In the Jared VII Academy, a palpable sense of expectation enveloped the promising young legionaries. It was all due to the results of the Winter Tournament, where the first-year students of the basic cycle had caused a surprise by obtaining several of the first places, competing directly with their classmates from higher courses.

  Jean had achieved a very good record for a first-year student in the endurance test. However, his mark was surpassed in the same test by Jazmín, the recruit who had fallen to Martín in the combat semifinal. More than a few could have speculated that Jazmín was not at one hundred percent in the combat due to her previous endurance test, but those would be only assumptions. In the speed and obstacle race, Jormun had obtained first place; it seemed that having lost against Silas had driven him to train harder on his weaknesses in changes of direction and explosiveness.

  Silas, for his part, had risen as the undisputed triple champion of the strength tests, an achievement that had not been seen in the academy for many years, and his name was already beginning to spread because of it. Although being popular is not always good, something he would learn in the future. The champion in combat, by a millimetric ruling, was Martín Crociato.

  Silas found himself in an instructor's office, who had summoned him to discuss a matter of utmost importance.

  —Recruit Silas, I called you to discuss your remarkable performance in the Winter Tournament —said the instructor.

  —Thank you very much, sir... —Silas tried to reply, but was interrupted.

  —I haven't finished yet. Given this performance, you have been designated as one of the academy's representatives for the Festival of Young Promises —announced the instructor.

  Upon seeing the doubt on Silas's face, he proceeded to explain: —The Winter Tournament is held throughout the kingdom. Subsequently, three cadets are chosen to go to the capital for a showcase of those who will be the promising legionaries of tomorrow. Normally, the selection is based on the voting of professors and instructors, but... —he paused and let out a small chuckle—. This year it was very easy, because you, Silas, broke all the records, you little demon.

  When the atmosphere relaxed, the instructor explained that the festival consisted of physical competitions similar to those of the tournament, in addition to friendly combat duels with recruits from other academies.

  —Silas, I also heard that you were making merits to obtain the rank of Senior Brigadier, is that so? —asked the instructor.

  —Of course, sir —affirmed Silas. ?Boy, have I strived to have good grades, but in the channeling and weapon combat subjects I am still far from being the first. A little help wouldn't be bad?, he thought.

  —It is not a written rule —continued the instructor—, but whoever returns from the festival with more than three victories in duels has always been granted the rank of Brigadier. For that, you will have to challenge and win against at least three cadets from other academies.

  With an idea already forming in his mind, Silas asked the last question: —And who are the other cadets who will represent the academy?

  After hearing the answer, Silas couldn't help but think: ?This has to be a joke?.

  Later, in his room, the news was already a topic of conversation between Silas, León, and Jean.

  —Silas, I don't know if this is a prize or a punishment —said Jean with a face of affliction—. Having to endure a two-day trip with Jormun seems like torture to me. —Putting his hands in a prayer position, he added dramatically—: I will pray for you.

  Silas had already told them that the other two representatives were Jazmín, for her incredible result in the endurance test, and Jormun, for his victory in speed. However, Jean's jokes hid his own regret for having placed second in the endurance test, surpassed by Jazmín by only a few minutes. ?Had I trained more, I could have won?, he lamented in silence.

  León, for his part, gave Silas advice: —Silas, in the capital there are many extraordinary places. There is the Temple of the Devout Church of Zephyr, which is so tall you can see it from kilometers away.

  Jean contributed to the travel reviews: —I've heard there are Molders' workshops that make equipment that activates with Ichor, and potions that recover you from fatigue. In Gavriel they have many things that don't reach other cities.

  The conversation changed tone suddenly. —Don't tell anyone you are the son of scholars —said León with a cryptic tone.

  —Yes, Silas —added Jean—. Nobles and royalty don't like Scholars very well, you know, because of that whole evil scholar prince thing and all that.

  —What will you guys do on your vacation? —asked Silas to change the subject.

  —I'll be at home, training —said León with a face of tiredness just thinking about it—. After Dad finds out I lost against you, he'll go back to instructor mode.

  —I will finally be able to go with my family —commented Jean—. With these two weeks, I'll be able to make better use of them than those off-duty weekends.

  —And you? —León and Jean asked Silas at the same time.

  —I don't know. The round trip will be about a week. I think I'll stay at the academy the rest of the time or go to an inn owned by some people I met when I arrived in Haniel. I'm not clear on it yet. What is clear is that I'll see you in two weeks, guys.

  —Greetings, my General Andros. I have information regarding what you requested —exclaimed a legionary, while handing a sealed envelope to Andros at the regiment.

  Andros read the topics that interested him about little Silas: —First place in... press... squat... Recruit Silas... young promise strength...

