No Path Chosen

Lucian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "We got scammed by some old man. Leon chased after him, and Harry and I followed. He led us to Gloryrail Street—warehouse district. That's where we found Servin. He'd been kidnapped."

He hesitated. "We got him out… brought him back here."

Silas didn't respond at first. He sat perfectly still, arms crossed, his expression unreadable in the low light.

"I think you're leaving something out," he said quietly.

Leon shifted uncomfortably, his hands curling into fists. "We fought gang members," he admitted, his voice low. "One of them had powers. And the old man… he…"

Silas leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "He died? Did you kill him?"

Leon shook his head quickly. "No—not really. I was fighting someone else who had powers. We clashed, and… the shockwave hit him. It wasn't on purpose."

Silas closed his eyes and exhaled, slow and heavy. He brought a hand to his forehead and stayed silent for a beat too long.

"Alright," he murmured. "You've been through enough. Get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow."

The boys started to rise, but Servin didn't move. His voice cut through the hush.

"One of them was wearing an owl mask," he said. "The one who kidnapped me… and the one guarding me too."

Silas froze. His gaze sharpened.

"Owl mask?" he repeated, his voice suddenly grave. "Then they weren't just street thugs. That was the Silent Chord."

"The Silent what?" Harry asked, brows furrowed.

"They're not some random gang," Silas said, tone hardening. "They're part of an organized group—dangerous, disciplined. This isn't small-time crime anymore. This… changes things."

"We heard them say something about Static and Chorus," Lucian added quietly.

Silas nodded slowly. "Those are their ranks. 'Chorus' is the lowest—usually maskless, working in groups. They're led by a Static—the ones who wear owl masks. Above them are the First Strings. I've only heard rumors. And at the very top…"

He paused.

"There's the Conductor. No one's ever seen him. Some say he's just a story. Others think he's the one pulling every string in the city."

Silence fell again, thicker this time. The air felt heavy.

"Starting tomorrow," Silas said, rising to his feet, "I'll be keeping an eye on all of you. My exams are done—I've got time now. You're not facing this alone."

Leon's eyes lit up with a flicker of excitement. "Wait—you're free now? That means you can train me!"

Silas gave a small smile. "Yeah. Anything you want to learn."

"But…" Harry frowned. "How did you even know we went out?"

"I was watching from a distance," Silas replied. "Saw you running. Figured something was wrong."

"What? We didn't see anyone," Lucian said, glancing at the others.

"You shapeshift, don't you?" Servin asked suddenly, his gaze sharp. "That crescent emblem on your sweater—that's Oisindenamus. They sponsor Greenwarden and Pathseeker paths. I'm guessing you're Greenwarden."

Silas raised an eyebrow, impressed. "You got me. I can morph into a raven."

Servin shrugged modestly. "Just something I was taught."

Silas leaned back slightly, arms crossed, but the tension didn't leave his posture.

"Get some rest," he said, voice steady. "Tomorrow… we prepare for whatever's coming."

The boys nodded, the weight of the day finally catching up with them. They filed toward their shared room in silence, each step heavier than the last.

Lucian collapsed onto his mattress with a sigh, barely managing to tug a blanket over himself. Harry didn't even bother—he flopped face-first into bed and was out cold within seconds. Leon shifted around a bit before settling, the quiet rhythm of his breathing slowing to sleep.

But Servin lay awake.

The dim ceiling stared back at him as he lay on his back, arms at his sides, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest. He wasn't tired. Not really. His body ached, yes—but his mind buzzed, louder than ever.

It's happening again, he thought.

His eyes flicked toward the ceiling, unfocused.

Dragged away, locked up… treated like property. Just like before.

The past crept in uninvited—cold halls, stone floors, strict voices. A time before this so-called freedom, back when orders weren't questioned, and your worth depended on what you could endure.

And now? Now he was here, in a room with people who actually came for him.

They fought for me.

They got hurt for me.

They didn't have to.

He turned his head slightly. Leon's arm dangled off the bed. Lucian had his blanket pulled up over half his face. Harry snored softly, twitching once in his sleep.

Servin stared at them for a while.

I don't deserve this…

But another thought crept in behind it, quieter but stubborn:

Then earn it.

He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.

Morning arrived without warning.

A golden hue slipped through the curtains, falling softly across the room. Birds chirped outside, indifferent to yesterday's chaos.

Servin's eyes opened first.

He sat up, feeling stiff but awake, and glanced around. Everyone else was still out cold.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

Now what?

He paced once in front of their beds, then paused, debating internally.

Do I shake them? Whisper? Throw something? …Dump water?

