Lowell's late arrival at the dormitory meant that he had missed the traditional mealtime. The mess hall was eerily quiet, its long wooden tables devoid of the usual clamor of students sharing stories and laughter over their meals. The only sound was the soft clinking of his spoon against the bowl as he ate his late supper in solitude.

  The stew was still warm, but it did little to chase away the chill that had settled in his bones. He could feel the rough grain of the wooden table beneath his fingertips as he traced idle patterns, the familiar texture offering no comfort tonight.

  Gol sat across from him, her arms crossed over her chest, and her tail flicking with impatience. Her expression was a mix of disappointment and concern, etched deeply into her reptilian features. The dim lighting cast shadows across the scales of her face, giving her an even more imposing presence. He could hear the subtle rasp of her breathing, the way her claws tapped rhythmically against the wooden surface. She had been waiting for him, and her patience was wearing thin.

  Lowell looked up, meeting her gaze with rebellious eyes. "I didn't do anything, Gol." His tone was defensive, but there was an underlying guilt he couldn't quite mask. He knew better than to argue with the cook of the Black Boars. Not even Schwartz could win those arguments.

  Gol's eyes narrowed, her voice low and even, yet carrying the weight of an undeniable truth. "Don't lie to me, Lowell. I know you're hiding something. And you have clearly lost your father's sword. Well?"

  Lowell shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze dropping to the bowl of stew in front of him. The rich, savory aroma that usually brought comfort felt heavy now. He picked at the bread on the plate beside it, tearing off small pieces but not eating them. His hands felt empty without the familiar weight of his father's sword at his side, and he found himself reaching for it instinctively, only to grasp at air. The pendant around his neck felt heavier than usual as well, a constant reminder of what he had lost.

  "It isn't lost, Gol." He didn't speak loudly in response, regret and resignation mixing together in his statement. "I just don't have it anymore." His tone was reluctant, as if admitting defeat to the one person he couldn't hide from. It was impossible to mask the pain he felt.

  Gol's face darkened further, her expression a storm of anger and worry. Her claws tapped against the wooden table, a rhythmic reminder of her disapproval. "You're not even bothering to try to find it?" The question might as well have been an accusation, sharp and disapproving.

  Lowell finally looked up, his eyes flashing with a mix of resentment and raw emotion. "It's just a sword." The words left his mouth before he could stop them. But the instant they hung in the air, a knot twisted in his chest, the bitterness of the lie almost choking him. His father's sword wasn't just a weapon. The truth of that loss burned behind his defiance, but exhaustion and pride kept him from admitting it. Deep down, he knew Gol was right, and that truth gnawed at him more than he cared to show.

  The sword and his pendant were the last tangible links to his parents.

  They were more than keepsakes, though; they were also reminders of the night his village burned, the night he lost his parents. He could still hear his mother's voice calling his name, his father's strong hands lifting him to safety. The smell of smoke and the crackle of flames were etched into his memory like scars. Those memories haunted him. Part of him had felt relief when the sword was confiscated. It was almost freeing, like shedding a weight he hadn't realized he was carrying. But now, in the quiet of the mess hall, he felt the absence like a phantom limb.

  Gol's stern expression softened slightly as she saw the flicker of shame cross Lowell's face. She reached across the table, her large, scaled hand resting gently on his shoulder. Her touch was warm, grounding him in the present. He could feel the rough texture of her scales against his skin, the steady pressure of her grip. It was the same hand that had bandaged his wounds when he was smaller, comforted him when the nightmares came. She had been there through it all.

  "Marius lost that sword once, too, you know?" Soft now, tinged with a distant nostalgia.

  Lowell's eyes widened in surprise. Marius? His father? The thought of his father losing the blade felt impossible, almost as if hearing that could somehow tarnish the image he held onto so tightly.

  A deep, rumbling chuckle filled in the quiet hall. "Schwartz gave it to him. Had it specially crafted after they finished a job in some old ruins. It wasn't just any blade; it was a symbol of trust, of the bond they forged through fire and blood." The memory carried her back to another time, of stories told around campfires and the quiet moments she had shared with the Black Boars between battles. She had been there, had seen the way Schwartz and Marius fought together, the way they trusted each other with their lives.

  She leaned back slightly, her gaze drifting into the shadows of the mess hall, as if seeing ghosts from a time long past. "Marius misplaced it during a mission. He was devastated. Thought he'd let everyone down. But Schwartz, he just laughed and said, 'It's just a sword. We'll find it or get another. What matters is you.'"

  Gol's eyes returned to Lowell, her gaze now softer, filled with an understanding that pierced through his rebellious facade. "But your father still found it, didn't he? Because it mattered to him, just like it matters to you." She squeezed his shoulder gently. "Lowell, I know you're capable of taking care of yourself," she continued, firm but gentle. "But you don't have to carry everything alone. Trusting others doesn't make you weak." Her eyes, filled with a mix of warmth and unspoken worry, met his. "I won't always be here."

  Lowell felt a lump form in his throat, the weight of her words sinking deep. He nodded slightly, unable to find the right words to respond. Gol gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before standing, her presence commanding even in the quiet. He could hear the soft rustle of her scales as she moved, the way her tail swished gently behind her. She was giving him space, but he could feel her watching him, waiting for the right moment to continue.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Before she left, Lowell's voice finally broke through the silence, laden with the weight of questions that had haunted him since arriving in Dahncrest. "Why did Schwartz abandon us?"

  The words hung in the air, heavy and accusing. Gol didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched, and with each passing heartbeat, Lowell felt the fragile dam inside him start to crack. He could hear his own breathing, the way it hitched in his chest. The room seemed to grow smaller, the walls closing in around them.

