A familiar scene.

  A woman's back in the kitchen, illuminated by the afternoon sun as she worked. A song being hummed, nostalgic, although he couldn't remember the lyrics. Yes, it was a nostalgic scene, but not a pleasant one for that reason. Quite the opposite. Nostalgia was what hurt, what shattered things.

  He recognized that back perfectly, that voice, that song.

  Mom, Vincent thought. Oh, Mother.

  "Where have you been?" she asked suddenly, as if she had just noticed his presence, although he had been there the whole time.

  Vincent swallowed and reached a hand towards her, but her shoulder was too far away. He wouldn't be able to even brush it with his fingertips, no matter how much he stretched. It made no sense, but she was too far away.

  His stomach churned. The food being prepared… he had no idea what it was, but it smelled of death and rot, which didn't help.

  "Where have you been?" she repeated. "Were you that eager to get rid of me forever? Well, you never will. Never. I'm your mother, after all. Whether you like it or not."

  Oh mother, Vincent thought.

  And he answered. He said the words he had to say, just the perfect words to resolve the situation, to make everything turn out okay. But it didn't matter. She was too far away. No matter how perfect the words were. It didn't matter how perfect the words were if his voice couldn't reach her.

  And so he woke up agitated, thrashing in the sheets that wrapped around him like a butterfly's cocoon, his heart in his throat.

  He had never been one for nightmares. In fact, not even for dreaming, at least not that he remembered later. But since arriving at this place, nightmares never missed a visit.

  "What's wrong?" Ayame asked, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder.

  Vincent looked back at her instinctively. He didn't really think about it, but when he realized she was only half-dressed, he looked away. Like a fucking knight should.

  "What are you thinking about?" Vincent asked.

  "That you were asleep, so I didn't have to move to the bathroom to change, where it's colder," she replied without a second thought and with disarming honesty.

  You couldn't argue with her. It wasn't like he had seen much, and the little he had seen was appreciated, after all. So there was no need to exaggerate. He had caught her putting on her skirt and with her shirt clearly still unbuttoned, but that didn't mean much, since her back had been to him. Practically the same as seeing her clothed. Just that he hadn't been prepared to see that first thing in the morning, seconds after waking up. Or at least that's what he told himself.

  "You can look again now," Ayame said.

  Her sense of modesty seemed a bit questionable. Vincent hesitated whether he should look, after all. But in the end, he did, and nothing happened, of course. All buttons fastened and skirt in place.

  Vincent took a deep breath. Ayame was no fool. He was the stupid one.

  "What's wrong?" Tara asked, coming out of the bathroom, already changed and ready for the day's classes. "He caught you getting dressed, didn't he?"

  "That's right," the vampire admitted without any shame, or at least seemingly so.

  "Ha! I told you. You shouldn't have done that silly thing."

  "The bathroom is cold, isn't it?"

  "Well, uh…"

  "You can't tell me the bedroom isn't much warmer."

  "Well, yes, but… Don't you vampires like that? Darkness and cold. Besides, that's no reason to change with a boy in the room."

  Ayame shrugged.

  "Some vampires like darkness and cold. Others don't. Come on, it's almost as if they were people."

  Tara grimaced.

  "I… I didn't mean that."

  "Mean what? I don't understand you."

  Did she really not understand, or was she just mercilessly teasing poor Tara, first thing in the morning? Because that had sounded like sarcasm, without a doubt.

  Vincent got out of bed, pushing his hair out of his eyes with one hand. Both their gazes turned to him.

  "Well, what was wrong?" Ayame asked. "Or are you not going to tell me?"

  "Did something happen besides him catching you half-naked?" Tara asked.

  She wasn't half-naked, he thought, but didn't bother correcting Tara.

  "I had a nightmare. That's all," Vincent finally replied.

  "A nightmare," Ayame repeated. "About what?"

  "Home. It's just that I miss it. Matter of getting used to it."

  Tara nodded.

  "Yeah. Everyone feels the same way, that's for sure."

  "Well, I'm glad it was nothing, then," Ayame said.

  "What did you think it could have been?" Vincent asked with some curiosity. "Besides a nightmare or something like that?"

  Ayame shrugged. She did that a lot. Though maybe he wasn't one to throw stones.

  "What do I know? You could have been startled seeing me. Something else could have happened. I don't know. I didn't think it would just be a nightmare, I suppose."

  He wasn't sure how to interpret that, but nodded anyway.

  "Vincent," Tara said. "Very interesting conversation about dreams and all that, but we should hurry. We'll be late for class, and they've just started."

  She was absolutely right, of course. Vincent went to the bathroom and confirmed firsthand that, indeed, it was substantially colder than the bedroom.