No. Too much. Probably.

He stood there frozen with indecision—until the door creaked open behind him.

Silas stepped inside with the swagger of a man who'd slept like a rock and had zero regrets.

"You look like someone deciding between kindness and chaos," Silas said, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't know how to wake them," Servin replied dryly.

"Ancient problem. Calls for ancient methods."

Silas strode forward, took a deep breath, and shouted:

"RISE AND SHINE, PRINCES OF THE MESS!"

"GAH!" Harry shrieked, flailing as he rolled off the bed and hit the floor.

Lucian let out a strangled, "Whuh—bananas?!"

Leon sat bolt upright like he'd just been stabbed. "Are we under attack again!?"

"Only by me," Silas said cheerfully. "And I don't take prisoners. Now get dressed. You've got ten minutes before breakfast, and then we start training."

"Can I train my fists into your face first?" Harry groaned from the floor.

Lucian flopped back onto his bed. "Tell my grave I loved her."

Leon was already halfway out of bed, wide-eyed. "Real training?"

Silas nodded. "With sweat. Screaming. And tears, if I'm lucky."

Servin smirked slightly as he stepped aside, watching the chaos unfold with quiet amusement.

The room slowly came alive with groans and stretching. Leon stood up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, then turned to Servin with a grin.

"You're up early," he said, grabbing a towel from the shelf near the door.

"I never really slept," Servin replied, honest as ever.

"Well, you're about to smell like someone who hasn't," Leon joked, then tossed the towel right at his face. "Let's get fresh."

Servin caught it instinctively, raising an eyebrow.

Harry was still on the floor, mumbling, "Please… let me sleep just five more years…"

Lucian yawned, dragging himself upright. "If anyone touches me before I shower, I'll legally bite them."

"You already smell like someone who lives in a drainpipe," Leon shot back.

"You're just jealous I make it look cool."

"Cool?" Servin said, dry. "You smell like regret and old socks."

Lucian pointed at him. "Betrayed by the quiet one. Et tu, Servin?"

They shuffled toward the small bathroom down the hall—cramped, yes, but it had hot water and was clean enough for the price of rent.

"Last one in's a smelly mushroom!" Leon yelled, racing ahead.

Harry, still half-asleep, murmured, "Wait… what kind of mushroom…?"

Servin shook his head but followed.

The laughter bounced down the hallway like echoes of something they'd forgotten how to have—normalcy.

The second-floor bathroom of the boys' dorm was unusually quiet that morning.

Thanks to waking up earlier than the rest of the building, the four boys had the entire place to themselves. No lines, no shouting, no waiting. Just steam, tiles, and the sweet sound of freedom.

It was spacious, with five private shower stalls, wide mirrors over the sinks, and a foldable plastic bathing pool stashed in the corner.

Naturally, chaos was inevitable.

Leon spotted the folded tub the moment they walked in.

"You're thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

Harry answered with a grin. "Bath party."

Lucian sighed. "Do I even get a vote?"

"Nope!" Leon said as he and Harry went to work unfolding the pool and dragging it near the wall.

While the tub filled with warm water from the nearby faucet, the boys stood in front of the mirrors brushing their teeth and washing their faces. Steam slowly began to fill the air.

Servin moved a bit slower than the others, his towel wrapped securely around his waist. He glanced at the tub, then at the line of stalls. His expression was neutral, but the way he gripped the edge of the sink said enough.

Once the pool was full, Leon stripped and cannonballed in. "Let's gooo!"

Harry followed, laughing as water splashed out onto the tile.

Lucian stepped in carefully, muttering, "You're both feral."

Servin lingered near the stall doors, then gave a short shake of his head. "I'll take the shower."

Leon blinked. "What? Why?"

"I like walls," Servin said flatly, disappearing into the stall.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "That guy's a mystery."

Leon leaned back against the pool's rim. "More like a locked box in a locked room in a locked castle."

Inside the stall, Servin turned on the water and let it run.

He wasn't upset—he just wasn't interested in being part of the splash war about to break out in the tub. He preferred his peace. His privacy. He didn't need to be part of a group bath like some kind of festival fish.

Outside, Harry and Leon floated lazily for a few minutes. Then their eyes locked.

The smiles came slowly.

The kind of grins that meant nothing good was about to happen.

Lucian saw it. "Don't."

"Just one splash," Harry whispered.

"Operation Icefall," Leon whispered back.

Lucian facepalmed. "You're grown children."

They crawled out of the pool like wet, mischievous goblins, filled two buckets with cold tap water, and crept toward Servin's stall like it was a sacred mission.

