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Ambrosius was awake the moment the door closed.

After years of living in the dorms, his ears had been honed for the soft click the latch made when it fell back into place. That subtle sound indicated that someone had snuck into the hall. Ambrosius groaned, rolling over to drowsily blink at the bunk next to him, futilely hoping it would still be occupied.

It was empty.

He sighed, rubbing his heavy eyes. The mattress beneath him was soft and warm. In the nearby bunks, the other boys were slumbering peacefully. For a moment, Ambrosius considered joining them and simply falling back asleep.

But no.

He was born to be a leader.

And leaders did not abandon their friends.

So though his body was still sore from the previous day's training, he dragged himself from the warm cocoon of his bed, pulling on his outer coat and boots. He glanced at a nearby clock. It was about an hour until sunrise. With luck, there would only be the night guards roaming the Institute grounds.

Ambrosius listened for the sounds of footsteps in the hall before peeking out to take a look. It was empty. In fact, there was absolutely no indication that anything was out of place. Taking that as a good sign, Ambrosius started walking down the long halls, ears pricked up for the metallic clanging that signaled an approaching guard. However tonight, it seemed that the night shift had finished their rounds early and Ambrosius made it down to the training center without any incident.

Sure enough, the door to the locker room was ajar.

"You promised you'd stop sneaking out," Ambrosius announced, crossing the threshold and shutting the door properly behind him.

Ballister didn't even have the decency to look surprised to see him.

"No, I said I would stop sneaking out to practice sword fighting," Ballister corrected. "But that's not what I'm doing tonight."

This did absolutely nothing to reassure Ambrosius.

Though curious nonetheless, Ambrosius walked over to examine exactly what kind of trouble his friend was about to get them into.

Ballister was seated on the bench in front of his locker, pulling on his new armor.

They had only gotten their first armor yesterday. Up until then, they had always used soft padding meant more for children's play than future knights. However, now that they were in middle adolescence, they had finally been entrusted with real metal armor.

Ambrosius traced the hard line of the metal boot. It was full of dings and scratches. This was training armor. Their official armor would be specially forged years later, when they were closer to actually being knighted. But for now, with at least one more growth spurt ahead of them, training armor was more than sufficient. The armor was used and reused by cadets for years, possibly decades. It wasn't anything special, except in the milestone that it represented.

"And what exactly are you going to do?" Ambrosius asked.

"I'm going to practice in it," Ballister said. "This armor is heavier than anything we've worked with so far. It also offers a different range in mobility. The sooner I get used to it, the better."

"But aren't we going to train mobility in…" Ambrosius cast a look at the window, "a few hours?"

"We are!" Ballister beamed. "That gives me a precious few hours to get a head start."

Ambrosius chuckled then, astonished at Ballister's enthusiasm.

"You're really taking this knight thing seriously," he said.

"Well yeah," Ballister said. "Aren't you?"

"Of course I am," Ambrosius said. "But I'm also not about to risk getting caught being out of bed every other night."

The sentence came out harsher than he intended. Guilt eclipsed Ballister's features.

"You don't have to keep sticking by me," Ballister said, posture seeming to deflate. "You should go back to sleep before you get in trouble."

"No, I'm already up," Ambrosius said, doing his best to suppress a yawn. He handed Ballister the boot. "I'd like to keep you company."

The expression on Ballister's face gave way to a shy smile. Ambrosius felt his chest warm.

"Would you like to practice with me then?" Ballister asked, pulling on the boot.

"I rather watch," Ambrosius said, tilting his head down. "So be sure to give me a good show."

This time Ballister actually blushed.

As always, Ballister had a plan. Surprisingly, this was a much calmer training session than some of Ballister's previous nighttime escapades. He had the night guard routes practically memorized, so it was easy to navigate unnoticed through the Institute's training grounds.

They started with a simple walk around the gardens, the soft dirt hiding the harsh clank of Ballister's footsteps. Ambrosius had been concerned Ballister would try some daunting escapades. However it seemed tonight, Ballister was content to walk, navigating within the Institute's walls and wearing sweaty training armor like it was a prize.

They didn't talk much, lest their voices inadvertently announce their presence to a passing guard. However, they did exchange hushed whispers whenever they entered a particularly secluded part of the grounds.

Once, they stopped to gaze at a large mural of Gloreth and her knights. It spanned the entire wall reaching from the ground and all the way to the roof. The artist had used special paint that made the knight's armor shine brilliantly in the moonlight.

"Once I get my official armor," Ballister said, voice whispering like a prayer. "I'm never going to take it off."

Ambrosius looked up at the image of Gloreth. He thought of the hall in his ancestral home, lined with cases and cases of armor. Most of them belonged to Gloreth's descendants from over the centuries, but a prized few were said to have been worn by Gloreth herself. He never fully considered how special that was, how much of a privilege it would be for someone like Ballister to even be allowed to wear one.

He turned to study his friend. Ballister's eyes were wide with naked adoration, but his stance was squared, shoulders set. For one raw moment, Ambrosius was struck with emotion, utterly mesmerized by the sheer burning determination; the desire gasp for a power that was beyond oneself.

It occurred to him that Ballister's mere existence was in stark defiance of all the traditions and institutions around them.

Ballister turned to face him.

"What is it?" he asked and the moment fell away.

Ambrosius' mind grasped for something to say.

"Not even to sleep?" he tried.

Ballister laughed at that.