  Andros read the results attentively. From time to time, he asked a corporal for help to collect information on how Silas was doing in the academy.

  ?Wow, I didn't think he could make such marks?, thought Andros. ?Although that path of... "the best legionary in the kingdom" is dangerous?. On one hand, he felt happy that Silas was doing well, but somewhat scared because he was following the same path he had traveled and for which he had suffered so much.

  ?I'll go talk to him before he leaves?, he decided. —Corporal, I'll be out for a few hours. If something happens, I'll be at the academy —Andros told the corporal.

  —Andros, wear the guide bracelet. You know everything has been weird these months —Captain Kano told him, an older-looking man with black hair with bluish glints, an average legionary build, and a relaxed tone of voice.

  —Kano, you know I don't like using these things —exclaimed Andros.

  —Damn it, Andros, it's just a bracelet! It's not like I use it to know when you're in the bathroom —said Captain Kano half-jokingly.

  —Fine, Kano, but if I find out they are spying on me, I'll make the control center guys wear it as a pet collar —said Andros while, grudgingly, putting on the metal bracelet with green and purple tones and a transparent crystal in the center.

  That guide bracelet was an implement reserved only for legionaries of Major rank and above. They were bracelets made with a scarce type of mana crystal that received magnetic signals to send a message with a range of several kilometers. The messages in Haniel were by colors and always referred to dangerous situations in the city, such as attacks by outsiders, internal commotion, or mana beasts.

  Andros headed to his room in the regiment, a sober space, far from the ostentation of a general's office. It was not a grandiose place like Lenio's office or Elias's, who in operational terms also held the position of Guardian General. Andros's room was a simple space of about ten to fifteen square meters, with a coffee table and some equipment that kept food preserved with cold mana. A shelf full of books, on varied topics, stood out for the number of volumes on scholar achievements. In a corner, a fine crystal bottle, with sealed liquor, waited. His bedroom was similar, with a single bed and a private bathroom.

  Andros could have requested a huge house in the most exclusive sector of Haniel, paid for by the kingdom while serving as general, but he preferred to live in the regiment itself. He believed that way he would stay close to the new recruits, serving as an example and helping keep their egos in check.

  ?Well, what can happen to Silas so he doesn't have such a bad time in the freaking capital??, Andros asked himself in a low voice, while rummaging through his things. ?I don't think anyone will intimidate him with strength. With those records, he could beat any corporal or sergeant around here. Ha, ha, ha!?, he laughed to himself, imagining a twelve-year-old boy facing one of his legionaries. ?But status is another thing...?.

  While searching, he threw a dust-covered metal card to the floor. ?But of course, this solves everything! Since I never use it, I had forgotten it?. He picked it up, cleaned it, and went directly to the academy.

  In his room, Silas was organizing his things. ?I'll take the basics. In the end, at the academy they always give us everything. But I'll take the ghost gloves to keep practicing and my new sword, which is great?. He made some speedster movements with his sword "Dark Judgment," practicing with style.

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  —Cadet Silas, here and now! —a shout was heard. Silas reacted almost automatically and, without time to put away the sword, left it at his waist and went to the door.

  —Yes, my instructor —he replied with a firm voice.

  —They are waiting for you at reception.

  Silas hurried to the reception and saw, with a smile of joy, his friend and teacher, Andros. —Andros! What are you doing here?

  —Hello, boy, long time no see —replied Andros with genuine surprise—. I see you've trained quite a bit. There is no trace left of the scrawny kid I left in this academy. Andros hadn't visited him so as not to give the impression that he was influencing the teachers, so he had only learned of his progress through reports.

  —Yes, well, I've received quite a bit of help from the teachers —said Silas.

  —I heard you won some prizes for lifting a few kilos —joked Andros, making a gesture with his hand, as if referring to an insignificant weight.

  —Yes, sure. I didn't break your records, but I heard the discs in your records were miscalibrated, so it's possible your marks are much lower —replied Silas, returning the joke. Both laughed.

  —Boy, I see you have a very interesting sword. Will you let me see it? —asked Andros.

  —Okay, but don't break it —said Silas.

  Andros channeled a bit of Ether and performed some quick cuts. —Wow, what a peculiar sword. It's for speedsters.

  Silas was amazed to see Andros's handling, so fine and precise, very similar to his "Uncle Gacel's". Silas asked for the sword back and said: —Look, I learned a few things from a friend's uncle. Silas channeled a bit of Ether to activate the sword and performed the first technique of the Invisible Sword.

  —Look at you! Invisible Sword. I didn't know you had run into that feline Gacel —said Andros, amazed not only by the technique but by who had taught it to him.

  —You know Uncle Gacel?! —exclaimed Silas, incredulous.

