As the town settled into sleep, Jerald began testing me on the notebook.

  Not gently.

  “How many Knights?” he asked.

  “A hundred.”

  He waited.

  I frowned. “…One hundred in the inner circle. A thousand squires.”

  He nodded and kept going.

  Monster weaknesses. Gate locations. Social rules that could get you killed if you ignored them. Not questions meant to trip me up, but to strip the knowledge down to what mattered. He wasn’t checking if I’d read the book. He was seeing how much I could recall when there was no time to hesitate.

  That was worse.

  I’d known the notebook mattered. What I hadn’t understood was how unforgiving the world beyond the gate would be. This wasn’t legend or theory. It was baseline. The kind of knowledge people assumed you had before they stopped forgiving mistakes.

  “So even with everything you’ve taught me,” I said carefully, “how do I avoid being noticed the moment I cross?”

  Jerald’s mouth twitched. Almost amused.

  “You won’t.”

  I blinked. “That’s reassuring.”

  “I’ve arranged the transition,” he said. “Someone will handle it for you. Think of it as a welcome package.”

  It didn’t reassure me at all. His smile never did when he sounded pleased with himself.

  “You’ll receive it with your identification,” he went on, voice hardening. “Once the soul card is in your hand, you do not lose it. Ever.”

  “I won’t.”

  He studied my face for a moment.

  “Good.”

  After a while, Jerald exhaled and rubbed a hand over his brow. He pressed the notebook back into my hands and moved toward the door. He hesitated there, listening, then cracked it open and peered into the night.

  “Let me check if it’s clear.”

  Before leaving, he nodded at the pages. “Give it one more skim.”

  The words came out sharper than he probably meant them to. I caught the tension in his shoulders as he stepped outside. He looked just as tightly wound as I felt.

  Whatever this plan truly was, it wasn’t something a man attempted lightly. It felt like the kind of gamble you made when all the safer options were already gone.

  Jerald wasn’t the only one running out of choices.

  His footsteps faded, leaving me alone with the quiet and the book.

  I turned the page to The Giant and the Spirit’s Gate.

  It was the strangest of the handwritten tales. A giant and a wild spirit racing toward the horizon. Misfortune dogging them at every turn. In the end, they abandoned the contest and forged a path together so no other creature would stumble into the same disasters.

  By the time I reached the passage about the Old Ones placing blessings upon mortals, Jerald returned.

  “Ready?” he asked. “It’s now or never.”

  “I am.”

  Jerald snatched the book from my hands and dropped it into a metal bucket. I barely had time to react before he struck a match and set the pages alight, tossing the whole matchbox in after it.

  Flames climbed fast.

  I fought back a coughing fit as the book burned.

  When the last of the pages had charred, Jerald doused the flames and didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go.”

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  He closed the door. I took one final look at the dark room that had been my entire life. Then came a sharp, muted snap as Jerald crushed the handle in his fist, metal giving way under the pressure. Even if someone found the room, they wouldn’t be getting inside.

  “This way.”

  He led me into the darkness, away from the warm glow of windows as the town settled in for the night. Music drifted faintly from somewhere near the docks. A party already in full swing. Jerald steered us in the opposite direction without slowing.

  “Uh, we’re going the—”

  “The right way,” he cut in. “I’ve got my own ride.”

  I shrugged and followed, carrying nothing but the shirt on my back.

  We moved through the streets in near silence. Stone walls caught soft echoes of goodnights and muffled laughter. There were far more aspirants in town than I’d realised, and judging by the darkened houses, most had turned in early.

  Jerald was right to get ahead of them.

  They would cross in the morning. Ceremonies. Speeches. A celebration.

  I would cross with little more than a blink.

  That was the hope.

  After a few minutes we reached the shoreline, far from any lights or curious eyes. Jerald shifted a low-hanging branch aside, revealing a small rowboat hidden on the shore, a good distance from the water. With the tide this low, hauling it back would not be easy.

  “Come on,” he said. “Give us a hand.”

  I nodded. I knew my scrawny frame wouldn’t be much help, but I wasn’t about to complain.

  Moonlight caught Jerald’s grin as he watched me strain. I ignored it and kept pushing, boots slipping in the sand as the boat crept toward the water inch by inch.