"No, I'll sleep inside it," he smiled. "Like an armadillo."

Ambrosius beamed, but it wasn't because of the joke.

After that, Ballister wanted to try some basic mobility training. They wiped their now muddy boots on the grass then began balancing along low garden walls. Ballister even tried jumping from fence post to fence post. Ambrosius always went before him, making sure the structure would be able to handle his weight before Ballister followed.

As the night was coming to a close, Ballister announced that he wanted to climb onto the academy's lecture hall roof. They had done this climb many times. It required climbing up a large bay window, pulling themselves over a wide ledge, and walking along it until they reached a far brick wall that could be climbed to the roof.

"You go first," Ballister said. "If I fall, I don't want to bring you down with me."

"Alright," Ambrosius said. "But wait until I'm completely on the ledge before you start climbing, so I can help pull you over it."

Ballister nodded.

Ambrosius began to climb, fingers grasping for study holds against the pale bricks. He heaved himself over the ledge, then quickly moved to a crouching position. Ballister followed him a few moments later and held out his hand as he approached the ledge. Ambrosius grasped it, and with his other arm bracing against the metal window bars, heaved Ballister over the ledge. The rest of the climb was easier and soon they found themselves on the roof.

Ambrosius took a moment to stand at the edge. This roof was located on an elevated area of the gardens, gazing down gave them a stunning view of the entire kingdom. He took a few moments to breathe the pre-dawn air.

After a few seconds, he went to sit next to Ballister in the middle of the roof. Experience had told them that the best area was the middle of the roof, where the view was still nice and there were less chances of being spotted by a passerby.

"How do you feel?" Ambrosius asked, lowering himself onto the shingles.

"Sweaty," Ballister replied honestly, sitting down as well. "But good. This armor is heavy, but it does offer a wider range of motion than the training pads. You get used to it after a while."

He took off his gloves, fingertips tracing the heavy gauntlet. It bore a faint design of a dragon.

"Do you think monsters have armor?" Ballister asked.

"I don't know," Ambrosius said. The thought had not occurred to him.

"Well, they must have something," Ballister said. "Or else they would be really easy to slay. Maybe hard scales or thick leathery skin to protect against our swords."

Ambrosius leaned back to gaze upon Ballister in the moonlight.

"If their scales are sword proof then how do we slay them?" he asked.

"I guess we find their weak points," Ballister said. "Like eyes."

"Or hearts," Ambrosius said warmly.

As usual, his words went completely over Ballister's head.

"How are we supposed to stab a monster's heart if they're covered in sword proof scales?" Ballister asked.

"We were speaking hypothetically," Ambrosius said with an eye roll. "But I suppose, like us, a monster's armor must also have weaknesses."

"Like what?"

"Well for us it's mainly the joints," Ambrosius said, pointing at Ballister's elbows and shoulders. "But also anything that is exposed."

In an instant, his hands darted forward, ticking the back of Ballister's neck and his armpit.

Ballister squealed. His body contorted and twisted, desperately trying to escape Ambrosius' attack.

"Ambrosius!" Ballister shrieked with laughter, metal armor was clinking against the roof like an off tune xylophone.

Ambrosius stopped, kneeling over with a fit of giggles.

They did their best to stifle their laughter, listening for the sound of passing guards.

"That gives…" Ballister gasped, heaving for air. "The word 'funny bone' a whole new context."

They both started snickering again.

After a few very long minutes, they started to collect themselves. Ambrosius gave Ballister an affectionate shove. In response, Ballister gave an exaggerated eye roll. They sat, staring down at the distant lights before them. Gloreth's statue was a blazing gold.

"Well I know what my weakness is," Ballister said. "And so does everyone else." There was a long moment of silence. "Do you really think they'll actually let me become a knight?"

"The Queen already said you could," Ambrosius said.

"She said I could train," Ballister said. "But I still have to prove myself. Not just in the exams. But to the other knights; the whole kingdom. How am I going to convince literally everyone to accept me?"

Ambrosius did not have an answer for that.

"The Queen believes in you."

Ballister's face looked pained. "I hate to say it, but she is only one person."

"And I accept you," Ambrosius said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "That's two people."

"And just five million more to go?" Ballister asked.

"Well, you have to start somewhere," Ambrosius said.

Ballister's lips tilted upwards and he rested his hand on top of Ambrosius'.

"What about you?" Ballister asked, looking into his eyes. "What's your weakness, Ambrosius?"

In the dark of night, the kingdom illuminated by Gloreth's statue, Ambrosius yearned to speak the words aloud.

You.

My weakness is you.

In a single moment, their world disfigured into turmoil.

Ambrosius stood at the opening of the hole, eyes focused on the dark shadows Ballister had staggered into. Another knight came up beside him, moving so quickly they nearly pitched Ambrosius over the edge. Ambrosius reflexively took several steps back. He could barely breathe. The bright overhead lights were a suffocating heat upon his skin.

And all around him were screams.

The knights were clamoring, starting to climb down into the hole. Somewhere behind him, the Director was shouting orders. Ambrosius turned. Only to see the Queen's body covered in the kingdom's flag. An outline was visible under the thick fabric.

Ambrosius tore his eyes away.

His gaze caught on the dark jagged shards on the floor. All that remained of the sword.

Ballister's arm laid beside it.

His ears were devoured by a clamorous ringing, smothering all thoughts in his mind. Ambrosius' eyes traced the long fragments of the blade, the blacked insignia, the curl of Bal's fingers…

A moment ago, Ambrosius had stepped forward and acted on pure instinct.

