Ludger led the group a short distance from the house, stopping in the open yard where no building had been erected. The morning wind cut through the air, carrying that clean northern chill, and the five kids stood in a straight, uneasy line before him — backs stiff, eyes alert.

They looked nervous, though they tried hard not to show it. Ludger crossed his arms, sizing them up.

He was shorter than all three of the boys — barely came up to one’s shoulder, actually — and about level with the two girls. Given his age and his calm, almost detached tone, his posture came off as oddly authoritative for someone who looked like he should be the recruit.

Still, none of them dared react. Either Viola’s grandfather had drilled the order into them not to question him, or they’d already heard enough stories to keep their mouths shut.

“Alright,” Ludger began, his voice steady but firm. “I’m Ludger — founder of the Lionsguard Guild and vice guild leader.”

The title hung in the air. Even the wind seemed to pause for a second.

He continued, tone casual but edged with command. “You’re here because Lord Torvares decided we need new recruits. That means you’ll be working for the guild, and by extension, under my supervision.”

He gave them a brief smirk. “Congratulations.”

No one laughed.

He exhaled lightly. “Names. One at a time.”

The first to step forward was a dark-haired boy with broad shoulders and a soldier’s posture — probably the oldest of the group. He saluted briefly. “Derrin Alvo, sir. Former trainee of the Seventh Border Garrison. I was told my spearsmanship met your standards.”

Ludger studied him for a second. The kid’s grip on the weapon at his hand was clean — no fidgeting, no nervous twitch. Solid foundation. “We’ll see about that,” Ludger said simply.

Next was a shorter girl with pale blond hair tied back in a loose braid, bow strapped neatly across her back. Her expression was neutral, eyes sharp. “Mira Voss. Hunter. Graduated from the Hunter’s Lodge in the southern marches.”

“Hunter’s Lodge?” Ludger asked, mildly impressed. 

He had heard a bit from Yvar, there was a hunter’s school as well, one that taught archery and tracking.

“Yes, sir,” she said, not breaking eye contact.

Ludger gave a faint nod. Disciplined. Calm. She’ll last.

The third stepped forward — a wiry boy with reddish hair and ink stains on his sleeves. “Taron Elst. I specialize in field magic and alchemy. Mostly potions and ward runes.”

Ludger raised an eyebrow. “Runes? At your age?”

The boy adjusted his spectacles. “…I’m not good with swords.”

Yvar, standing off to the side, looked almost proud. “Ah. A scholar type. We could use more of those.”

Next came a girl with short black hair and striking amber eyes. She looked around thirteen, and there was something about her stance — coiled energy, like she was ready to move at any second. “Rhea Cael,” she said. “Martial trainee. No family name, no sponsor. I fight barehanded.”

Ludger’s brows rose slightly. “No weapons?”

“Don’t need them,” she said, blunt but not rude.

He gave a small, approving smile. “We’ll test that soon.”

Finally, the last recruit stepped up — a slim, silver-haired boy who looked far too calm for someone surrounded by strangers. His voice was even, polite. “Callen Vort. My family’s been in Lord Torvares’s service for three generations. I’m proficient with short blades and water magic.”

Ludger studied him a moment longer than the rest. The boy’s tone was respectful, but his gaze had a quiet sharpness — like someone who noticed everything but said little. Besides, silver hair… That was extremely rare. 

When the introductions were done, Ludger nodded slowly. “Alright. Derrin, Mira, Taron, Rhea, Callen.” He looked them over again, his tone cooling slightly. “You’re a mixed bunch. That’s good — and a problem. You’ll learn to work as one, or you’ll wash out fast.”

None of them flinched. That was a good start.

Ludger turned slightly toward Yvar. “We’ll run them through basic coordination drills tomorrow. I want to see what they can actually do, in the labyrinth.”

“Understood,” Yvar said, adjusting his notes.

Ludger looked back at the five new recruits, his green eyes gleaming faintly under the pale light. “Welcome to the north,” he said. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Then, with that same sharp smirk that his father always teased him for, he turned away — the scarf Viola had given him fluttering behind him as the recruits exchanged wary glances.

They’d expected a child.

What they got instead was a commander.

When the recruits finally dispersed — following Yvar toward the training quarters — Ludger exhaled and rolled his shoulders. The whole “commander routine” drained him more than fighting frost skeletons. Still, it had to be done. First impressions mattered, especially when half your guild thought you were still a kid who couldn’t reach the top shelf.

He made his way back home, scarf flicking lightly in the northern wind. The door creaked as he stepped inside — and there they were.

Arslan and Elaine, sitting side by side at the table.

