Threads of Time and Steel

The early morning sun filtered through the worn curtains, casting a soft glow over the modest home that Silva Fischburn shared with his mother. The house, on the outskirts of the lower noble district, was nothing like the grand estates that other noble families boasted. It was small, tucked away from the bustle of the city, and lacked the opulence that many would expect from a family of noble blood. But it was home.

Silva sat at the simple wooden table, staring at the letter in his hands. It was a summons to the Royal Army tryouts, something he had been waiting for ever since he turned sixteen. His fingers traced the edges of the letter absentmindedly as he replayed his mother's warnings in his head.

"Don't seek him out."

His father. The man who had abandoned his mother before Silva was even born. Growing up, Silva had asked about him countless times, but his mother's answers were always the same—vague and tinged with sadness. She had told him stories of their time together, of how he had once been kind and loving. But left her pregnant and alone to be shunned. Although his mother tried to defend her former love, Silva had refused to accept it. He abandoned her, abandoned him when his mother had need him the most. 

Silva had never met his father, and though a part of him wanted to, he had long since learned to accept that it would likely never happen. His father's name wasn't spoken in noble circles because no one had any idea who the father was and his mother had made it clear that there were things best left alone.

Still, the absence of a father had marked Silva's life in ways he couldn't fully articulate. He had grown up as the son of a lesser noblewoman, shunned by many in the noble class who saw him as nothing more than a stain on their society. His mother's status had fallen significantly after his birth, and while they still retained the title of nobility, his mother's maiden name; the same family that cast them out, the house of Count Fischburn, it was in name only. They lived humbly, on the edge of a world that had once embraced them but now turned its back.

Despite this, Silva was determined to make something of himself. He was determined to prove that his worth wasn't tied to his father's absence or his mother's disgrace. Joining the Royal Army had been a dream of his for as long as he could remember. It wasn't just about the honor and the title—it was about finding a place where he could belong, where he could prove himself without the weight of his family's past hanging over him.

His mother, as always, had mixed feelings about his ambitions. She was proud of him, of his drive and his strength, but she worried. She worried that the same people who had shunned them would use his ambition against him, that they would find a way to tear him down no matter how hard he tried.

Silva looked up as his mother entered the room, her expression soft and tired. She had always been beautiful, even in her worn state. Her dark hair, streaked with silver, framed her face, and her eyes, though tired, still held a warmth that Silva cherished.

"Are you ready?" she asked, her voice quiet.

Silva nodded, folding the letter and slipping it into his coat pocket. "I am."

His mother moved to stand beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. "You've worked hard for this," she said softly. "I know you'll do well."

Silva reached up to cover her hand with his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'll make you proud, Mother."

She smiled, but there was a sadness in her eyes that Silva couldn't ignore. He knew she was proud of him, but he also knew that she feared what his future might hold. The noble class was ruthless, and Silva had already faced his fair share of cruelty from the other noble boys who taunted him for his mother's disgrace. They called him a bastard, a son of a whore. . They mocked him for his humble home, for his lack of a father's name to bolster his standing.

But Silva had never let their words break him. He fought back, sometimes physically, much to his mother's dismay. He couldn't stand the way they disrespected her, and he would never allow anyone to tarnish her name in his presence. The bruises and cuts he had earned from those fights were badges of honor in his mind—proof that he was not someone to be walked over.

Still, his mother had always scolded him for it, though he could see the pride in her eyes whenever she did. She admired his spirit, his unwillingness to back down in the face of adversity. But she also feared for him, knowing that the world they lived in could be unforgiving to those who dared to stand against it.

"Just... be careful," she said, her voice tinged with worry.

Silva stood, turning to face her fully. "I will," he promised, his gaze steady. "I'll be careful. And I'll come back stronger."

His mother nodded, though the worry didn't leave her eyes. She stepped forward and pulled him into a tight embrace, her arms wrapped around him as if she were trying to protect him from the world. Silva hugged her back, closing his eyes for a moment as he breathed in the familiar scent of her hair.

When they finally pulled apart, Silva gave her a small smile. "I should get going."

His mother nodded, though her eyes lingered on him as if she didn't want to let him go. "Take care of yourself, my son."

