A dull sound rang in Nico's ears. He opened his eyes with a start. His head ached. He remembered sleeping badly. Restless dreams had tormented him, but he couldn't remember anything. For a moment, he didn't understand where he was: only the dim light filtering through the slits and the sound of footsteps on the floor reminded him that he was in the barracks, in the squires' dormitory. Another sombre sound brought him back: the horn calling everyone to assembly.

  The smell of iron and wet wood was everywhere. Nico's bed, a canvas sack with straw sticking out, creaked as he got up. Beneath him, Leo complained in a muffled voice:

  "Are you crazy? Do you know what time it is?"

  Nico smiled slightly. "You'd better get up," he murmured, slipping on the rough tunic and tying the leather belt that had been issued to everyone as part of their uniform; he also put on a pair of tight-fitting breeches that were terribly itchy.

  He jumped down from the bunk bed and stretched his legs. No pain, he thought; but if Kiah was right, today at six o'clock, game time, would kick them out to decompress the data. He shook his head: he didn't want to think about it.

  "Well? Are you going to get a move on?" Nico asked, staring at Leo, who was still sitting with his face in his hands.

  "I feel awful," Leo muttered.

  "Too much wine, Kiah and I warned you," Nico laughed.

  There were already a few apprentices eating in the refectory. The bread was hard, the oat soup lukewarm. Leo rubbed the warm bowl against his forehead.

  "My head is splitting," he muttered with his eyes closed.

  Nico laughed. "Come on, you wanted a tutorial. You're about to get one."

  Leo grunted unconvinced.

  As time passed, the refectory filled up; then the horn sounded for the third time and everyone stood up.

  They trickled out into the courtyard; the sun illuminated the silhouettes of the archery targets with a faint glow.

  Nico saw two men waiting for them in the courtyard, standing side by side. They were both tall and thin, with the same tense posture of those who have spent their lives handling weapons. The first, the older of the two, had a sharp face and a salt-and-pepper beard that framed his tight-lipped mouth. His cold, piercing eyes seemed to weigh everything.

  The other resembled him, but in a strange way: same lean body, same controlled movements; yet something made him stand out—his eyes, one light and one dark.

  Nico couldn't say which of the two commanded more respect.

  "Take your places," said the older of the two, without raising his voice.

  Nico looked around to see what the others were doing. He saw many with the same bewildered look he imagined he had. He stood in front of the two men, following the group.

  "I am Master Ardan, the archery master; some of you may know me by the nickname ‘old hawk’. I like it, but don't overuse it," he said with a wry smile.

  "This one here," he added, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder, "is Tomas di Verno, my second-in-command."

  The young man nodded to the group.

  "Okay, now that the introductions are over, let's get down to business: who here has ever picked up a bow?" asked the archery instructor.

  Several hands went up. Leo, standing next to Nico, craned his neck out of the row to see who had raised their hands.

  "Something to say, kid?" said the archery master, approaching Leo with his usual crooked smile.

  Leo shook his head, his face pale and his freckles even more pronounced and noticeable than usual.

  The man nodded. "Good. Those who know how to use a bow, step forward."

  A shuffling of feet announced that more than half knew how to use a bow.

  "You guys, with Bert. The rest, with me."

  Nico was in position: his left foot forward, his right foot slightly turned. He could feel the ground beneath his soles. He raised the yew bow and drew it back: his fingers brought the string up to his face, with the arrow aligned with his eye. He exhaled slowly.

  The release was a brief hiss. The arrow landed just to the side of the center.

  "Too much tension in your arm," said the master, passing behind him.

  Nico nodded, clenching his jaw. He tried again. He inhaled. He focused on the target, not the arrow. This time he hit closer. He felt his heart gallop with satisfaction.

  "I wonder how many of these are players," Leo said in a low voice, pulling an arrow from his quiver.

  "Ah, anyway, nice shot. From the way you threw daggers with Dan, I thought you were blind."

  Nico laughed. "Maybe daggers aren't my thing."

  "I don't like this thing at all. By the way, have you seen Dan?"

  Nico shook his head.

  "My mom would say he's a wood bird," he said, laughing.

  After a while, his fingers ached and his arms trembled. When the teacher allowed a break, Nico sat down on the grass and drank deeply from his leather water bottle. The water tasted of iron, but it was cool. The sun was beginning to get hotter.