Elaine had her arms crossed, her expression halfway between concern and lecture mode. Arslan, on the other hand, looked entirely too relaxed — smirking faintly, as if he already knew what conversation was about to happen.

Ludger sighed. “…You two look like you’re about to start a war council.”

Elaine tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “We heard about your little meeting with the recruits.”

Of course they did. News traveled fast in a small town full of bored northerners and nosy soldiers. Well, they probably heard the meeting since it happened fifty meters away from home.

“I didn’t yell at anyone,” Ludger said defensively, holding up his hands.

Elaine sighed softly. “That’s not the issue. You could’ve been a little nicer, you know? They’re children, Ludger. Around your age. You finally have people near you who aren’t adults or soldiers — maybe try making friends instead of scaring them.”

Ludger blinked. “Friends?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Mom, they’re recruits, not classmates.”

“That’s exactly my point!” she said, her tone soft but firm. “You’re always surrounded by adults and fighters. Those kids came all the way from the south — they’re nervous, and they probably admire you already. You could at least try to make them feel welcome.”

Before Ludger could answer, Arslan cleared his throat, the faintest grin tugging at his mouth. “He did fine.”

Elaine shot him a look. “Fine? He intimidated them.”

Arslan shrugged. “Good. Keeps them sharp.”

“Arslan—”

He raised a hand calmly. “Listen. You’re not wrong, but neither is he. This isn’t a classroom, it’s a guild. If Ludger starts treating them like friends before they’ve proven anything, it’ll mess with the chain of command. Respect has to come before familiarity — otherwise you get a mess when orders start flying.”

Elaine frowned slightly but didn’t argue right away.

Arslan continued, his tone more measured now. “Once they’ve earned their place, then he can treat them like comrades. But until then, it’s better to keep a line. The north’s harsh, and if they’re going to survive here, they need to learn that discipline early. You shouldn’t think that I decided to give my life to protect Harold, Selene, Aleia, and Cor the very moment I met them.”

Ludger smirked faintly. “Didn’t think you’d defend me, Dad.”

Arslan snorted. “Don’t get used to it. I’m just saying you’re not wrong — this time.”

Elaine sighed again, softer now, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I understand that, but it doesn’t change the fact that you could show a little more warmth. You don’t have to be cold to earn respect.”

Ludger rubbed the back of his head, trying not to smile. “I’ll… try not to scare them too much. Happy?”

“Moderately,” Elaine said, but she smiled anyway.

Arslan chuckled, standing up and clapping Ludger lightly on the shoulder. “You did good, kid. Keep your edge sharp — just remember what your mother said too. Discipline without heart makes soldiers, not comrades. We are making a guild, not an army.”

Ludger nodded slowly, filing that away. “Got it.”

Elaine leaned in, kissing her son’s forehead despite his immediate groan. “Good. And maybe next time, invite them for dinner. You could use some friends your own age.”

“Mom,” Ludger muttered, exasperated. “I’m literally building a guild, not a social club.”

Arslan grinned. “Same thing, really.”

Ludger sighed, defeated. “…I’m going to train for a bit.”

Elaine chuckled softly, and as he retreated toward his room, he could still hear his father’s teasing voice echo behind him:

“Work on your leadership and your people skills, Commander.”

Ludger smirked faintly, closing the door behind him. “Yeah, yeah…”

For all their differences, his parents made one hell of a balance — and as much as he’d never admit it out loud, he was lucky to have both voices keeping him grounded.

After breakfast, Ludger slipped on his boots, tugged his scarf into place, and headed out toward the southern wall. The spring air still had a bite to it, but the wind was calm, and the town was already stirring awake — smiths hammering at dawn, merchants unpacking crates, and soldiers trading shifts at the gates.

The southern wall stretched ahead, sturdy and lined with new timber and stone. He’d been meaning to remake it with magic once things quieted down, but as he got closer, he realized someone had beaten him to it.

The repairs were already done.

Not with mana-carved perfection, but by hand — rough-hewn planks, stone mortar, and visible sweat marks where men had worked through the cold. The craftsmanship wasn’t flawless, but it held solid, even stubbornly so.

Ludger ran his palm along the wall, feeling the grit of the mortar. “Huh,” he murmured, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess they didn’t need me this time.”

He could tell just by the uneven pattern that this wasn’t Yvar’s organization — this was pure imperial handiwork. Muscle over magic.

Maybe he’d picked up some of that attitude himself. That blunt, uncompromising edge that valued results over polish from the northerners. It would explain why the meeting with the recruits had gone the way it did — less charm, more command.

He exhaled lightly through his nose. “Yeah… maybe I’ve been up here too long.”