But right now he was bolted in place, unsteady on his feet.

He took a breath, swayed, and promptly fell to his knees. A painful jolt reverberated through his spine. The crowd was still screaming. The noise, thunderous and panicked all around him, was simultaneously overpowering and nonexistent in his mind. All he could do was stare at Ballister's arm, polished armor shining bright under the lights, blood spilling out onto the ground…

His body shook.

And then shook again.

It was another moment before he realized that he was not in fact weeping. A knight had come up to him, firm grasp on his shoulder.

"Sir Goldenloin," she said, voice tender yet firm. "Are you injured?"

Ambrosius looked up blankly at her.

"Are you able to stand?" she tried.

Still, he could not answer her.

"Come on," she said, a knowing look passing her face. "You need to get out of here." She grasped his arm and hauled him upwards. Ambrosius cautiously applied weight to his feet, praying his legs wouldn't crumble beneath him.

He took a few deep breaths.

"I'm okay," he found himself saying, even though he did not believe his own words. "I'm okay." Even though his voice was breaking, even though the Queen was dead, even though Ballister was gone—

"I'm okay."

The knight just put a firm hand on his shoulder and steered him away from the scene. Ambrosius kept his eyes trained on Ballister's curled fingers until the mass of running knights obscured it from view.

"It does not appear that you have a concussion," the medic said, settling down her instrument. "However, do watch for symptoms in case they develop."

"I will," Ambrosius said. "Thank you."

The Golrodome medical room was located in a hallway adjacent to the main arena. It was meant to treat minor first aid, in case a horse tripped or some unlucky soul got a splinter on a handrail.

Ambrosius was simultaneously offended and incredibly grateful that he had been sent here. On one hand, it was detached from the pure madness of the arena.

But it also showed that the other knights did not trust him.

Ambrosius looked down at his blood speckled gloves.

Then again, he didn't quite trust himself either.

The door opened behind them. Ambrosius was not pleased at all to see his fellow knights crossing into the room.

"Is there any news?" he asked.

Todd approached him slowly, expression overcast.

"Well let's see," he sneered. "The Queen is dead, Ballister escaped, and the city is in chaos." He stopped in front of Ambrosius, looking him directly in the eye. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Depends," Todd said. "What did Ballister tell you?"

"Excuse me?" Ambrosius asked, standing up.

"I said," Todd said, stepping closer. "What did the low life tell you about his plans?"

"You think I knew about this?"

"Yes," Todd said. "This isn't the first time you two have broken the rules."

"Sneaking out and regicide are not even comparable."

"Hey," Todd said, pressing a finger against Ambrosius' armor. "Don't try to trick me with your fancy wordplay. Now tell me where he went!"

"I said I don't know," Ambrosius said, swatting away Todd's hand.

"Stop lying!" Todd yelled, stepping forward and shoving him hard.

Ambrosius staggered backward.

"Hey!" the medic called.

Ambrosius paid her no attention.

"I'm not lying!" Ambrosius shouted, striking Todd hard in the chest.

"That's enough!" the medic cried.

But Ambrosius could not hear her.

Blood was rushing in his ears. He watched as Todd gave a wicked smile, body slipping into a fighting stance. Ambrosius formed his hands into fists, barely registering the crimson on his gloves. All the anger and frustration within him was rising to the surface—

"What in Gloreth's name is going on here?" a new voice bellowed.

They both looked up. Standing at the threshold with an expression of frank irritation was Commander Cornelius. He was one of the most senior knights of the Institute, although he originated from a lesser noble house.

Todd and Ambrosius immediately stepped away from another. They hadn't even heard the door open.

"I was just asking him some questions," Todd explained. "He has to know—"

"Cadet Thoedus Sureblade," the Commander interrupted, saying the rank as if it was an insult; which it was. "If you have not noticed, there is a very important search going on just outside this room." His eyes narrowed. "Go make yourself useful."

Todd and his friends moved to leave, each shooting Ambrosius a look of hatred. In response, Ambrosius kept his fists clenched.

By Gloreth's grace the Commander seemed oblivious to this exchange, instead turning to address the medic.

"Would you mind giving us a few minutes?"

"Of course sir," the medic said, also stepping into the hall. The door closed behind her, blocking out all sound.

It was just Ambrosius and the Commander.

"I swear I had nothing to do with this," Ambrosius said. "You have to believe—"

The Commander glared at him.

Ambrosius immediately fell quiet, biting his lip. It was unbecoming to speak out of turn. He needed to remember his place. Gloreth's descendent or not, at this moment the Commander outranked him.

For a man from a lesser house, Cornelius carried his rank with calculated confidence. He scrutinized Ambrosius for a moment, then gestured to a nearby chair.

"Sit down."

Ambrosius lowered himself onto it. Although there were plenty of places to sit, the Commander kept standing, looking down at Ambrosius with an expression of unveiled contempt. Ambrosius was uncertain what to do. He had not had many interactions with the Commander and there was no protocol for private conversations like these.

"Now," the Commander said. "Do I think you are an accomplice in the Queen's assassination?" His eyes lingered on Ambrosius' gloves. "No. I am not dense enough to accuse Gloreth's descendant of that."

Ambrosius was struck with relief, followed closely by a sour wave of guilt. How shallow of him that in this moment, the Queen dead and Ballister gone, he was still preoccupied with maintaining his personal image.