  —Of course, he is one of the few in the kingdom who masters that ancient extinct technique —explained Andros.

  Teacher and student talked for several minutes on the subject. The "Invisible Sword" was not a very well-known or used technique, as few speedsters leaned towards it due to the physical work required to master it. Most speedsters used throwing weapons or short daggers for sneak attacks, while the Invisible Sword was designed to face an opponent in a real one-on-one fight. It was a technique that represented the fighting style of legionaries who didn't want to kill cowardly, but to face off in true combat. Silas also learned that Andros knew several members of the Lugal family, such as Goryl, Gacel, Kristin (León's mother), and even the patriarch of the family, Namir Lugal.

  —Well, enough talk about those Lugal strength fanatics. I came to lend you this —said Andros, handing him a rectangular piece of black metal with some letters engraved on it.

  —And what do I want that piece of rusty metal for? —asked Silas.

  —Look, boy, I found out you're going to the capital for the Welcome Festival of Young Promises in Gavriel —said Andros with a tone of recognition for Silas's achievement—. That festival is fun if you come from a good family, but for someone who is mixed-race it is not very pleasant —he sighed and continued—: Well, with this "piece of rusty metal," no one who is smart will dare to bother you —he said with a bit of anger at Silas's contempt for the card.

  —Give me your hand. Andros took Silas's thumb and pricked it with a pin.

  —Ouch! What are you doing! —exclaimed Silas with a squeal of pain.

  A drop of blood fell on the metal card, and Andros channeled a bit of Ether into it. —This card is linked to my person and to whomever I decide. Somehow, it means that if someone bothers you, they also do so to the Haniel regiment —concluded Andros.

  —Then this is something very valuable. Why are you giving it to me so easily? —asked Silas.

  —First, I am lending it to you, and if you happen to lose it, believe me, no one who isn't linked to the card will want to have it —Andros laughed with a malicious laugh, thinking of the sad person who tried to steal that card—. And lastly: it also works to buy things. I know the capital is quite expensive, but don't go overboard, we legionaries don't earn much.

  —Well, Silas, I hope it's a great experience —said Andros.

  —Thank you very much, Andros. Hey, did you also go to the festival when you studied at the academy?

  —Hmm, let's say something like that. I'll tell you that story another time.

  Andros said goodbye and headed back to the regiment. The story he couldn't tell Silas was that he did have the opportunity to go, but upon arriving in the capital, he knocked out a group of promising legionaries who were badmouthing scholars. After that, he was sent back to Haniel.

  —Recruits Silas, Jazmín, and Jormun, report for mobilization! —an energetic shout was heard from the first-year building.

  Quickly, the three promises of the Jared VII Academy went out to the meeting point. They wore the academy's military uniform for excursions: comfortable clothing in lead and red colors. A light chest piece, matching the fabric, covered their torsos, and blood red, the distinctive color of the Jared academies, dominated the ensemble. On the left chest, the academy shield, and on the right arm, a black star, the insignia of their current rank as initiate cadets.

  In the meeting area, two men waited for them next to a carriage.

  —Greetings, cadets. I am Captain Anselmo and this is Sergeant Diego. We are in charge of escorting you to the capital for the meeting of young promises —said one of the men, in light silver-colored armor, of average height and not very voluminous build. The other man, shorter than average and thinner than the average legionary, with armor of the same color but more opaque due to the wear of time, nodded.

  The "carriage" caught Silas's attention, as it was not pulled by horses, but by a four-wheeled machine, as if a coach were being dragged by another.

  —These machines are not intended to carry villagers, they are only used for special purposes. But well, it seems the academy has a charity quota for some —spouted Jormun to the air with a tone of contempt, with the clear intention for Silas to hear him.

  Silas didn't pay him much attention and addressed Captain Anselmo. —What kind of carriage is this, Captain?

  —Truth be told, I don't understand much about this —replied the Captain—. But I know it's called a Manabolt. It is a Cargo Automaton that runs on mana batteries, like those of the Baptism Machines. I prefer horses, but for long trips without rest, this type of vehicle is much better.

  The three cadets got into the rear coach that was attached to the motorized vehicle. From the window, the captain told them: —The trip will last approximately two days and one night to the town of Geduld. After resting, we will head directly to the capital.

  Once on the way, Jazmín approached Silas after entering the carriage. —Hi, Silas. I remember you from that time in the library, and also that you made it to the final in the fights. How have you been?

  —Good, Jazmín. I also saw your fights in the championship. You had good matches, but I think Martín is in another league —said Silas.