  It was true. He was abandoned.

  "Schwartz didn't abandon us." Her voice quiet, like gravel grinding against stone.

  The words crashed into him like a wave. Lowell's eyes shot up to meet hers, disbelief flickering in his gaze. He wanted to believe her. Needed to. But how could he?

  "Schwartz didn't abandon you," Gol repeated, this time firmly, resonating like the clang of a blacksmith's hammer striking steel.

  Lowell staggered under the weight of those words. Gol had never lied to him before. But this felt like a betrayal of what he knew to be true. He could feel the ground shifting beneath him, the foundation of everything he believed crumbling away. His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the edge of the table, seeking something solid to hold onto.

  "Then why..." he began, but he faltered, the question collapsing under the weight of his doubt.

  "Why leave you here in Dahncrest? Leave you in a dormitory run by an old guild quartermaster?" A rough, chortling laugh echoed off the stone walls, more bitter than amused. "Why do you think, stupid boy?"

  Lowell's fists clenched at his sides. The ache in his chest flared hotter. "Orus..."

  Her sharp features eased as she saw the struggle etched across Lowell's face. "Your mother, father, and Schwartz met during their academy years."

  Lowell blinked. The revelation felt like a foreign language in his mouth. He'd never heard this before. "They went to Orus?"

  A wry smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Only Schwartz. They all went to different schools. They first met when they competed against each other during the Acadethalon." Her gaze grew distant, lost in memories that Lowell could only guess at. The room seemed to shrink around them. "Schwartz knew he and the Black Boars couldn't give you what you needed. He wanted you to have a proper education, so he brought you to the one place he knew could. Your father, your mother, Schwartz. They were all forged by their years in the guild academies."

  Lowell nodded slowly, the pieces of a puzzle he didn't realize he was building falling into place. But the gaps still yawned wide, gnawing at him.

  "And you?" he asked, the words quiet, more fragile.

  Her posture straightened, chest puffed out slightly. "I left because Schwartz asked me to be your guardian." She scoffed, but there was a warmth beneath it, like embers hidden beneath ash. "The Black Boars are probably out there fumbling through their supplies, surviving on whatever greasy tavern fare they can find. I bet they're packing on pounds from all that fried bread and ale."

  There was fondness in the way she spoke, a wistful warmth that missed the chaos and camaraderie of guild life. But there was no regret in her eyes, only the steady certainty of someone who had made the right choice.

  Gol's attempt at humor landed awkwardly, but Lowell found himself smiling and unable to suppress a small laugh. A short, bitter sound that surprised him. Everything felt a little lighter as a result.

  The truth was messier than he expected. Schwartz hadn't abandoned him. But that didn't make the ache in his chest disappear. The Black Boars were his family. And now... now he was supposed to forge something new here.

  Lowell wasn't sure.

  But maybe, just maybe, found family wasn't about who you were with from the start. Maybe it was about who stayed when things got hard. And for the first time in a long while, he wondered if he might let himself find out.

  Gol watched him for a moment longer, her sharp eyes softening as she saw the shift in his expression. That subtle, almost imperceptible flicker of understanding. She knew he was piecing it together, even if he wasn't ready to admit it yet. She gave him space, letting the silence settle, heavy with the weight of realization.

  "Finish your dinner." Her tone snapped him back to the present, brooking no room for argument. With that, she turned and moved to the other side of the mess hall, her broad shoulders hunched as she methodically cleaned the tables, preparing the space for the morning meal. The clatter of dishes and the steady rhythm of her work filled the room, but Lowell remained rooted in his thoughts.

  As he took another bite of stew, its warmth spread through his body, but it did little to thaw the chill clinging to his heart. The image of his father's blade, gleaming in the firelight of his memories, lingered like a ghost. He thought of Schwartz, of the Black Boars, and of the family he had lost, found again, and then lost once more.

  But then his mind drifted to Bart. To that nightmarish fight they faced together. The terror had been overwhelming, the danger real, but so was the connection that had formed between them in that crucible of fear. They hadn't just fought side by side; they had trusted each other without needing to say it. Bart's stubbornness, his clumsy bravery, the way he had stood his ground even when his hands were shaking. All of it had earned Lowell's respect, had forged a silent bond between them that went deeper than mere acquaintance. A bond that Lowell was reluctant to acknowledge.

  Without Dahncrest, without Orus, without this strange twist of fate, that bond might never have existed. Schwartz had known that. He had planned for it. Lowell wasn't here just to learn how to wield a blade or cast a spell. He was here to find his people. His new family.

  Lowell set his spoon down, the realization settling over him like the weight of his father's blade in his hand. He couldn't keep running from his past. But he didn't have to face it alone. Not anymore.

  Her voice broke through his thoughts again, this time softer, but no less firm. "When you're done brooding, get some rest. Tomorrow's another day, and you'll need your strength. Life doesn't wait for anyone, not even you, boy."

  Lowell allowed himself a small, wry smile. Maybe she was right. For the first time in a long while, the idea of facing tomorrow didn't feel so heavy. The shadows of his past were still there, lingering at the edges, but they no longer felt insurmountable. He had people who stood by his side. Bart, Gol, and perhaps others yet to come. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start forging something new. The ache of loss didn't vanish, but it dulled in the presence of hope. And for the first time, Lowell felt the stirrings of belonging in this strange new place.

  The mess hall felt different now, warmer somehow, as if the truth had finally carved out its rightful place between them. He could hear the distant sounds of the city outside, the gentle hum of life continuing on, and for once, it didn't feel like he was on the outside looking in.