Though he understood that his concern was not completely unfounded. Yes, he was Gloreth's descendant. And yes, that meant that everyone around him had always given him special treatment.

But Ambrosius knew that this was conditional.

They expected perfection, always and ever present perfection. Any slight deviation was completely unacceptable. The moment Ambrosius stopped. The moment he no longer lived up to the brilliant legend of Gloreth. Well…

"But the others are making some very logical arguments," the Commander continued. "The two of you were quite the pair. So if anyone knows where Ballister went, it will be you."

There was a charged silence.

The chair Ambrosius was sitting on, which honestly was more of a stool, teetered unsteadily beneath him. It could have been the weight of his armor.

Or maybe tonight's events had knocked him off balance in more ways than one.

The Commander was still waiting for a response.

"We frequented a few shops and restaurants," Ambrosius confessed, his throat tightening with every word. "But nothing he would be able to hide out in. Not in his condition at least."

The ache in his chest was only growing in intensity. The reality of the situation was hitting him more and more with each passing moment.

"And when you two would sneak out?"

"It wasn't like that. We never left the Institute, only going to the training center and around some of the grounds," Ambrosius said. "Our captain would tell you. We got caught a fair enough times."

The Commander only continued to stare.

"You have to know," Ambrosius said. "The Institute is Bal's entire life."

"He said that himself?" the Commander asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, he always said he was incredibly fortunate that the Queen even allowed him to train." The Queen. He shouldn't have mentioned her. It hurt even more to think of her. "And I could really tell he meant it."

The Commander's eyes shot up.

"I will pretend you did not just say that."

Ambrosius blinked, unsure what he meant.

The Commander moved on, without an explanation. "What was Ballister's opinion of her late Majesty?"

"Ballister absolutely admired her," Ambrosius said. "He always said she was one of the few people that believed in him. His own late parents were the only other people I have ever heard him—"

The Commander held up his hand.

"Now I am going to stop you right now," he said. "Before we continue, let me make this very clear: stop incriminating yourself."

Ambrosius was taken aback.

He took a moment to analyze his previous words. There is a difference between saying "Ballister admired the Queen" and "I know that Ballister admired the Queen." One was a fact. The other was grounds for self damnation.

In his fragile mental state, Ambrosius had not even realized he had phrased it that way.

And now, it was too late to recant.

"You said you didn't think I was an accomplice."

"And I do not," the Commander said. "However the entire kingdom watched as Ballister shot the Queen dead. Regardless of personal beliefs, that fact remains true. Now the situation, if you have not noticed, is very tumultuous. And it is only going to get worse. When that happens." His eyes rested meaningfully on Ambrosius. "Everyone will look to the Institute for guidance."

Ambrosius squared his shoulders, doing his best to keep his balance on the unsteady stool.

"And you doubt my abilities."

"You dropped your sword and collapsed in front of everyone."

Ambrosius returned the Commander's stare, unwilling to show any hint of weakness.

Or at least nothing more than he had already revealed.

He had been hoping that everyone was too preoccupied with the chaos to notice his shortcomings. But evidently, the Commander had. The panic, uneasy and uncomfortable, began twisting within him. Who else noticed? What would they do when they realized his faults?

His mind was starting to race, so Ambrosius took long slow breaths, using all his years of training to keep his composure. He tried to think of something comforting, something to calm him down.

His reckless mind conjured the image of Ballister on the rafters, laying his head upon Ambrosius' shoulder.

His heart twisted.

"You have no idea what I am going through," he said.

"You are correct," the Commander said. "Someone close to you committed treason, a situation that I absolutely cannot relate to at all." He drummed his fingers along the counter behind him. "But let me ask you this, Sir Goldenloin, what was your opinion regarding Ballister becoming a knight?"

Ambroius thought of them on the roof, so many years ago.

"I was proud of him," Ambrosius said. The Commander frowned, but Ambrosius ignored him. The man had asked for an opinion and Ambrosius was giving an honest answer. "Bal worked harder than everyone and graduated—"

"You misunderstand," the Commander said. "What is your opinion regarding a commoner becoming a knight?"

The words immediately stung.

Ambrosius studied Commander Cornelius. He was a knight, but from a frankly insignificant noble family. He had lived his entire life in the background. Yes, he had seniority status, but that was due to decades of longevity and patience, rather than actual ambition. His mind recalled that serene moment in the garden; it occurred to Ambrosius that Commander Cornelius had likely never felt the burning desire to gasp for power that was beyond oneself.

Or maybe he had simply given up trying.

"It's untraditional," Ambrosius said carefully, struggling to keep his voice from breaking. "But I trusted the Queen's judgment."

The Commander scoffed.

"Untraditional," he mocked. "A lot of people thought the same thing. And look what happened."

Ambrosius did not respond.

"Let me ask you this: what is Ballister's motive?"

Ambrosius almost laughed.

"How am I supposed to know that?"

"According to your fellow knights, you two spent virtually all your free time together. Even if he did not tell you about his plan, surely you must know something."

"Well, I don't," Ambrosius said.

"There was no indication at all? Not even an offhand comment or snide remark?" the Commander pressed. "Nothing?"

"Nothing." The word left him in a quiet breath. Impossibly, his armor felt even heavier. "Bal never said anything like that."

The Commander fell silent again, studying Ambrosius' expression.

