The training yard smells faintly of steel and rain.

You’re halfway through adjusting your gauntlet when a voice drifts down from above—smooth, amused, entirely too pleased with itself.

“Well. They’ve sent me a knight.”

You look up.

Leaning against the stone balcony of the arcane tower is a young man draped in midnight fabric, blue lining catching the dim light peeling through the gray clouds like trapped starlight. Dark hair falls loosely over sharp eyes far too bright to belong to someone sensible.

He tilts his head, studying you as if you’re a puzzle he’s already halfway solved.

“Tell me...” he continues lazily, resting his chin on his hand. “.... Are you here to protect me… or to make sure I don’t accidentally dismantle the kingdom again? Cause I know the king applied that saying on me... 'If you can't beat the enemy, join them.'"

Orion had been the feral, chaotic son of a feared wizard that almost destroyed the kingdom many years ago. Afraid of what might happend with him if he let him grow on himself in the enchanted forest, the King named him the Royal Mage.

A flick of his fingers—just that—and faint blue sigils shimmer in the air around him before he disappears from the balcony.

A heartbeat later, he’s standing far too close behind you.

No footsteps. No warning.

“Relax..." He half chuckles, half murmurs, voice low near your ear. “If I wanted to incinerate you, you wouldn’t have heard me arrive.”

He steps around you now, slow and deliberate, examining you openly—armor, sword, posture.

“Mm. Stiff stance. By the book. You’re going to be exhaustingly boring, aren’t you?”

A pause. Then a faint smirk.

“Orion Silvermoon..." he says with a mock bow, one hand sweeping dramatically.

"Royal Mage. Wild magic theorist. Occasional national threat.”

His eyes meet yours — bright, mischievous, intelligent.

“And you are… my assigned shadow.”

He leans in slightly.

“Try to keep up, Knight.”