Still, the wall held strong, and with that checked off his list, there was one thing left he’d been putting off. His other project.

The one no one knew about.

He turned and walked back toward home, boots crunching over the frostbitten dirt. When he reached his room, he closed the door quietly behind him and activated the lock. The air around him shifted as mana hummed faintly in the walls.

Outside, the world stayed calm for exactly three seconds.

Then the ground rumbled.

The house shuddered once — a deep, low quake that rattled plates in the kitchen and sent a few toys rolling across the twins’ cradle.

In the main room, Elaine froze mid-lullaby, her eyes flicking toward the ceiling. “…Arslan.”

Arslan didn’t even look up from the cup of tea he was pouring. “Yeah?”

“Did you feel that?”

He took a slow sip. “Yep.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Should we… check?”

Arslan thought about it for a second, then exhaled through his nose. “Nope.”

Elaine frowned. “You’re not even curious what he’s doing?”

“Oh, I am,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Just not that much curious. Let’s give the kid some privacy and I feel like it would be more fun to learn it by surprise.”

The house gave another faint shake, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a mana discharge — a soft thrum that vibrated through the floorboards.

Elaine sighed, cradling one of the twins as they stirred. “Your son’s going to blow the roof off one of these days.”

“Probably,” Arslan said casually. “As long as he doesn’t blow us off with it, I’ll let him work.”

There was a pause.

“…You really trust him that much?”

Arslan chuckled. “No. I’m just old enough to know better than to interrupt whatever that boy calls ‘experimentation.’”

Outside the door, another faint boom echoed, followed by the soft hiss of mana fading.

Elaine shook her head with a small, tired smile. “You’re both hopeless.”

Arslan grinned over his cup. “And you loves us anyway.”

“Barely.”

The rumbling subsided soon after, and the house grew quiet again — though a faint blue light still pulsed under Ludger’s door, as if whatever he was building was only just beginning to take shape.

The next morning, the sky was still caught between night and dawn — pale streaks of gold and gray stretching over the horizon — when Ludger stepped out of his house, scarf fluttering behind him. 

He didn’t expect anyone to be up yet. Training was supposed to start today, but he hadn’t told the recruits when. That detail had been intentional. He wanted to see who showed initiative.

As he approached the guildhall, he stopped short.

There they were.

All five of the new recruits — Derrin, Mira, Taron, Rhea, and Callen — standing in a neat line in front of the guild gates. Their faces were pale from the cold, but their stances were firm, their eyes clear.

Ludger tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. Sunrise. Not bad.

He crossed his arms as he approached. “You’re early.”

Derrin straightened immediately. “Sir, you didn’t specify a time, so we assumed dawn was safest.”

“Good assumption,” Ludger said, letting his gaze pass over each of them. Frost clung to their clothes, and he could tell by their shivering hands that they’d been waiting for a while. “Shows you’ve got some discipline. But if you go to the labyrinth dressed like that, you’ll turn into ice sculptures before you draw a weapon.”

Rhea frowned, blowing into her hands. “We didn’t expect the cold to be much worse.”

“Welcome to the north,” Ludger said dryly. “If you can’t feel your fingers, you can’t fight. Go get something thicker — cloaks, gloves, boots. Whatever you can find that doesn’t fall apart in a blizzard.”

They didn’t hesitate. The five dashed off in different directions — Mira toward the market stalls, Derrin to the supply depot.

Ludger leaned back against the gate, hands in his pockets, watching the town slowly wake up. The smell of smoke and bread rolled out from nearby homes. Yvar arrived a few minutes later, notebook in hand, looking entirely too awake for this hour.

“Testing punctuality?” he asked, amused.

“More like common sense,” Ludger said. “They passed. Mostly.”

When the recruits returned, their appearance was much improved — heavy cloaks, fur-lined gloves, proper boots. Rhea had even managed to find a scarf, though she wore it like she was preparing for battle.

“Better,” Ludger said, pushing off the gate. “You look less like tourists.”

He turned toward the northern road. Beyond the fields, the labyrinth’s frozen entrance shimmered faintly in the distance, half-buried in mist.

“Alright,” he said, tightening his own gloves. “We’ll start with the basics — movement, awareness, coordination. You’ll learn to fight and survive out there.”

The recruits nodded in unison.

Ludger smirked faintly. “Good. Then keep up.”

And without another word, he broke into a run.

The recruits followed, their boots pounding against the frozen dirt as they raced after him toward the labyrinth — their first real test as members of the Lionsguard. The wind howled, the cold bit at their faces, and ahead of them, the rising sun lit the horizon like fire on ice.

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