It was true that Ballister was nervous about the ceremony, but that was completely normal. Anyone in his position would've been uneasy, especially with the momentous pressure of literally the entire kingdom scrutinizing his every action.

Ambrosius could personally vouch for how difficult that was.

Once again, he thought of that moment on the rafters. The way he had taken Ballister's hand in his own. The warmth as Ballister rested his weight on his shoulder, as they had done so many times before.

Ambrosius had thought it was a moment to cherish.

Did Bal think the same too?

One last moment before…

"It doesn't make sense," Ambrosius said. "Bal didn't hate the Queen. He adored her. There's no motive. None at all."

"At least none that you can think of," the Commander corrected. "It was said that you were the one who knew him the best. Perhaps you did not know him as well as you thought."

Ambrosius kept his eyes forward, trying to avoid looking at his hands.

"I guess I did not."

The Commander looked at him for a long moment before moving to leave. The conversation was over. Ambrosius closed his eyes for a long moment, it felt like the world was spinning around him. When he opened them again, he felt tears forming behind his eyes.

But he refused to let them fall.

"May I ask, Sir," Ambrosius said. "How can I contribute to the search?"

In lieu of response, the Commander opened the door and called the medic back inside.

"Yes?" the medic asked.

"We were just finishing up here," he said. "May I see your report?"

"Of course," she said, handing over the medical file.

The Commander thumbed through, humming discontentedly.

"I am afraid you missed something," the Commander said. "Sir Goldenloin sustained a small head injury from the falling rubble. Not enough to cause a concussion, but enough to be relieved for the night."

Ambrosius was on his feet in an instant.

"Sir?"

The medic looked between the Commander and Ambrosius.

"I'll amend the records," she said. "Forgive me for my oversight."

"No worries at all," the Commander said. "There is nothing to forgive."

Without even glancing in Ambrosius' direction, the Commander opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Ambrosius moved to follow him.

"You're taking me off the search?" he asked once he was through the doorway.

The Commander slowed his pace to a halt, turning his head in a scanning motion as if to make sure the hall was empty before acknowledging Ambrosius' presence.

"Yes," the Commander said matter of factly. "You are obviously not well enough for it."

"I have responsibilities—"

"Not tonight," the Commander said.

"But the Institute—"

"Sir Goldenloin, that is the third time you have spoken out of turn and I will not tolerate a fourth."

Ambrosius forced himself to hold his tongue.

"Now, if your conscience desires some pandering, feel free to go hug some grandmas or take pictures with babies. I do not care. But I do not want to see you out on the field. Not until you are ready to pick up your sword." He looked Ambrosius in the eye, a knowing look behind his eyes. "And actually mean it."

And with that, Commander Cornelius turned and left.

Ambrosius stood frozen in place, waiting for the footsteps to completely fade in the distance before he turned and collapsed against the hallway wall. It was made of solid brick and scrapped against his polished armor. He knew such a position was unbecoming for a knight of the realm; that if another individual were to come down the hall and find him in this state, indisposed, crinkling under the pressure…

But he did not care.

His entire world had combusted. The universe owed him this moment of indecency.

It was not fair. Nothing about the situation was fair.

For one moment, Ambrosius seriously considered defying orders and joining the search anyway; Cornelius' meddling be damned. He could do it. If he spun the argument the right way and claimed it was out of concern for the kingdom, he would probably get away with it too. An insignificant noble versus Gloreth's descendant. The winner of that debate was clear.

But Cornelius already knew that, didn't he?

Ambrosius groaned.

He was not thinking. The entire reason he got into this mess was because he had not stopped to think.

Besides, there was a more practical reason he could not join the search. Ambrosius brushed his hand against his hip, feeling the empty space where his sword was missing. Well, not missing per se, more like he had deliberately neglected to collect it.

It was on the ground when the projector fell. After that Ambrosius made no attempt to recover it. As he was exiting the arena, he caught sight of another knight pulling it from the rubble. The long golden blade was covered in dust and streaked with blood.

So no, he did not collect his sword.

Most likely, it ended up with the other evidence, which among other things included Ballister's own shattered sword and severed arm.

Ambrosius took a shuddering breath.

So no, Ambrosius was not eager to go find it either.

His first day as an official knight and he could not even summon the courage to wield his own sword.

Some descendent of Gloreth he was.

With such a weakness, it was no wonder Commander Cornelius was able to scrutinize him so thoroughly.

Ambrosius ran a hand through his hair. He had the most pathetic impulse to sit on the floor and draw his knees against his chest. The past few hours he had been so focused on holding himself together in front of the other knights. But now, finally alone in this empty hall, he just wanted to crumble. He wanted a hot shower and probably some sleep, something to put distance between his existence in the present moment and the events that had occurred mere hours earlier. Maybe then he could pretend this night never happened.

Maybe then the world would make more sense.

Ambrosius withdrew his hand, mildly surprised to see dust and ash clinging to his glove. Then again, he had been caught below a falling projector.

He knew he should go find a washroom and clean himself properly. It was bad enough that he collapsed in front of everyone, but to appear disheveled hours after the fact? He of all people could not afford to be caught looking so weak.

So Ambrosius pushed himself off the wall, steadied his balance, and began looking for the nearest washroom. There was the sound of voices around the upcoming corner. Ambrosius slowed to a halt, not in the mood to be hounded by the media.

"It's a maze down there," one voice said. "It'll take days to complete a proper search."

"Do we even need to?" another responded. "From the amount of blood…"

Ambrosius stiffened. It was a group of knights.

