Reid woke in the middle of the night to a crash so loud it rattled the walls. He looked around to see if anything was happening nearby. He opened the curtains of the window and checked if anything was happening outside. But there was nothing. Then he stood still and listened. The voice was coming from downstairs. “What could be so loud at this time of night?” he muttered slipping on his slippers and heading toward the stairs.

  The light from the hall stung his half-closed eyes as he descended. With each step, the sound grew clearer — laughter, shouting, clinking glass. No one else seemed to have woken. Even Liane was nowhere in sight. Curious and a little uneasy, Reid pushed open the double doors between the reception and the bar — and froze. Harven stood shirtless on top of a table, swaying, a half-empty mug in one hand. A group of strangers cheered and laughed as he slurred nonsense between hiccups. When Harven spotted Reid, he raised his mug and said thickly,

  “Oh, Rei’d! You… you came! Wha—what are you doin’ here? Don’t just stand there— come join us!”

  Reid just slowly backed down and closed the door of the bar, “Is he really a vice-commander of a kingdom?”. He was thinking a bit sarcastically, but the thought really hit his mind. “Was he really the person he said he was?” Reid had always been astonished by Baranor. The man embodied everything he dreamed of becoming — courage, discipline, honor. And when this man before him, who claimed to be Baranor’s own brother, offered him the chance to follow in his idol’s footsteps, Reid had accepted without a second thought.

  But now, watching Harven stumble in drunken shame, doubt began to gnaw at him. Was he really who he said he was? The question echoed in his mind, uncomfortable and heavy. Yet, there was nothing Reid could do — not tonight. Maybe he could ask him tomorrow, but in his current state, there was no point.

  So, he turned away, ready to head upstairs and get some rest. But just as he placed his foot on the first step, the bar door creaked open behind him. Harven stepped out, his face etched with regret.

  “I am sorry Reid” he said quietly. “I’m not a good person. Maybe not even the kind of man a knight should be. I am lazy, I don’t care about anything, I am a man without any ambition. I just live as if I am in some kind of play and playing someone that has nothing to do with the play itself. I might look mighty and cool from outside, but as you saw… I am nothing.” He paused struggling with the words. “But don’t worry, my brother is nothing like me. He is everything you’ve seen in those books, he never drinks, he always trains, helps people.... He is a true knight.” Reid smiled, looked at him and said,

  “Don’t worry Mr. Harven, I don’t care about who you feel like you are, I know that you are a good person, and that’s enough for me.”

  For a moment, Harven just stared. Then his frown melted into a faint smile. He placed a trembling hand on Reid’s hair, his voice breaking.

  “Thank you, Reid. I really needed that.” He ruffled Reid’s hair gently, then sighed. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s waiting.”

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Harven said softly, “Goodnight, Reid.”

  Reid smiled back. “Goodnight, sir.”

  Harven chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t have to call me sir, Reid. Just Harven is fine.”

  Reid’s smile widened as he nodded. “Alright… goodnight, Harven.”

  They each went into their rooms. Reid lay down on his bed, his mind still spinning with everything that had happened — the Academy, the exam, Harven’s confession, even Arttu. Thought after thought drifted through his head until, somewhere between them, sleep quietly claimed him.

  Morning knocked on the door.

  The sunlight slipped through the tulle curtains, painting the room in a gentle gold. Reid lay asleep, his face calm and untroubled, until a firm knock echoed from the other side of the door.

  He stirred, blinked, and sat up with a groan. Sliding his feet into his slippers, he shuffled over and pulled the door open — only to find Harven standing there, fully dressed and grinning, ready for the road.

  “Hello, little sunbeam,” Harven sang. “The sun’s up — and so should you be!”

  Reid rubbed his eyes and placed a hand dramatically over his forehead.

  “Thanks to you, I am,” he said with an annoyed look.

  Harven laughed. “Come on, go get ready. We’ve got three days until the academy exam — and the road takes two and a half.”

  Reid froze. “You’re telling me this now?” he shouted, but his frustration quickly melted into resignation. He was getting used to Harven’s foolishness.

  He threw on his shirt, fastened his Genusrosa to his belt, and joined Harven downstairs.

  At the reception, Liane was flipping through a stack of papers. Reid called out, “We’re leaving, Liane. Goodbye!”

  She looked up and smiled. “Goodbye, Reid. Goodbye, Mr. Klutz. Have a safe journey!”