  —I don't know. Yes, I lost against that guy, but I don't think there is that much difference. I was also somewhat tired after the physical tests. Maybe I would have given him more of a fight had I not run the 42 kilometers. And there is something that doesn't add up about your match with Martín —said Jazmín, with a tone of doubt and disappointment upon remembering her defeat.

  —Why do you say that? —asked Silas.

  —I don't know, it's a hunch. Martín lost consciousness before using that "cheating" fighting style, but he recovered immediately. It's rare for that to happen, but I think we'll never know. At least, he also fainted from exhaustion at the end —said Jazmín.

  —Why cheating style? —inquired Silas.

  —There is an unwritten agreement: third-years don't use Ether in fights against first-years, since many of us are just learning to use it, and he used it in the final blow. Maybe that's why he didn't want to receive his medal as the combat tournament winner —explained Jazmín.

  While Silas and Jazmín talked, Jormun, with earplugs, made sketches of faces in a notebook. They were so detailed they looked like photographs. After several hours, the conversation ran out, and the kids dedicated themselves to appreciating the landscape: green fields with animals on one side and a forest of pines and mountains on the other.

  Suddenly, the carriage jolted upon passing over a pothole, and Jormun's notebook fell. Silas was going to pick it up to return it, but Jormun shouted: —Don't touch it with your dirty hands! —and snatched it away.

  Once everyone had settled down again, Silas asked him aloud: —What the hell is wrong with you with me? It seems like you've disliked me since I arrived.

  —The truth is I dislike everyone of your kind —replied Jormun with a hard voice.

  —What kind are you referring to, Jormun? —asked Jazmín, with a face of not understanding what was happening.

  —Starving wretches from the villages who want to pass themselves off as legionaries —said Jormun with a mix of anger and sadness, with eyes slightly glassy.

  Silas thought: ?Did he realize that I'm not a legionary??. —I don't understand what you mean by "passing themselves off as legionaries."

  Jormun lowered his voice, almost to himself: —I don't have to give explanations to a starving wretch... who for a few coins would sell his family.

  The atmosphere became so tense that it seemed all the air in the coach had disappeared and that they were suffocating in their own thoughts.

  —Excuse me, kids. I didn't see the hole —apologized Captain Anselmo, breaking the tension.

  With the arrival of nightfall, the kids settled into their seats to sleep. Jormun that night would not have a restful sleep, although at first everything started normally.

  He was in a house that looked like a castle. There, a small Jormun was with his older brother, Vachir, a fair-skinned legionary, with brown hair and green eyes. He was dressed in an elegant uniform.

  —Brother, when will I be able to accompany you on your missions? —asked Jormun.

  —When you stop looking like a snake —replied Vachir, imitating the movement of a snake and sticking out his tongue playfully.

  —I've already told you not to call me that, it's because you're jealous of my eyes —complained Jormun, angry.

  —Of course I'm jealous —said Vachir sarcastically, stretching his eyes with his hands to make them look bigger while continuing to mock.

  —Mr. Vachir, your carriage awaits —interrupted a worker dressed as a butler.

  —Look, Jormun, all in good time —Vachir told him with a smile, while ruffling his hair—. In a few years you will be baptized, and when that happens, I will train you so you can accompany me when you grow up.

  —Okay, brother —accepted Jormun with sadness—. But why do you have to leave again, if you arrived only a few days ago?

  —Well, you know that the kingdom counts on the Irisoch family to solve "problems" that endanger the kingdom —said Vachir.

  The Irisoch family was a lineage specialized in espionage and assassination. Their name was little known, and their great fortune, made based on businesses as merchants, was just a facade to cover up their jobs as spies and justify their constant trips around the kingdom.

  A butler approached Jormun and told him: —Young Jormun, remember that you must study and strive hard to be as good as the scholars who help your brother.

  Jormun looked at the butler with a face of doubt. —What are you doing in this place?

  —Excuse me, young Jormun, I will leave immediately to my duties in the house —replied the butler, somewhat uncomfortable.

  —Before you leave, tell me what time it is —requested Jormun.

  —I think my watch broke, but it must be about two in the afternoon —replied the butler nervously.

  —It doesn't matter, I have one, but I don't know how to read the hands. What time does it show? —said Jormun, showing him the watch.

  —I think I need to look for my glasses, which are in the room —answered the butler while withdrawing.

  —You don't know the time because time doesn't pass here, right? —said Jormun with a ghostly voice—. You can't tell me where you were an hour or two ago either.

  A sound, like a rock wall falling to the floor, was heard. Jormun continued speaking: —You can't see yourself in mirrors either.

  More sounds of falling stones were heard. —I don't know how you entered my mind, but leaving won't be as easy as entering —finished saying Jormun, who no longer looked like a child, but like his brother Vachir, but with dark green hair—. I won't forgive you for entering my memories.