"There are names the wind will not forget.Not because they ruled, but because they refused to kneel."– Inscription from the Ruins of Oræk, Year of the Withered Moon
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I
The rain had not fallen in five days.
The ground of the Outer Wards cracked and sighed with thirst, and the children of the earth — those born without titles, without fathers, without flags — learned to drink from the silence. Among these children walked a boy with no brothers, no gods, and no mark of favor. Only a name that echoed like a war drum in his chest.
Reginal J. Lopez.
Not noble. Not chosen.But born with a storm in his bones.
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He had been no more than seven summers when the world showed him what it was made of — not silver or scripture, but dust, betrayal, and blades drawn in the dark. His mother had vanished into the black, his father's name spoken only in the mouths of liars and debt collectors. And so Reginal learned early that legacy is not what you inherit — it is what you carve.
By the age of ten, he fought to eat.By twelve, he had bled for others and never once wept.By fourteen, they said he was cursed — that death followed wherever he walked.And by fifteen, they came for him.
Not bandits. Not slavers.
But the Watchers of Gravemount.
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II
Gravemount Citadel was not a school in the way peasants imagined schools. There were no teachers — only tacticians, tormentors, and tyrants. There were no grades — only blood spilled, and ranks carved into stone. And there were no students — only weapons being sharpened.
It sat high above the world, among the dead winds and ashen peaks of the Korrask Spine, its towers crooked like broken fingers pointed at the stars. They said its foundation was made of bones, and its bell was cast from the iron teeth of ancient kings. Here, empires sent their young to be turned into generals — or corpses.
And now, Reginal stood before its gates.
He wore no armor. No sigil. No cloak.Only a threadbare coat, boots stained in street mud, and eyes that had seen too much for a boy's age. His locs fell past his shoulders, unkempt but regal in a way that unnerved the guards. He did not look around, nor bow his head. He walked like one who had nothing — and so, feared nothing.
The gatekeeper raised an eyebrow.
"Name?""Reginal J. Lopez.""No house?""Not yet.""Hmph." The man scratched something on a scroll. "You won't last."
Reginal said nothing. He had heard worse from better men.
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III
The other initiates were already assembled in the courtyard. A hundred strong, boys and girls from across the fractured continent. Some wore silk, others leather dyed in their house colors. Most had Bloodmarks — glowing runes etched into skin, passed down from bloodlines of conquest.
Reginal had none.
And he could feel the stares.He could hear the whispers.
"Who let an Unmarked in?""He's not one of us.""Trash from the Wards.""Look at his hands — he's a street brawler, not a warrior.""He'll be dead before moonrise."
Reginal kept walking.
He did not look at them. He looked at the sky — a sky the same color as the one he bled under back home. And he thought to himself:
> "I have known war before knowing peace.I have survived without legacy.But now… I will build mine in the bones of those who doubt me."
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IV
There were three who stood apart from the others.
The first was Milo.Tall, broad-shouldered, with wild hair and wrists wrapped in rusted chains. He smiled like a man who had nothing left to lose — and enjoyed it. His eyes met Reginal's and did not flinch.
They knew each other before speaking.There are bonds born in silence.
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The second was Kammy.Cloaked in sable and gold, with eyes that held storms and secrets alike. She stood beside the heirs of the Sable Crown — an elite House trained in espionage, seduction, and psychic warfare.
But her eyes found Reginal.And did not leave him.
Not in fear.Not in pity.
But something else.Something dangerous.Something holy.
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V
The Headmaster appeared only when the silence grew heavy enough to cut.
A tall woman in obsidian armor, skin carved with ancient runes, and a voice like winter grinding against steel.
"You stand on the threshold of Gravemount," she said, her tone void of warmth. "Here, there is no mercy. Only war."
She stepped closer to the crowd, her gaze piercing through noble and peasant alike.
"You have been sent by Houses who hope to shape you into weapons. But you..." — she pointed at Reginal — "you have no House. No mark. No worth."
Murmurs rose. Laughter flickered.
But Reginal did not blink.
The Headmaster's eyes narrowed.
"If you wish to survive here, boy, you must either find a banner… or bleed without one."
Reginal took one step forward.
And spoke for the first time in full voice.
> "I do not need a House.I will build one.And when I do…The world will remember that I came from nothing.And took everything."
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The courtyard fell silent.
Kammy smiled — barely.Milo cracked his knuckles.And somewhere, deep in the forgotten catacombs below Gravemount…a sigil long thought extinct flickered to life.
The mark of an ancient bloodline.
The crest of House RÆGN.
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[END OF CHAPTER I]