  Harven flashed one of his trademark foolish grins. “We hope so!”

  With that, they stepped outside, where a caravan waited for them beneath the morning light.

  Somehow, Reid recognized the caravan — and a moment later, he understood why.

  Beside the wooden carriage stood a man in a neat black coat, adjusting his monocle, the brim of his tall hat casting a shadow over his face. It was Sir Duston — the same man who had once taken them to Promia and brought them back to Priscilla.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Oh, Sir Duston! How lovely it is to see you again,” Harven said, grinning.

  “Mr. Harven,” Duston replied with a polite nod, “the pleasure is mine. I assume you’re returning to Aquilonis? Please, correct me if I’m mistaken.”

  “You’re indeed correct,” Harven said proudly.

  Sir Duston’s eyes shifted toward Reid, and recognition dawned on his face. “Ah… forgive me, young man — you are Reid, are you not?”

  Reid nodded quietly, a shadow of sorrow crossing his expression.

  Duston removed his hat and bowed slightly, extending a gloved hand. “My deepest condolences, young sir. May God bless the souls of all those you have lost.”

  Reid murmured something that sounded like a thank you, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Well then,” Sir Duston said gently, placing his hat back on, “shall we begin our journey?”

  He stepped into the caravan, and the day’s road began to unfold before them.

  The journey that Harven had said to take two and a half days ended up lasting only two. The horses were swift, the weather merciful, and the road unusually kind to travelers. Yet the world they crossed was anything but ordinary.

  They passed lakes so vast that their surfaces looked like mirrors of the sky — and in those waters swam fish larger than the houses back in the city, their fins breaking the surface like small ships cutting through the waves.

  They rode through forests where the air shimmered strangely, and the trees seemed to watch them — countless eyes glimmering faintly from the bark, as though the forest itself were alive and curious about who passed through.

  They crossed bridges, both humble wooden crossings that creaked beneath the wheels and grand stone arches that spanned roaring rivers, each one older than the kingdoms themselves.

  And then, as dusk began to fall on the second day, they saw it — a colossal statue of an old man wearing a crown, weathered by centuries but still majestic. At its base, carved deep into the stone, were the words:

  “Welcome to Aquilonis.”

  Reid stared at the inscription, a chill running down his spine. After all the chaos, sorrow, and strange beauty of the road, he finally understood — they had arrived.

  They stopped at the grand gates of Aquilonis. The air was colder here, sharper — carrying the distant scent of pine and stone. Both Reid and Harven turned to Sir Duston, thanking him warmly before he tipped his tall hat and guided his horses away down the mountain road.

  Ahead of them, the city spread wide and magnificent. The castle stood high above the rest, carved into the mountain itself — its white walls glimmering beneath the sunlight like snow turned to marble. Reid had once thought Promia was the largest city in the world, but standing here, gazing at Aquilonis, he realized he had been wrong. Streets twisted up the slopes like silver ribbons, towers reached toward the clouds, and the hum of life filled the air.

  As they walked through the bustling streets, people began to notice them — or rather, notice Harven.

  “Sir Klutz! Sir Klutz, it’s really you!” a young girl squealed, running up to them. “I’m your biggest fan!”

  Another shouted, “Oh my God, I love him!”

  Within seconds, the crowd swelled. Men and women approached, some cheering, some begging for help, others thrusting papers and trinkets forward for autographs.

  “Please, Mr. Klutz, my family’s poor, could you—”

  “Sir Klutz! One signature, please!”

  “Who’s the boy with him? His squire?”

  Reid froze under the sudden storm of attention, unsure whether to smile or hide. He tried his best not to draw suspicion, staying close behind Harven — who, of course, was smiling like an idiot through it all, waving and laughing as though the chaos were the most natural thing in the world.

  Then, a sharp voice cut through the noise.

  “Everyone, please leave Mr. Klutz alone! He has official business!”

  The crowd turned. A woman with short black hair, a muscular frame, and an expression that could shatter steel strode forward. Her glare alone was enough to make the crowd scatter like frightened birds.

  “Thanks, Mirva, you saved us,” Harven said with a nervous grin.

  “It’s my duty, Harven,” she replied curtly, annoyance already flickering in her eyes — the kind that spoke of long familiarity with his nonsense.