  Leo sat down next to him, shrugging his shoulders.

  "I thought it would be easier to keep going."

  Nico laughed softly. "It is... until you have someone watching you."

  At the call, they returned to their bows.

  "Listen, I'll give it a try."

  "Try what?" asked Nico, turning abruptly. The arrow he was shooting stuck into the ground below the target.

  "Kid, what are you doing? Concentrate. Come on, you were doing fine."

  Nico nodded. "Sorry, master."

  When the teacher had walked away, Leo continued: "Psst, watch this," he said to Nico. With that, he turned to the boy next to him.

  He was tall and big, a bit like Bruno, with a round face accentuated by unkempt hair; but unlike Nico's cousin, this boy had big, kind eyes.

  "Hey you, pss."

  "What?" asked the boy. He had a deep, slow voice, as if it came from underground.

  "Are you a player?" Leo asked in a whisper.

  The boy's eyes widened, as big as saucers. "My father is a player."

  Nico looked up; his heart leapt into his throat.

  "What?" Leo asked. The question slipped out before he could stop himself, incredulous. "We found one," Leo said quietly, turning to Nico. "Actually, two. If his father is a player, then..." Leo turned back to the tall boy. "Then you are too, right?" "Absolutely not. My mom forbids it; she forbids it for everyone in the family. Even my grandfather... after what happened to my dad." The boy's voice was deep and heavy; each syllable echoed like a drum in his bones.

  "Grandpa?" asked Leo, raising his voice a little too much. "What does Grandpa have to do with it? Is he playing too?"

  Nico jumped in pain: a quick whip had struck the back of his thighs. He saw Leo slump down beside him. Then the figure of Master Ardan appeared, striking the big boy too, who did not seem to feel the blow as much as Leo and Nico.

  "Do you think we're wasting time here? Do you think you're here on vacation?" asked the old hawk in a dry voice.

  "No, sir," murmured the young, uncertain baritone voice of the big boy, who was trembling slightly.

  "Twenty laps around the courtyard," he whispered.

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  Nico sprinted off, followed by the other two.

  They ran slowly, the big boy panting like a mouflon.

  "Hey, then," Leo said between gasps. "Tell me this story? How long have you been online?"

  The boy snorted, then fell to his knees. Nico stopped suddenly and turned back to help him up.

  "Go and warn the master," said Nico, struggling to support the semi-conscious boy's body. Leo sprang into action. When he returned, he had a flask in his hands. The boy drank and, when he had recovered, the three sat down with their backs against the walls of the Tower of the Falcon. The cool wall behind him gave him relief from the sweat caused by the run. He ran a hand over his sweaty forehead, ruffling his dark hair.

  "Are you feeling better?" Nico asked the boy. "Let me introduce myself: I'm Grampasso," he said, extending his hand to his new friend. "And this is Long

  John Silver," he added, pointing to Leo, who greeted him with a wave of his hand.

  The boy nodded. “I'm Remus.”

  "How long have you been online, Remus?" asked Leo, squinting against the sun, which was almost at its zenith.

  "What?" asked the boy in a low, cavernous voice, his eyes wide with bewilderment.

  "You said your father plays, right? And you too, from what I can see. But where is he? Do you share an avatar?"

  "Sorry, I don't understand what you're talking about." Then, turning to Nico, he continued, "I think your friend has heatstroke."

  Leo shrugged, his face puzzled, as he met Nico's gaze.

  "I think he's another nutcase, like Kiah," he muttered to Nico.

  "Who's Kiah?" asked Remus, turning first to the right and then to the left, looking at the two of them.

  Nico decided to intervene: "Why did you tell us your father gambles?"

  "Because it's true," said the boy in a low, gravelly voice. "It's our family's misfortune."

  "Really?" said Leo, unconvinced.

  "He was a hard worker. Then he started hanging out with bad people and began gambling away first his day's work, then the furniture in the house, then even my poor little brother Ben. Luckily, trading in human and non-human creatures is forbidden, otherwise we would have been screwed."

  Leo's eyes were as big as saucers. "I still don't understand."

  "His father gambles," Nico murmured seriously, but he couldn't help smiling when he saw Leo's face turn into a mask of silent amazement.