"He killed the Queen!"

"Still, a long trail of blood leading into the sewers…."

"And from there he could have resurfaced practically anywhere in the city."

"But the city is on lockdown," one said. "All the streets are practically deserted. Even if he escaped the tunnels, how would he get help?"

Ambrosius stood still, transfixed. His brain ceased to operate.

"I think our chances are pretty good," one said. "If somehow he manages to not bleed out, his wound doesn't get infected…"

"And he doesn't end up getting eaten by rats."

"How? He was wearing armor!"

"Again if all of those very slim possibilities end up happening, then we will need to organize a search of the tunnels," he said. "But I don't think we'll have much to do for the rest of the night."

"Well I hope he goes over the wall and never returns."

"What about the monsters?"

"What about them? Maybe they'll welcome his company."

Their words were making his head begin to pound. Sure, knights were preferable to the media, but that didn't mean Ambrosius was eager to face them either, especially in his current state. He resolved to wait a few more moments, to see if they would leave.

"We never should have trusted him," one knight said. "Royal blessing or not, he was a commoner. Gloreth was very clear on who could and could not become a knight."

"Well I just hope we find him quickly," someone said.

"Why? Afraid of him?"

"No," the original voice said. "But if he hasn't bled to death by now, he'll be in shock. That means we have a very short window before he recovers and starts causing problems again."

"If he ever recovers."

Ambrosius had heard enough.

He steeled his nerves and rounded the corner.

"Excuse me," Ambrosius said, walking straight past them.

He was almost at the end of the wall, when he heard in a hushed whisper.

"Do you think he knew?"

Ambrosius was barely even registering where he was walking now. All he could do was turn the knight's words over in his head, over and over and over.

The arm.

Ambrosius wished everyone would stop talking about the arm.

He could still hear Ballister's scream reverberating within his ears.

For the first time since the incident, he dared to analyze the events in his mind.

Traditionally, they were to be knighted in order of class ranking. However, it was controversial enough to knight a commoner, let alone first. The senior knights had spent days arguing over this matter. Eventually, a compromise was reached. Ambrosius, direct descendant of Gloreth, would be knighted first, then they would proceed in order of class ranking.

After the knighting order was made official, Ballister had joked aloud what they would do when there wasn't Gloreth's descendant to act as a buffer. Though much later, the day before the ceremony, Ballister would voice his relief about the change. With downcast eyes, Ballister said he could settle for being knighted last.

In any case, Ambrosius was knighted first. After the Queen returned his sword, he went to stand next to the Director. Then it was Ballister's turn.

Ballister approached the Queen and kneeled before her, eyes trained on the floor. Ambrosius had interpreted that as a sign of nervousness. Then there was the Queen's speech, proclaiming that anyone, noble blood or not, would be able to yield the sword. After which, Ballister was knighted.

For a moment, the kingdom stood still. Ambrosius, confined to his spot on the stage, looked up into the crowd and prayed.

Then the crowd had exploded, cheering and chanting Ballister's new name. Ambrosius himself had been overcome with emotion, happy jubilation in his chest as he took a few steps forward to cheer Ballister's name louder. Their eyes met briefly—

And then the weapon activated.

Ambrosius' attention was drawn to the laser, eyes following the Queen as she fell. He did not realize that his limbs were moving on reflex, movement carrying him forward, hand reaching for his sword.

And suddenly his vision was overcome with red.

There was a scream. It took a moment to realize it was coming from Ballister. His eyes laid on him briefly, an expression of pain, the agony, the wide eyed disbelief. All directed at Ambrosius—

Had there really been no indication at all?

No comment? No resentment? As far as Ambrosius could remember, Ballister always spoke highly of the Queen. He could still remember how Ballister's expression would light up with a wide grin whenever she would visit the Institute. He was always eager to impress her; to do anything to show his gratitude. Ambrosius had meant every single self incriminating and damning statement he had told Commander Cornelius. As far as he could tell, Ballister had absolutely adored the Queen.

And yet…

That one moment right before the projector fell. Was that really a look of disbelief? Did Ballister actually think Ambrosius would continue to stand by him? Despite everything he did?

Would Ambrosius?

Ambrosius rubbed his eyes.

Half a decade ago, they had sat atop the academy's roof and Ambrosius had explained every weakness in their armor.

And Ambrosius had been right.

He could have aimed for the weapon. Or the wrist. Or the elbow.

But he went for the shoulder.

Then again, it could have been much worse. They had not been wearing helmets. Ballister was lucky that he went for a wild upward slash, and not a deceive forward stab.

But maybe then Ballister would not be bleeding out in the sewers. Alone.

Ambrosius groaned. These were dangerous thoughts.

There were other knights on the stage, but since Ambrosius was knighted first, he was the closest. Had Ballister counted on that? Did he calculate that into his plans, knowing that Ambrosius would be too weak to follow through?

Ambrosius looked down at his hands. A wave of emotions overtook him and he had to steady himself. Despite everything, Ambrosius wished he could take it back. He wished he could have Ballister back.

He knew it was not possible.

His mindless walking had led him to a dead end. Ambrosius had completely overshot the washroom. By a lot.

It was an embarrassing few minutes before Ambrosius managed to locate another one at the other end of the hall. He pushed past the door—

And stopped.

There is a knight in the mirror. With golden armor and blood speckled gloves. A figure bearing downcast eyes…and the empty look of another man.