  As they climbed into another caravan bound for the castle, she eyed Reid suspiciously. “Who’s the boy?”

  Before Harven could even open his mouth, Reid stood, bowed slightly, and said, “Hello, my lady. I am Reid Corvane.” His hands were open, his tone as formal as he could manage.

  Harven burst into laughter so loud it nearly shook the carriage. Mirva’s stern face turned bright red, a faint laugh escaping her lips despite herself. Reid, mortified, sat down quickly, his face burning with embarrassment.

  “I’m Mirvana,” she said after regaining her composure. “Butler to King Rucon — and Captain of the Kingsguard.”

  Reid’s eyes widened in awe. But before he could respond, she turned toward Harven with a smirk. “And what’s this boy doing with you, chicken-brain?”

  Reid straightened his back. “I’m here to take the Academy Exam, my lady.”

  Mirvana blinked, clearly taken aback. “This young? No one has ever taken the exam at your age…” She turned to Harven, her expression darkening as her thoughts became visible on her face: This idiot actually brought him here?

  With a sigh, she finally said, “Well… good luck, then, Reid.”

  Moments later, the caravan rolled through the castle gates.

  Inside, Aquilonis Castle loomed vast and breathtaking. Its stone halls shimmered with torchlight, and the banners of the kingdom hung proudly from the vaulted ceilings.

  “As the King’s butler, I’ll show you your room,” Mirvana said, her voice professional once more. “Harven, come with me afterward. We’ll have a little chat.”

  They followed her through long marble corridors until they reached a pair of ornate wooden doors.

  “This will be your room for the night, Reid,” she said, opening the door.

  Reid stepped inside — and froze. The chamber was enormous, easily the size of his old home. Sunlight spilled through tall windows draped with crimson curtains. A grand bed sat against the far wall, covered in soft white sheets. A carved desk stood near the window, piled with books and maps, and a small fireplace crackled quietly, filling the room with warmth. The floor was polished stone, and every surface gleamed.

  He turned to say something to Harven, but Harven just smiled. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said before following Mirvana down the hall.

  Reid wandered the room, running his hand along the smooth wooden furniture. “This place…” he whispered. “It’s like a dream.”

  Moments later, Harven returned, laughing to himself. “Well,” he said, “I’ve been punished for bringing you here without permission — but good news! You can officially take the exam. There’s no age limit in the rulebook… though thanks to you, they’re about to add one.”

  Reid frowned slightly. Harven noticed immediately and patted his shoulder.

  “Hey, don’t look so gloomy. I’ll study with you tonight. You’ll pass all the tests, I promise.” He smiled wide. “But first, get some rest. Don’t forget, Reid — if you pass the exam, one of your teachers will be Baranor himself.”

  Reid’s eyes lit up at the name.

  “See?” Harven said softly. “That’s the spirit. I’ll wake you once I finish some things. Sleep well, Reid.”

  He closed the door behind him.

  Reid sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the flickering fire. Despite Harven’s cheer, a faint unease stirred in his chest — Harven was far from reliable, and trusting him wasn’t easy. Yet if this was the road to Baranor, to becoming like the man he admired, then trust was something he’d have to learn.

  With that thought, he lay down. The bed was soft, the warmth soothing, and before long, he drifted into sleep.

  Saint's High : Our Names Were Written On The Wall

  by N'Zaru Starborne

  Vira, the uncrowned king of S-High stood up for him.

  "From now on, he’s my brother," Vira said.

  Vira is graduating, leaving behind a legacy and a campus ready to collapse into chaos. Rival hostels, outside gangs, and self-proclaimed “Bossmen” are all clawing for the throne Vira left empty. With blood, war and brothers marking the way, Shroff must learn fast, how to survive in a school where even a stare can start a war.

  Will he survive?

  What to expect from this story:

  ?? School Life & Turf Wars: Prestige on paper—violence in the halls.

  ?? Martial Arts & Street Rules: Fists, codes, and consequences.

  ?? Brotherhood: Loyalty that protects—and demands a price.

  ?? Power Vacuum: An empty throne and too many claimants.

  ?? Survival Arc: Weak-to-strong grit under constant pressure.

  ??? Gritty & Grounded: Urban, grim, and character-driven.

  ?? Hostel-C Legends: Rivalries, reputations, and the names on the wall.

  A brutal coming-of-age in corridors where a glance can start a war—and a name can outlive a king.