  "He's a disgrace to our family."

  "I see."

  "And I thought you were a player," Leo muttered seriously, crossing his arms over his chest, irritated.

  "Never," said Remus proudly. "That's why I'm here. My father has become a disgrace to the family, and I came in his place to make my mother proud."

  "So you're not a player?" Leo muttered, unconvinced.

  "Never!" Remus roared.

  Nico laughed.

  The sound of the horn interrupted them.

  "Finally, we can eat," said Remus, regaining, in Nico's opinion, a strength he didn't think he had seen until a moment ago.

  Nico, followed by Leo and Remus, entered the large refectory of the Falcon Tower on the ground floor, looking for a free seat among the long wooden tables. The air smelled of broth and straw, and the steam from the soup clung to his face like a damp blanket.

  Across from him, Leo and Remus joked about the food as they dug their spoons into plates of rice and chickpeas. They had discovered they had something in common: both their mothers were excellent cooks, and this slop was a far cry from the flavors of home.

  Nico listened to them in silence. Not him, he thought. His grandmother cooked the same bland soup every day, "for high blood pressure," she said. But

  Nico was convinced that when she went to dinner at Aunt Flora's, leaving him alone with that slop, she treated herself to very different dishes.

  "What now?" asked Leo, his mouth still full.

  "Fencing lesson," said Nico dryly.

  Remus nodded slowly, but Nico noticed that his hand was shaking as he clutched his spoon. Fear? Nico wondered. Or perhaps fatigue, he thought. Remus blinked several times, as if to shake off an invisible weight.

  Then he saw someone at the edge of his field of vision: measured steps, straight shoulders, a laugh that made no attempt to hide contempt. The boy in the center advanced with the confidence of someone who thinks he already has everything. He had blond hair combed back, a pointed chin, and an expression that seemed sculpted to list the faults of others. On either side were two burly boys with straight gazes and hands always ready to fight. Their eyes were empty, like those who only know how to take orders.

  The blond man's voice shot toward them like an arrow: "Hello, I see you're hanging out with the poor folks. You didn't tell them what trouble your father's in, did you, Remus?"

  Remus remained silent, but his face, turning bright red, spoke for him. The words fell on the table like stones. Leo clenched his jaw, but didn't intervene immediately; he looked at Nico first, as if seeking a signal. Nico could feel the blood pounding in his temples: he hated those attacks, that gratuitous embarrassment that spread like a wave.

  The blond man gave Nico a half-smile, then Leo. "This is Mark," he said, gesturing to his right to indicate the big guy with the broken nose. "And this is Sylan," he added, tilting his head to the opposite side, where a guy grunted; Nico saw that he had a broken incisor.

  The blond man stepped forward and reached across the table toward Nico. "Remusuccio here already knows me, but for your benefit, let me introduce myself: Corvin Varo."

  Nico stared at the hand, then looked up at Corvin: his eyes narrowed to slits.

  "Well, let's just say that Remusuccio's father and mine had a history. I hope you understand who's worth keeping as a friend," he said, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. The two behind him nodded, baring their teeth. Corvin had the air of someone who expects applause just for the way he breathes.

  "Oh, don't worry. I have a good nose for bad deals,"

  said Nico, without looking away.

  Corvin grimaced, then gave Remus a slap on the head, who lowered his head to stare at his plate, his face even redder, if possible.

  Nico saw Leo, sitting next to him, stand up, fists clenched, ready to intervene. He hadn't liked that slap.

  Then a sharp sound: the bugle call cut through the air; it was the signal for fencing class.

  "Saved by the bell, Corvin," Leo roared.

  Nico saw a crack in everyone's faces: perhaps they hadn't understood the soccer metaphor.

  Corvin smiled contemptuously and, with two measured steps, muttered, for the exclusive benefit of the small group listening: "It doesn't end here, you bums."

  Nico's throat felt dry. He watched Corvin, Mark, and Sylan walk away, and the dining hall emptied in time with the horn.

  Remus remained seated for a few moments. Nico noticed him slump, as if fatigue had taken him by surprise.

  "Remus?" Nico whispered, the word coming out restrained.

  Remus looked at Nico with eyes glistening with fatigue, perhaps fear or shame. "I'm... fine," he said, but his voice betrayed the lie. Remus rose slowly, leaning on the table. "I... don't feel like it. I'm going back to the dormitory." He turned and slipped into one of the corridors leading to the stairs, up to the dormitories.