Ambrosius turned around and left. Forget looking presentable. The bleached blond hid the dust anyway.

The most reasonable course of action would be to head back to the Institute. Ambrosius fully understood this fact and deeply dreaded it at the same time. As established, he was not in the mood to be around other knights. Frankly at this moment, he did not want to be around himself either. If it was possible to climb out of one's skin and walk away from this material world, he would have done it immediately. But at least if he went home, he could get away from some of the madness of this night.

Home.

Dammit .

He had not even thought about his room.

It had been assigned to him a few months ago, when graduation was close approaching. Technically cadets were to live in the dormitory until after the ceremony. However, being Gloreth's descendant had its perks, so when a room became available, Ambrosius was offered it. It was a small studio, but more than enough space after years in the dormitory.

On paper it was Ambrosius', but without intending to, it had become a space for the two of them.

The change had occurred naturally. In the weeks leading up to their final exams they would stay up late studying, Ballister only returning to the shared dormitory long after the other cadets had gone to sleep. He claimed it was so they wouldn't gang up on him, but Ambrosius also suspected it was so they could spend more time alone. As the days went on, Ballister started going back to the dormitory later and later after dark. Until they would spend whole nights together, curled up on the tiny single mattress, legs intertwined, elbowing each other in the gut every time one of them shifted.

But that space belonged to them, blissfully and solely their own.

Ambrosius thought of their coats hanging near the door, their textbooks on the shelf. The dining table was still half occupied by some project Ballister hadn't been able to finish before the rush of final exams.

He thought of the bottle of champagne and the box of sweets he had stashed in the back of the closet. They had been on a strict diet and training regime for the lead up to their practical exams. So it was a gift for Ballister, to share together after they had both been knighted.

And now they never would.

How many months had Ambrosius spent fantasizing about their lives after the ceremony? How many hours had he pondered the years they would fashion together?

After Ballister was officially knighted, no one would have been able to deny his place in the Institute. Once other commoners started training, Ballister would no longer be the sole exception. And slowly, the people would shift from despising him to looking to him for guidance.

When they were ready, Ambrosius would proclaim his love, publicly, for everyone to see. They would get an apartment or house somewhere in the city, away from the prying eye of the Institute and its traditionalist knights. Ambrosius had this idea for a sunroom with wide open windows to let in light, walls overflowing with vibrant green plants, and in the middle of it all, a cozy couch for them to lay on and bask in the sunlight.

They would be together.

How foolish had he been?

So instead of turning towards another washroom or the exit or even to go track down his sword, Ambrosius found the nearest stairwell and started climbing. The movement felt good. It felt like he was doing something, accomplishing something, even though he was only walking in circles. He focused on the strain on his muscles, crushing all thoughts in his mind.

At the top floor, he pushed upon the door to the roof, welcoming the cool night air on his skin. It was empty. Before him, he could gaze upon the imposing figure of Gloreth's statue.

She had vanished monsters.

And Ambrosius could barely summon the strength to wield his own sword.

The knights were right when they said the streets were practically deserted. Down below in the city, people were stuttering windows, hanging black fabric outside them in mourning. The ever present billboards and neon signs were turning dark. He thought of Ballister roaming those dark streets, delirious from blood loss, hurting, lost and alone.

Ambrosius leaned against the rail and tried his best not to cry.

Ambrosius knew he was not thinking clearly. If it were any other person who killed the Queen, he would be out there in the street, searching for vengeance.

But then again, if it were any other person, Bal would still be right beside him.

He stood watching the back of Gloreth's statue. The seconds ticked by, then minutes, then hours. As the sun rose, he remained in her shadow.

Sometime after dawn, there was the sound of the door opening and closing behind him.

"Ambrosius," the Director said. "I have been looking for you."

Ambrosius took a deep breath before turning around.

"Am I needed in the city?" he asked, straightening his posture.

The Director didn't immediately answer, taking a moment to study him.

"With your injury, I thought you would have returned to the Institute."

Evidently, both the medic and Cornelius had not said anything.

"It was minor," Ambrosius lied. "And I wanted to observe the state of the kingdom."

The Director stared at him for a moment too long and for a second Ambrosius wondered if she believed him.

"Very well," she said. "I came to inform you that the morning news will start in a couple of hours. It would reassure the kingdom if you were to make a statement."

"I'll be there," Ambrosius said.

Her eyes rested on his disheveled hair, his dusty armor. "Take some time to freshen up before you do."

"Of course," Ambrosius said. He knew the comment wasn't for his betterment. In order to regain the people's confidence, they needed to portray an image of unity and control.

He felt foolish for his cowardice. He should have forced himself to return to his room.

"I understand this is a very difficult time," the Director said. "To think that Ballister would do such a thing. He deceived and betrayed us all."

Ambrosius forced himself to look up and meet her gaze.

"Yet, I must thank you," she said. "In this time of crisis there was a threat, a villain, a monster in our midst, and you did not hesitate to take the first step to vanishing it. You disarmed him."

Ambrosius wanted to scream.

A mere handful of hours ago, the Director had praised Ballister. And now, she was commending his mutilation. He wanted to plead, to beg. The Director knew Ballister almost as well as Ambrosius had. Surely, she would know that Ballister would never do anything like this.

But Ambrosius knew better.

"May I ask if…" Ambrosius started. "Has the search discovered anything? Perhaps a motive or…?"