  The curse stayed quiet.

  Maybe it was watching. Maybe it was waiting.

  Either way, it let me work.

  Jerald let out a huff that might have been a laugh and guided the boat the rest of the way into the water. It was immediately obvious he hadn’t needed my help at all. The effort had simply amused him. Probably the kind of humour you picked up in the army.

  “Get in.”

  I swung a leg over the side and nearly tipped us both as I shifted my weight, the boat wobbling beneath me. Jerald shoved off from behind and climbed in after me, moving past with practiced ease before settling into the rowing seat.

  The boat rocked hard as his weight came down. I clenched my teeth and grabbed the sides, but a second later he adjusted his footing and the craft steadied.

  Then he rowed.

  The single set of oars bit into the water, and the old boat surged forward with surprising speed. Jerald worked in silence, shoulders rolling, arms pulling with controlled power. In the moonlight, his expression was little more than a shadow. A man shaped by years of fighting.

  I looked back.

  The lights of the village were already fading, shrinking to a distant blur. A final goodbye, whether I wanted it or not. I scanned the shoreline once more, searching for movement.

  Nothing.

  We were clear.

  Above us, stars flickered in and out as clouds crept across the sky. The lake remained still, broken only by the quiet ripples spreading from the oars.

  Ahead, the island waited.

  The locals called it many things.

  Most simply called it the Gate.

  A grove of apple trees covered its surface, and beneath the moonlight, the silhouettes of old stone ruins rose between their branches.

  We were close now.

  “Not far now, kid.”

  I grunted, too tight in the chest to answer. A cold breeze slid over the still water, stinging the sores on my face. The pain had dulled, settling into something heavy and constant.

  Moonlight broke through the clouds and caught the red scars along my arms. They had shaped more of my life than I liked to admit. The local kids had called me cursed. If they’d known the truth, they might have found a worse name.

  The marks drained my strength and never let me forget they were there. I told myself they’d made me tougher. I knew better.

  I exhaled slowly and hoped Jerald’s so-called gift would be enough to hide them when we crossed. If it wasn’t, this journey would end before it truly began.

  Pain or not, I was going through.

  Others had taken this path before me. I would too.

  The boat lurched as the hull scraped against land, the sound echoing across the quiet water.

  “We’re here, Sean.”

  Jerald turned, his expression grim. He knew I had to do this, even if he didn’t know what waited on the other side. I tried to smile back, hoping it looked steadier than I felt.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He nodded, then faced the ruins. Up close, the shapes were unmistakable. Massive stone pillars stood in neat rows, forming a long, silent corridor.

  “No time to recover,” he said. “We move fast.”

  I followed his gaze and steadied my breathing.

  “I’m ready,” I said, mostly for my own sake.

  Behind me, I heard Jerald drag the boat ashore. When I turned, it was gone.

  He gave a small grin. “Perks of being this close to the gate.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant, so I forced my focus back to the ruins.

  Jerald had hinted more than once that someone like me might not make it through to the other side. He believed in enough old rumours and half-truths that I tried not to dwell on it. Still, the thought clung stubbornly as the stone pillars loomed closer.

  I steadied myself and moved forward.

  We left the shoreline behind and stepped onto the grass. The scent of apples and damp earth hung heavy in the air. Each step carried us deeper into the ruins, toward the centre. Toward the point of no return.

  Jerald stopped beside a stone doorway etched with intertwined circles. The carvings were worn, old enough that time should have erased them.

  He placed his hand against the stone.

  The markings shifted.

  Not glowing. Not flaring. Just… moving. Lines realigning with quiet intent.

  I watched, breath held.

  Nothing dramatic followed. No light. No sound. No surge of power.

  I looked to Jerald, suddenly unsure.

  He nodded once and gestured forward.

  I clenched my teeth and stepped closer. Then closer still.

  Heart pounding, I crossed the threshold and shut my eyes, bracing for something. Pain. Heat. Collapse.

  Anything.

  Cold washed over me like plunging through icy water. The sensation ripped the breath from my lungs, then vanished just as abruptly.

  Light pressed against my eyelids.

  Warmth followed.

  “Kid,” Jerald said softly behind me, “welcome to Avalon.”