"I will, Mother."

With that, Silva left the house, stepping out into the crisp morning air. The streets were already beginning to fill with people, merchants setting up their stalls and noblemen riding through on horseback. Silva adjusted his coat and began making his way toward the army barracks where the tryouts would be held.

The Royal Army was a prestigious institution, reserved for the sons of nobility and royalty. But Silva knew that his path would be more difficult than most. Though he bore the title of nobility, his family's disgrace meant that he would have to work twice as hard to prove himself. He wasn't like the other noble sons who were handed their positions—he would have to fight for his place.

And fight he would.

The tryouts were grueling, as Silva had expected. He had spent years training, honing his skills in preparation for this day. His mother had scrimped and saved to pay for tutors, men who had once served in the army and were willing to teach him the art of combat. Silva had taken to it quickly, his natural athleticism and sharp mind making him a formidable student.

Now, standing in the training yard with dozens of other young men, Silva knew that this was his chance to prove himself. The instructors, all seasoned soldiers, barked orders at the recruits as they were put through a series of physical and mental challenges. Endurance, strength, strategy—all were tested over the course of several days.

Silva gave it everything he had. He ran faster, pushed harder, fought smarter than the others. He could see the disdain in the eyes of some of the noble recruits—those who had heard of his family's disgrace and saw him as an easy target. But Silva ignored them. He wasn't here for their approval.

By the end of the tryouts, Silva was exhausted but confident. He had performed well, and he could see the respect in the eyes of some of the instructors. Still, he knew that the real test was yet to come.

Weeks passed, and Silva waited anxiously for the results. When the letter finally arrived, his heart raced as he tore it open. His eyes scanned the page, and a slow smile spread across his face.

He had been accepted into the Royal Army.

Not only that, but he had been assigned a corporal's office —a position that many noble recruits would only dream of reaching after years of service. It was an incredible honor, and Silva knew that he had earned it through his hard work and determination.

But not everyone was pleased.

As Silva began his service, he quickly learned that his success had made him a target. The noble sons who had failed to advance past the rank of private were jealous, and they did everything they could to undermine him. They spread rumors, set traps, and tried to sabotage his career at every turn. But Silva, with his calm demeanor and sharp mind, always managed to outmaneuver them.

It wasn't easy. There were times when the weight of their constant harassment wore on him, when the loneliness of being an outsider in the army threatened to break him. But Silva held fast to his determination. He was here to build a life for himself and his mother, to rise above the shame that had followed them for so long.

And there was something else that kept him going—something deeper, more personal.

He hadn't forgotten his past life. The memories were fragmented, blurry at times, but one thing remained clear: his lover was somewhere in this world, too. He didn't know who she was or where to find her, but he knew she existed. The deities had promised him that much when they granted him this second life.

In the quiet moments of the night, when the barracks were still and the only sounds were the distant calls of night birds, Silva would lie awake, staring up at the ceiling. His thoughts would drift back to the time before, to the life he had shared with her.

Her name had been Charlotte. He could remember the way she laughed, the sound of it like music to his ears. He could remember her smile, the way it lit up her face and made his heart swell with love. And he could remember the way it had all ended—the crash, the pain, the overwhelming sense of loss as her life slipped away before his eyes.

He had begged the deities for another chance. He had refused to let her go, not after all they had been through. And so, they had given him this second life, this second chance to find her.

But where was she?

As the days passed, Silva continued his training, and the rumors of the "unkillable man" began to surface. They spoke of a man who defied the gods, who sought to overthrow the kingdom and disrupt the balance of the world. It was a dangerous idea, one that threatened everything Silva had worked for.

And so, the nobles who had once looked down on him now saw an opportunity. They gave him the task of investigating this man, believing that he would either waste his time chasing a phantom or die in the attempt. They didn't care about him—they cared only about the potential to rid themselves of a threat.

But Silva wasn't about to back down. He didn't know if the rumors were true, but he knew that whatever this man was planning, it had to be stopped. For his mother, for the kingdom, and for the future he had yet to build.

And somewhere, deep within, Silva knew that his lover— his Charlotte—was out there, waiting for him.