  Nico couldn't follow him. He had to go to training too; the master wouldn't forgive absences. But he felt as if part of him had stayed in that room with Remus. He took a deep breath and went outside.

  The courtyard was different now: more or less precise circles were drawn on the grass with dark ropes. The weapons master was Gareth, strangely young for the role, and he had no assistant. Nico raised a hand in greeting, but Gareth did not deign to look at him.

  Nico, lined up with the other apprentices, followed the master's gaze to the other side of the courtyard, where a rack stood like a small forest of weapons.

  "Grab a sword and come back here!" roared Gareth, a strange fire in his eyes.

  Nico advanced with the others. They weren't real swords: they were lightweight copies, made of smooth wood and woven bamboo strips, designed for learning technique without injury. The handles were shiny from use; the fibers of the knots gleamed like veins. Some of the weapons showed fresh repairs, strands of rope holding frayed handles together.

  "Right, en garde!" shouted Gareth.

  Nico, imitating Gareth's stance, stood with his right foot forward, knees slightly bent, weight distributed between both legs, blade centered at eye level.

  Then Gareth commanded, "Lunge!"

  A clang of feet striking the ground and swords cutting through the air echoed across the courtyard.

  They kept repeating the same position for what seemed like an eternity to him, while Gareth moved silently behind them, occasionally correcting a gesture, a wrong angle, a detail that was slightly out of place.

  His muscles ached, but Gareth did not call for a break.

  "And now the parry position!" Gareth roared. He set up the parry following Gareth's position: forearm slightly bent, blade in front to protect the torso.

  Nico took half a step forward with his right foot, knees slightly bent. He raised the blade to chest height, keeping his elbow low and close to his side.

  "Your torso," said Gareth, approaching him, "lean forward. You also need to control your wrist and arm. Your elbow,“ he said, correcting his position with light touches of the training sword, ”neither too high nor completely against your body."

  Nico nodded.

  "Okay, now let's see what you can do. Get into pairs," said Gareth, pointing to the hoops.

  Corvin grabbed Nico from behind, forcing him into a hug around his neck. "Want to train together?" Corvin hissed into Nico's ear.

  Nico turned around, looking for Leo, who had been taken by Mark. All of Bruno's abuse came flooding back in an instant, but this time nothing was going to stop him from standing up for himself and defending Remus. "Sure, Corvin," he said, and settled down with the boy in one of the hoops.

  When the attack came, he twisted his wrist and blocked the blow. The wood vibrated, making a sharp sound. Corvin slid the wooden blade to the side. Nico kept his guard up, ready to counterattack.

  Nico lunged forward. The wood struck his opponent's. A sharp blow, then a parry. He felt his arm vibrate, but he held his position.

  Corvin struck again. "Do you know why that coward trembles when he sees me?"

  Nico took a step back, realigned his sword, and breathed. He didn't answer: he parried and then lunged. He saw Corvin's eyes narrow in amazement; he too seemed surprised by Nico's skill, then Corvin continued: "My father had to beat that scum more than once. Remus's father owes my father a lot of money. You see, his father likes to gamble. And my father lets him, you know; but if you don't pay..."

  Corvin raised his wooden sword, ready for a high, unexpected slash, a move that Gareth had not yet taught him. Nico did not have time to raise his blade.

  He dodged to the side, his right foot scraping across the floor, his body turning just enough to feel the slash pass by his shoulder. The air brushed his cheek.

  He immediately regained his balance, blade ready in front of him. His breath caught in his throat.

  Gareth shouted, "Hey, you... Damn it, stop! That's an order!"

  Nico turned toward the commotion. He pushed his way through the crowd of apprentices and saw Leo clinging to Mark; they were holding each other. Nico looked more closely at Leo: he had a split eyebrow, but Mark was no better off. His lower lip was swollen and bruised.

  "You two, stand up."

  The two obeyed, glaring at each other.

  "I will report that you did not pass the test tonight. In the meantime, I will speak with the archery master to decide on a punishment worthy of such behavior."

  Then Gareth turned to stare at the spectators, indignation on his face.

  "Go on, everyone: go wash up. Class is over."