CHAPTER SEVEN: THE CHOSEN APPRENTICE

A few quiet weeks passed, marked by soft rhythms and steady healing. Mika’s days were devoted to reclaiming her strength — both of body and mind — within the tranquil confines of the White Wolf Main Mansion.

It was during this recovery that she truly came to know the man who had saved her life — and inexplicably taken her under his protection: Lord Shinji Karou, Patriarch of the White Wolf Clan, one of the most secretive and revered bloodlines in all of Fulaina.

Despite the destruction she had wrought in Andania — and the Elders’ unease over harbouring her — Shinji and his family had shown her nothing but patience and kindness. It made no sense. Why would a nobleman of such power take in someone as dangerous as her?

Mika had tried asking him more than once. But each time the question rose, Shinji was gone — called away to another endless Clan meeting. His days were relentless, his nights short. She would see him only at dawn before his departure, and again long after the stars had claimed the sky. Yet every evening, no matter how burdened he seemed, he greeted her with that same calm, steady gaze — the kind that grounded her against her own doubts.

Their shared moments became quiet rituals: words exchanged over tea, short walks beneath moonlight, and idle conversations carried by the flicker of lanterns across stone halls.

One evening, while the mansion slept and the moonlight painted silver bars across the tatami, Shinji finally spoke of his Clan’s most sacred belief — the Rite of the Chosen Apprentice.

At first, Mika listened with curiosity. The idea of passing one’s legacy to a hand-picked successor sounded noble, even romantic. But as he spoke, the air grew cold, heavy with something ancient.

“A Chosen Apprentice,” Shinji began, voice low and deliberate, “is not merely a successor. They are a tether — a bond forged by instinct. It isn’t something you choose; you simply… know. Like a pull in your gut.”

He folded his hands, his tone deepening, older somehow — as if reciting scripture. “Once bonded, the Apprentice trains directly under their Master. They inherit not only skill, but burden. When the bond is strong, both grow stronger. But it’s never without danger. Sometimes, a Master must end their Apprentice if they fall to corruption. And there are darker times still, when an Apprentice dies defending the one they serve.”

His violet eyes lifted, steady and solemn. “When that happens, most Masters never take another. The wound never heals. Likewise, if a Master dies, the Chosen Apprentice carries their legacy — until the next Head of Clan is appointed.”

Mika’s breath caught. A chill crept up her spine.

Then came the words that shattered the quiet.

“The bond chose you, Mika. Not me. But I’ll honour it — if you will.”

The world tilted.

Before he could say another word, she was gone — the scrape of a chair, the rush of footsteps, the door slamming into silence.

***

Weeks slipped by. Mika avoided Shinji as best she could, haunted by those words. She had just begun to find peace within the mansion’s walls — now it all felt like a gilded cage. When her strength returned fully, she decided to leave.

The night she chose was veiled in mist, moonless and still. Dressed in a dark cloak, satchel strapped tight, she moved through the sleeping halls like a shadow. The guards were known for their senses — a heartbeat too loud could give one away — but Mika had studied their rotations for weeks.

Timing was everything.

At last, Mika reached the outer gate. Her breath caught as she turned back toward the mansion’s silhouette, wrapped in mist and moonlight.

“Thank you for everything,” Mika whispered. “But I won’t bring ruin to anyone else.”

Then came the voice that stopped her cold.

“How long do you intend on running away? For the rest of your life?”

She froze. “...Shinji.”

He emerged from the fog, barefoot, draped in a white robe over silk nightclothes. His forest-green hair hung loose, his expression unreadable.

“What are you doing here?” she managed.

“Night stroll,” he said simply, lighting a cigarette with a soft click.

“You have work in the morning—”

“You’re avoiding the question.” His tone wasn’t sharp — just disappointed. “You’ve been planning this since the night I told you about the Rite.”

Her knees gave way before her will did. She sank into a prostrate bow, forehead to the cold ground.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know I must seem ungrateful, after all you’ve done. But I can’t do this. I’m not who you think I am. I cannot be your Chosen Apprentice.”

Her voice cracked. “Please. Let me go.”

“Milord, is everything—” Shinji’s bodyguards quickly stepped in.

“Leave us,” Shinji commended. His voice turned cold.

The bodyguards nodded and left them.

Shinji said nothing. Then — fabric rustled. A weight settled over her shoulders. Warm, heavy, familiar.

His robe.

Shinji said nothing more. Only turned, barefoot in the cold, and disappeared back into the fog. He didn’t stop her nor told her to leave. Mika clutched the robe tightly. His question echoed in her chest.

How long do you intend on running away?

***

By dawn, Mika stood before the Elders of the White Wolf Clan. Word of her failed escape had already spread, stirring whispers and disapproval across the chamber.

Her voice was steady. “I am seeking forgiveness from Lord Shinji and the Clan. I accept any punishment. But if permitted, I ask to stay — and continue serving.”

Murmurs rippled. Some Elders scoffed. Others called for her expulsion. Until Suzumi struck her folded fan sharply against the table.

“Silence! The decision belongs to Lord Shinji — not to you.” She turned toward her brother. The room held its breath.

Mika lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. “I’ll try my best. But I won’t follow blindly. If ever I doubt you, I’ll leave.”

A faint smile touched Shinji’s lips. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

An Elder rose, voice echoing through the chamber.

“Let it be known: Mika of Luyas is henceforth the Chosen Apprentice of Lord Shinji Karou, Patriarch of the White Wolf Clan.”

***

The morning sun poured over the mountains, gilding the mist in pale gold. From the high terrace of the White Wolf Mansion, the sound of sweeping filled the still air — rhythmic, soft, almost meditative.

