a wiry assassin named Ryn.
To everyone's surprise, Cedric held his own. His years on the streets had honed his reflexes, and his desperation to prove himself sharpened his focus. He dodged, countered, and even landed a glancing blow on Ryn's ribs.
The Umbra exchanged glances.
"Street rat's got bite," Ryn admitted, rubbing his side.
After a grueling day, Cedric limped back to the mansion, sweat-soaked and bruised. As he turned a corner, he nearly collided with Aveline.
She took one look at him—his disheveled hair, his exhausted stance—and scowled. "Ugh. You reek. Don't come near me until you've bathed."
Cedric blinked. "I was just heading to—"
"And eat something," she snapped, shoving a wrapped bundle into his hands. Inside was a meat pie, still warm. "I didn't ask for it. The kitchen just made too much."
Before he could thank her, she spun on her heel and marched away, her light blue hair swishing behind her.
Cedric stared at the pie, baffled.
Why's she so… confusing?
A Moment of Solitude
That night, as Cedric lay in his modest but clean quarters, he stared at the ceiling.
"This is hell," he muttered, wincing as he shifted his aching body.
But then his gaze drifted to the half-eaten pie on his desk—the one Aveline had "accidentally" given him. To the sturdy bed beneath him. To the Umbra dagger now resting on his nightstand.
A slow smile tugged at his lips.
"Still better than the streets."
He had food. A roof. A purpose.
And maybe, just maybe, a future.