  ***

  The first class of the day was theory with Professor Celeste. Nothing out of the ordinary. A basic explanation of the different Classes: the kind of stuff that all the students present, even him, should already mostly know.

  Celeste was a relatively young and attractive woman. No need to lie. However, there was something about her that reminded him of his grandmother. Maybe her way of dressing. Maybe the way she looked at all the students without exception, as if she had hopes for them. Maybe her brown hair, the way she wore it... he wasn't sure. For him, it was a compliment, but he would never say it to the professor. He was silly, but not that silly. He didn't feel like ending up punished. Not to mention it would be a very weird thing to mention just like that. He couldn't imagine how it could come up in a conversation, even theoretically.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Well, nonsense aside. Maybe traces of the nightmare that had soured his awakening.

  The professor then moved on to slightly more interesting topics: examples, the theoretical ideal path for each Class, which stats they should invest their points in, which skills they should unlock—although everyone had their share of unique skills that reflected them as individuals, that showed the colors of their souls and that kind of thing.

  She called up a couple of students one by one to demonstrate skills she could count on them having due to their Class. A task both students carried out without problems. After all, it wasn't complicated. It was something they would have done hundreds of times, even before entering Runehaven. As natural as breathing.

  However, Vincent's heart raced as if he knew what was going to happen.

  Shit! Shit!

  Celeste's eyes scanned the room, the crowd of students, looking for a third example. And you didn't need to be a genius to realize that her eyes would fall, that her gaze would fall on him. It wasn't a prediction or a horribly accurate premonition. It was natural, wasn't it? Because he had stood out, insisted on standing out in just a few days.

  She had called up a Barbarian, a Rogue, and now naturally she wanted to call up a…

  "Vincent Parker!" Celeste said. "Come here. After all, there's no better example of a Knight in this room, right?"

  No one stood up from their seat or, at least, raised their hand to challenge that statement. It seemed to be something the first-year students in this class had accepted as common sense.

  The dragon, the fight with Paul, the fight with the second-years. And now this, the dungeon thing, news that had also spread like wildfire. It was common sense that Vincent Parker was a splendid Knight.

  Shit! Fucking hell!

  Vincent took a deep breath, getting up from his seat.

  Which of the basic Knight skills would she ask him to demonstrate? It had to be something visible at first glance, something impactful enough. And what the hell could he do, even if he knew exactly the skill she would ask for?

  That's what he thought as he walked towards the front of the class.

  Shit! Shit!

  It was hot. Suddenly it was very hot in here. How would he manage? How to get out of this? What the hell could he do?

  He stopped beside the professor and turned towards the class.

  Shit! Were there really so many students? Somehow, amidst them, it hadn't felt like there were so many.

  He was aware, of course, of Ayame's and Tara's gazes. As a team, they had sat together. But he was even more aware of the gazes of strangers who wanted to see him fail. They believed he would do this without problems because any Knight would do it without problems. But that didn't mean they didn't wish to see him fail, that no one had good thoughts towards him.

  "Now," Celeste began, "can you demonstrate to the class one of the most important skills of a Knight? Perhaps the most important. I'm talking about Sword Storm, of course."

  Sword Storm. He knew, of course, what it was, what was expected of him. It was a skill capable of copying the Knight's weapon many times, forming a storm of swords that floated around them, sharp as the original.

  "You all know, or should know, what the skill is about," Celeste continued, "so I won't explain it. But let's just say it demonstrates the basic principle of any good Knight: They are never unarmed. Not really."

  Shit, shit.

  He had come so far. Done so many things. Was it going to end like this? Was he going to have to admit he couldn't do it, they would finally investigate this anomaly and realize he wasn't who he claimed to be, and his days in Runehaven would be over forever? And for the rest of his days, he would have to live in that old, dark, dusty forge, doing the same thing over and over? A job that was supposed to define him. A Class that should govern his life, but didn't fulfill him.

  Really, after overcoming so many adversities, was it all going to end in the stupidest way?

  He could say he couldn't, that he hadn't unlocked that Skill and make some excuse. It couldn't be that uncommon, right?

  And what do you think you'll achieve with that? he thought. She'll just ask you to use another Skill. You'll run out of excuses right away.

  Ayame raised her hand.

  "Professor Celeste," Ayame said, very formally (well, with the respect all students should have for a professor, no more, no less). "My partner isn't feeling well today. If you want, I can do it in his place."

  "You?" Celeste seemed momentarily confused, but then nodded. "Yes. I understand."

  Celeste might understand, but Vincent didn't, not at all.

  Had she really offered to demonstrate a Knight's skill? He wasn't clear on all the details of the Vampire Class, but... No, no, he had misinterpreted. No. She must be offering to demonstrate one of her own Class's skills. That would make much more sense. Hopefully, it would be enough. But it wouldn't suffice. The professor wanted a Knight and... Wait, then why had Celeste sounded confused for a moment?

