(journal fragment, penned in a careful, deliberate hand, the ink slightly darker than usual as though pressed harder into the page.)
I have called many men teacher, but never one I trusted.
Not until today.
Lucien did not ask for proof of my skill, nor flattery, nor oaths. He listened—patient as stone—and when I finally found the courage to ask to stand beneath his name, he gave it freely. No contract. No formality. Just the weight of his hand on my shoulder and the words:
"Then you claim it."
It should not have undone me as it did.
I have endured harsher trials. Greater humiliations. I have walked through fire and called it necessity. Yet the simple acceptance of one man's faith felt heavier than any victory I have ever earned.
He said I carry fire.
He said I carry affection.
He said he sees greatness.
No one has ever spoken those words to me without envy or contempt hidden behind them.
When I bowed my head, it was not to kneel.
It was to keep from breaking.
Now, for the first time, I am not someone's burden.
Not a curiosity.
Not a tool sharpened for someone else's hand.
I am his apprentice.
Lord-Magister Lucien Ariakan's apprentice.
If there is honor in me at all, it will be because he saw it first.