Shinji sat on the porch, cigarette in hand, violet eyes following the figure below. Mika, clad in simple robes, was sweeping the courtyard with quiet determination. She moved slowly at first, then faster, until her motions took on the tempo of thought — something to fill the silence.

Earlier that morning, she had complained to him that endless drills and meditation were driving her to madness. She wanted to help — to do something real.

He’d scoffed at first. “You’re my Chosen Apprentice, not a servant.”

But Mika had stood her ground, arms crossed and voice firm. “Even as Lord Ranfel’s adopted daughter, I’d scrub kitchen floors. I wasn’t above doing physical cleaning, Lord Shinji — and I’m certainly not now.”

That stubborn spark had made him relent. Barely.

Now, as he watched her gather leaves into tidy piles, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. For all her fragility, Mika’s spirit remained fierce — a flicker of the Knight he knew she could become, if fate decided otherwise..

A guard approached quietly, bowed, and whispered something in his ear. Shinji exhaled a long, thin stream of smoke.

“So soon,” he murmured. “Very well.” He rose, stubbing the cigarette into the tray. “That’s enough for today, Mika.”

Mika looked up, brow furrowed.“But there are still more—”

“You can finish them later,” he interrupted. “You have visitors.”

“Visitors?” she echoed, lowering her broom.

***

Two figures stood before the grand gates of the White Wolf Clan: Commander Grants Rogue and Vice-Commandant Claire Boyce.

The mansion loomed ahead, guarded by tall bronze statues of wolves, each carved with lifelike precision. Even Grants, a seasoned commander, could not help but admire the discipline radiating from every post — archers hidden in the treetops, sentinels on the rooftops, swordsmen standing in silent formation.

He gave a slow nod. “Impeccable. No wonder no one dares cross them.”

Then a voice, smooth as water: “My apologies for keeping you waiting, Commander Rogue, Vice-Commandant Boyce.”

Lady Suzumi appeared at the entrance, her composure serene.

“Milady,” Grants greeted, bowing lightly. “We should be the ones apologising for arriving unannounced.”

She shook her head with a gracious smile.

“Nonsense. I had expected your arrival sooner or later. Please, come in.”

The sound of approaching footsteps filled the corridor. Mika walked beside Shinji, her heart thrumming beneath her ribs.

And then she saw them. Two faces from a life that felt impossibly distant.

“Commandant Grants... Madam Boyce.”

Grants froze, his composure faltering for the first time. The memory of Andania surged back — the fire, the screams, the power that had consumed everything. His fists tightened unconsciously, but when he looked at Mika now, he saw not a monster — but the girl he’d sworn to protect.

“It’s been a long time, Mika,” he said softly. “I feared the worst. But... you look stronger. Healthier.” He reached out a tentative hand.

Mika hesitated, then stepped forward — A blade flashed between them.

Claire had drawn her sword, the point levelled at Mika’s chest. Her voice was cold. “By the order of Lord Ranfel Heartlets XII, you are under arrest. Should you resist, I will not hesitate to act.”

Before Mika could breathe, steel sang from every direction. Archers materialised from the mist, blades drawn, eyes fixed on the intruder. Shinji stepped forward, expression unreadable, but the air around him tightened — heavy, dangerous.

“What the hell are you doing, Vice-Commandant?!” Grants hissed. “Stand down.”

“I cannot,” Claire hissed. “Lord Ranfel commanded—”

Grants’ voice cracked through the air like a whip. He positioned himself between them, arms raised. “Stand down, Claire. Now.”

Claire’s jaw clenched. After a long, tense moment, she sheathed her sword. The archers followed suit, vanishing back into the shadows.

Suzumi’s fan snapped shut. Her voice’s silk drawn over steel. “Return to your posts. All of you. Rest assured, Commandant. You are guests within the White Wolf Clan. Thus, you will be receiving our hospitality, as always.”

Grants exhaled, the tension finally ebbing. “My deepest apologies for this offence,” he said, bowing. “I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

Suzumi inclined her head slightly. “Then let us speak in private.”

***

In the guest chamber, tea steamed between them. Mika sat beside Shinji and Suzumi, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Across the table, Grants and Claire sat stiff-backed, their expressions solemn.

After a long silence, Grants spoke. “Lord Eden and the Master Oracle have reviewed your case, Mika. The debate was long... and divided. Many called for your execution.”

Mika remained still, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“But reason prevailed. The final verdict is exile. You are forbidden to enter the Kingdom of Luyas territory again. If found... you will be hunted without warning.”

The words landed like stones in the stillness. Mika closed her eyes. She had expected it — yet the finality struck deeper than she’d imagined.

Claire’s voice cut the silence. “You should be grateful. It was nearly the gallows.”

“Enough, Vice-Commandant,” Grants snapped. His tone left no room for argument. He turned back to Mika, softer now.

“Even Lord Andania pleaded for leniency. But peace won’t last long. You should leave soon. Get away as far from here before the tides turn. I’m sorry, Mika. I failed to protect you.”

She lifted her gaze, offering a small, tired smile. “No, Commandant. You did all that you could. And I’ll never forget it.”

Grants stood, bowing deeply. “May we meet again — under brighter skies.”

As they turned to leave, Suzumi motioned for a servant. A lacquered chest was brought forward, and within it lay Mika’s knight’s armour and blade — polished to a mirror sheen.

“These belonged to you,” Suzumi said to Grants.

Grants took them reverently, his eyes heavy. “A shame, Mika. You were Luyas’ brightest blade. Let exile sharpen you — not break you.”

He bowed once more before departing, the sound of his footsteps fading into the long, solemn hall.

Mika sat quietly long after they were gone, the taste of exile bitter on her tongue. Outside, the morning wind shifted — and for the first time since Andania, she felt it.

Freedom. And its price.