It was early, so early in fact that the sun had only just begun to lift his golden brow above the high towers of the Aren estate, casting a hesitant blush across the frost-kissed rooftops.
The dew still clung tenderly to the garden hedges, and the world was only beginning to stir.
But Commander Marius—soldier of renown and tormentor of wayward noble heirs—had already donned his cloak, straightened his back, and perfected a scowl of legendary proportion.
This morning, he was in fine spirits, if the sight of another's suffering could be called that.
He imagined young Master Arion curled into himself like a defeated pup beside the great training boulder, sniffling, aching, broken-hearted—and oh, how it pleased him.
He had rehearsed a dozen lines of stern fatherly wisdom and equally stern punishments. He might even allow the boy to beg a little. It was good for the pride, he thought, to be thoroughly battered now and again.
But what he saw upon turning the corner of the yard put a most violent end to his pleasant expectations.
There, in the shadow of the unmoved boulder, lay the boy—not weeping, not groaning, not even contemplating the cruelty of the world—but asleep.
Fast asleep, as if the cold earth were his featherbed and the stone his lullaby.
The commander blinked once. Then again. He looked left, then right, as though the correct scene might be waiting just off-stage. But no—this was it.
The boulder stood untouched. The child slept without care.
Outraged beyond measure, the commander drew himself up to full height and bellowed in a voice reserved only for the battlefield:
"BOY! You'd best wake that little arse of yours this instant—or I swear, I'll launch you so high the stars'll need to make room!"
The birds scattered from the trees in a flurry of feathers. Somewhere in the distance, a stable boy dropped a bucket with a clang. Arion, stirred from a dream of warm bread and strange triumphs, blinked slowly and rubbed his eyes.
"Is it morning already?" he mumbled, voice sticky with sleep. "Just five more minutes…"
Without so much as opening his eyes, he rolled onto his other side and continued his slumber as though he were nestled beneath the silks of his chamber bed.
Marius stood still a moment, visibly weighing the legal consequences of bonking a noble heir on the head.
Just then, a young servant boy passed by, carrying a pail of fresh water from the well, whistling a soft tune.
The commander's eyes narrowed. With a gesture as swift as it was silent, he beckoned the servant closer, seized the bucket without explanation, and—without a shred of pity—emptied its contents in a mighty splash over the sleeping child.
The effect was immediate.
Arion bolted upright, sputtering, soaked through and blinking with indignation. He glanced around, certain some mischievous underling had played a cruel joke on him.
"Who dares to wake me in such a manner? You'd better start running, because I—"
He stopped short.
There stood Commander Marius, arms crossed, frown as firm as granite, eyes gleaming with menace. Arion looked up at him, the dregs of sleep vanishing from his young face.
Ah, he thought. So this is how I die.
But instead of fleeing or groveling, the boy simply stood, peeled off his dripping shirt with solemn dignity, and began wringing it out.
"What was that for?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
The commander stared. The audacity!
"What was that—what was that for?!" Marius growled through clenched teeth. "I told you—no food, no sleep—until that boulder moved!"
Arion tilted his head. "I did what you asked. So I don't see why I shouldn't take a little nap."
There was no tremor in his voice. No fear. Only the calm tone of a boy who believed he was absolutely, unshakably right.
"You what?" Marius barked. "The boulder's still where I left it!"
"Oh," said Arion, a touch wounded. "You don't believe me?"
The commander said nothing. His silence, as silence often is, was answer enough.
"I knew you wouldn't!" Arion exclaimed, indignant. "That's why I didn't move it too much—just enough. I knew you'd accuse me of cheating if I rolled it all the way down the hill."
And before the commander could rebuke him, the boy stepped up to the great stone and—with a small, theatrical sigh—pressed his little palm against it. The boulder shifted. Slowly, groaning like a stubborn old man rising from a chair, it slid a hand's length backward, then came to rest.
Arion turned, smiling like a prince who'd just won a duel.
"Happy?"
The young servant, still standing nearby, gaped. Had the boy always been this strong? Or had some demon made a pact with him in his cradle?
The commander said nothing. He simply stared.
Arion, satisfied, flicked a little mud from his fingers and turned to walk away with the air of one who had performed a tiresome chore and was due a second breakfast.
Marius narrowed his eyes.
Something felt… off.
As Arion strolled away, triumphant, the commander walked slowly around the boulder, inspecting the ground. He crouched, frowned, and touched the soil. A ditch. A neat, boy-sized trench. As if someone had dug beneath the stone to help it move more easily.
Realization bloomed across his face like thunderclouds over a quiet moor.
"That little—" he hissed.
He turned sharply to shout, but the boy was already sprinting.
"Stop right there!" Marius bellowed, charging after him.
"As if!" Arion shouted back, legs pumping as fast as they would go. "Do I look stupid?"
Through the courtyard, up the steps, past startled maids and confused guards he ran—straight for his mother's office, the one place even Marius dared not storm without permission.
And hot on his heels came the commander, roaring all the way.
The servant boy, now alone beside the boulder, ventured a glance at the ditch—and could not help but chuckle.
He would tell the kitchen staff of this curious tale, and they in turn would whisper it to the scullery maids, who would pass it along to the stable boys, until at last the whole estate was abuzz with the legend of the young lord's clever deceit.
There was laughter in the corridors that day—at least, until Commander Marius regained his breath.
But such victories are rarely left unpunished.
And so it was from this day onward that the void itself opened its doors to Arion's hellish beatings—or, as Commander Marius and Lord Sued more politely called it: training.