  The students' murmurs, rising, spreading quickly, gave him the answer.

  "So she bit a Knight."

  "One of ours."

  "Incredible. And to think they still let her into the academy."

  And they said more things, more, but they came to mean the same thing. In any case, Vincent had already understood.

  So she could do that. Ayame and vampires, in general, if they bit someone, if they sucked their blood, could they use their skills, just like that? Without an apparent time limit? Wow, that was... No wonder she was so powerful.

  "Well," Celeste said, "if necessary, I suppose that's sufficient. Tara can take him to the infirmary and..."

  Vincent wasn't sure what to do. Should he accept this because Ayame had taken a risk, indirectly revealing that information to the students and faculty: that she had drunk from a human, from one of them? Or on the contrary...?

  "It doesn't matter, Professor," he said finally. "I'll do it and then go to the infirmary."

  He had an idea. Maybe not a great idea. Not even a good one. But he could try. Ayame, at least, had provided him with a good excuse if he failed.

  Vincent concentrated.

  This was something he had never tried. But he saw no reason why it shouldn't work, thinking about it.

  Cunning Escape.

  Blacksmiths didn't have combat-oriented skills. And this was no exception. But not all Blacksmiths were as lucky as his family: the privilege of having a shop and a steady clientele. Many had to wander around with their goods, in some cart, facing the dangers of the roads, the worst of people. Just as his ancestors had had to do, before amassing enough fortune to found the family shop. The Targeon forge, from which his surname supposedly came.

  As a result, he too had ended up unlocking that skill without realizing it, although he hadn't experienced the circumstances that had made it necessary. Matter of genetics.

  What was it about? Well, with it, you could create an illusion of yourself to confuse attackers. To manage to escape with your life and goods in the worst case. Yes. It had always been used for that, for the human body itself. But that was much more complex to copy than a mere sword. So... why wouldn't it work, let's see?

  Vincent concentrated even harder. He began to think he would fail. But then he saw it. A spectral copy of his sword appeared on the professor's desk, on the edge. But he wasn't finished yet.

  Another copy. This time seemingly stuck in the ground. But that wasn't enough. That was nowhere near a Sword Storm.

  Vincent took a deep breath. He concentrated like he had never concentrated on anything in his life. He knew he was on thin ice. And he felt it. He felt an illusionary sword appearing one after another around him.

  The feeling of triumph was indescribable.

  Vincent opened his eyes again. Of course, it didn't look exactly like the real skill. But it should pass.

  "Okay. Very good," Celeste said. "The speed of appearance is a bit strange, but it must be because you're not feeling too well. As I said, a true Knight is never truly unarmed."

  And that's said, Vincent thought, because all the copies from Sword Storm cut just as well as the original weapon. The problem—the reason his heart was still pounding—was that his copies didn't.

  If she asked him to demonstrate their effectiveness... then he was a bit screwed.

  He licked his lips. Bit the inside of his cheek. And clenched his fists, trying to minimize the signs of his nervousness as the professor continued talking. An important lesson, no doubt, but it went in one ear and out the other, leaving no trace.

  He was about to explode from nerves. The only thing he heard was…

  "Very well. You can go to the infirmary now."

  His salvation.

  Vincent dispelled the extra swords.

  "I think I'll stay in class after all."

  "Very well. As you wish, but don't hesitate to leave for the infirmary if you feel worse."

  Vincent nodded. He walked back and dropped into the seat between Ayame and Tara. He still felt very hot, his mouth dry, and his head a mess, as if his body still didn't understand he had survived to fight another day. But it would pass.

  Ayame looked at him, as if asking what that was, what had happened to him. She didn't seem angry that he had accepted her offer—risking revealing that information—only to ultimately prove he was capable, that he was well enough to do what he had to do after all. No, she simply seemed worried about him. Period.

  Returning her gaze, Vincent tried to manage a reassuring smile. "It's okay. Forget it. And I'm sorry." That's what he wanted his smile to say.

  Ayame got the message, or seemed to, and turned her head to look towards the professor again.

  Vincent's chest ached then, but for a completely different reason. His previous worries were forgotten, naturally, because this moment had forced him to become aware of the gap between them. They were a good team. They were good friends who would do what was necessary for each other. But there were simply things he couldn't tell her, not even her.

  She had taken a risk revealing a dangerous secret of hers, while he had chosen, and continued to choose, to keep his mouth shut. He was the one breaking the unwritten contract, so to speak.

  But hadn't he known this from the beginning? Long before setting foot in Runehaven academy?

  That he was a damn fraud.