"I'm afraid not," the Director said. "But the facts we have tell a clear story. It was Ballister's own sword that killed the Queen. He was known for his ingenuity and inventions. He also had lingering aggression to the other knights, possibly to the Intuition as a whole."

Ambrosius felt a tightening in his throat.

"And you were there, you witnessed everything. Even before the tragedy of tonight, Ballister never belonged. He was never going to," the Director said. "Perhaps this was just… inevitable"

Ambrosius looked away.

But they had been in love.

And he had been so certain that tonight would be a new start for them.

"Listen Ambrosius," the Director said. "I know you two used to be close, but you need to distance yourself from him. If not for your own sake, then for the sake of the Kingdom. Now more than ever we need strong leaders to carry us through these difficult times. As a direct descendant of Gloreth, that responsibility lies with you."

Ambrosius met her gaze. Despite the utter destruction of this night, she was still strong and composed. He needed to find a similar strength within himself.

The Director stepped closer and for the first time Ambrosius noticed that she had brought him his sword. She presented it to him.

"You already have taken the first step," she said. "Now is the time to pick up your sword and follow through."

Ambrosius took it with unsteady hands. The weight was comfortable and familiar.

It sickened him.

"Thank you," Ambrosius said. "Rest assured that I will do everything to prove myself as a knight worthy of the Institute, worthy of Gloreth."

For a moment she seemed to scrutinize him, then she nodded.

"I'm certain you will," she said. "I'll see you at the press release. Do not forget what we have discussed."

"Yes, ma'am," he said as she departed.

The moment the door closed, Ambrosius looked down at the sword in his hands.

For years he had carried this sword without even contemplating its implications. What was there to consider? He was a knight. He needed a sword. A decade ago he had gone into the Goldenloin armory and chosen one. He remembered that he had picked this sword specifically because it fit the current aesthetics. It was something that would represent the Institute, something that Gloreth would be proud to wield.

Had he really been so naive?

He had not considered what it would mean to truly wield it. What it meant to use it in battle. To harm another.

And now he could not stop thinking about it. He studied the easy grip of the hilt. The heavy golden metal gleamed in the predawn light. Someone had taken the time to clean it.

As Ambrosius held the weapon, he thought simply: this is the sword that cut off my lover's arm.

But that was not exactly right, was it. The sword did not yield itself. It did not fly through the air on its own accord. Ambrosius stared at his hand. It was his hand that did it. His brain. His body.

I was the one who cut off my boyfriend's arm.

He did not even have the right to call it a mistake. Such a word implied that the action was misguided, wrong. However that assessment was entirely incorrect, the cruel truth was that Ambrosius was completely flawless in his actions. He had followed the exact training that the Institute had ingrained into his very soul: if there is a threat, you kill it.

How many training dummies had he beheaded? How many times had he smiled while doing it?

If Ballister died, it would be completely his fault.

With that solemn thought, the heavy sobs began to wrack itself through his body. Ambrosius crumbled to his knees, he dropped the sword, letting it fall to the ground. He wrapped his arms around himself, tears overflowing from his eyes.

He cried because Ballister was gone. He cried because the Queen was dead. He cried because it was all his fault. He cried because despite it all, he still loved Ballister. He loved him more than anything in the world.

And now he had lost him forever.

This was the truth. Even if Ballister survives his injury, Ambrosius is still going to have to live without him.

Because Ballister killed the Queen.

A mere 12 hours ago, Ambrosius had been absolutely certain that Ballister would never ever harm the Queen. But then again, 12 hours ago Ambrosius would have sworn with even greater fervor that he would never harm Ballister.

And yet he did.

Without even a moment's hesitation.

So what else was possible?

Ambrosius did not know how long he stayed on the roof, crying. But eventually, the sobs wracking his body began to slow. Ambrosius wiped his eyes and stared down at his sword, once against laying on the ground.

It appeared that Ambrosius had been wrong, all those years ago. Ballister was not his weakness.

He had made Ambrosius weak.

Ballister had chiseled his way into Ambrosius' guarded heart and like a fool Ambrosius had welcomed him. Then he stood utterly helpless as Ballister had shattered it to pieces.

Ambrosius recalled how the Director had carried herself, composed and calm. In spite of everything, she was able to remain strong.

Ambrosius knew that whatever brokenness remained inside him, whatever vulnerability he possessed, he needed to swallow it down. Drag it into the darkest and deepest depths of his being. Let the outer shell of himself become the descendant of Gloreth everyone expected him to be, the leader the kingdom revered.

Ambrosius was a knight.

He was Gloreth's heir.

And it was the only thing he had left.

Ambrosius' looked up. The morning sun was rising over the wall. Gloreth was a blazing silhouette. From his vantage point, he was still in her shadows.

Ambrosius wiped his eyes again. He wrapped a hand around the hilt of his sword, and pushing through the nausea, forced himself to stand up.

The kingdom needed him. There was the press release. After that, there would be the preparations for the Queen's memorial. Traditionally, there would be a candlelight vigil followed by a lengthy mourning period.

After all that was addressed, there would be the search for Ballister.

His heart panged again, but it was a manageable pain.

Ambrosius could collect himself, picking up the pieces of his broken heart. He could conquer his weaknesses and portray an image of strength and unity. He would endure it, broken and tattered and falling apart at the seams.

He had survived the night. Once again, his sword was firmly in his hand. Ambrosius knew that he would have to use the weapon again. And next time, he would have to mean it.

With that resolution, Ambrosius stepped out into the light.