Inside, Servin had just picked up the shampoo bottle.

Splash!

The twin buckets of freezing water cascaded over the door in a perfect arc.

"Agh—!" Servin jumped, slipping slightly and grabbing the wall.

He stood there, drenched and blinking.

Water dripped from his hair. His towel stuck to him like glue.

For three seconds, he said nothing.

Then the door creaked open.

He stepped out slowly, steam rising around him, and gave Leon and Harry a completely blank look.

"…Really?"

Leon wheezed with laughter. "Your face—!"

Harry doubled over. "I think he short-circuited!"

Lucian, soaking in the tub, just sighed. "You deserve whatever's coming."

Servin adjusted his towel, picked up a fresh bucket, and calmly filled it.

Leon froze. "Wait. Servin. Buddy."

"Listen," Harry added, backing away, "it was just a—"

Splash!

Cold water hit both of them with surgical precision.

Lucian smirked. "Justice."

Servin dropped the empty bucket, walked past them, and re-entered the stall without a word.

Revenge is a dish best served cold. Literally.

Harry stood shivering. "He's like a quiet assassin…"

Leon wrung out his hair. "Remind me never to prank the calm ones."

After the chaos in the bathroom (and a lot more mopping than anyone wanted to admit), the boys dried off, dressed, and made their way to the tiny dorm kitchen.

It wasn't much—barely enough counter space for two people to stand side by side—but it had the essentials: a toaster, a half-functioning fridge, and a jar of jam that looked like it had survived several world wars.

Leon opened the fridge and stared into the void. "Breakfast, huh?"

Harry leaned in. "We've got bread. We've got… jam. And more bread."

Lucian held up the bread bag like it was sacred. "Behold, the feast of champions."

Leon rubbed his hands together. "Toaster time."

They started preparing slices one after another, passing them through the toaster like an assembly line. A dollop of jam, a swipe, a slap, done.

But then Leon paused and looked at the counter.

"Wait. What do we give Servin?"

Harry tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, the guy's rich. He probably eats imported pastries with gold flakes and unicorn tears."

Lucian shrugged. "He's a person, not a dragon. He can eat toast."

Leon narrowed his eyes. "We can't just give him one sad slice. That's insulting. It's like handing royalty a cracker."

Harry nodded solemnly. "He deserves… a tower."

Lucian: "You two need help."

Regardless, they stacked the slices—one by one—into a leaning tower of jammy bread until it reached comical proportions. Jam dripped down one side like it was crying for help.

When Servin walked into the kitchen, towel still around his neck and hair slightly damp, they turned to him proudly.

"Behold!" Leon declared. "Your breakfast, noble one."

Servin stared at the towering plate.

"…Why is it shaped like a small fortress?"

Harry added, "Each layer handcrafted by commoners. For you."

Lucian was already eating his own single slice, shaking his head. "They wouldn't listen."

Servin looked at the mountain of toast, then at the others, and back again. A long pause.

"…A normal slice would've been fine."

Leon grinned. "We don't do 'normal' in this house."

Servin picked up a slice from the top as gently as if he were disarming a trap. "Well… thanks. I think."

Harry beamed. "See? He loves it."

"I tolerate it," Servin corrected, biting in.

The jam was uneven. The bread slightly burnt.

It wasn't perfect.

But he kept eating.

Just as Servin finished his second slice, the kitchen door creaked open.

Silas stepped in, arms crossed, brow raised at the half-leaning tower of toast on the table.

"…What am I looking at?"

Leon beamed. "A royal breakfast offering!"

Harry added proudly, "We call it: The Jamspire."

Lucian didn't look up from his seat. "It's exactly what it looks like. And somehow still worse."

Silas walked over and picked up a slice from the side of the tower, inspecting it like it was a science experiment. "You do realize training starts in ten minutes, right?"

Leon froze, mouth full of toast. "Wait. You were serious?"

Silas nodded. "Sweat, screaming, and tears. Just like I promised."

Harry groaned. "But we just got clean!"

"Then enjoy being dirty again," Silas said, already turning toward the hallway. "And bring what's left of that Jamspire. You'll need the energy."

Lucian narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying we're going to burn that many calories… or you just want the bread?"

"…Yes," Silas replied, vanishing around the corner.

The boys exchanged a collective sigh.

Servin stood, brushing crumbs from his shirt. "I regret eating. I regret waking up."

Leon patted him on the back. "Welcome to morning training."

Harry grabbed two more slices from the tower. "May the jam be with us."

And with that, they marched out—bellies full, towels damp, and very little dignity intact.