The mess hall was a low, stone-walled room filled with the dull clatter of spoons and the rumble of knight's chatter. It smells of sweat, metal, and a stew that could charitably be described as edible.
The soup was a watery blend of mystery meat and vegetables that had long since surrendered their identities. The bread is a brick , dense enough to use as a weapon, if not to digest. Still, it is leagues above what Draco used to serve. His cooking had the unique talent of making a starving scavenger reconsider survival. Just thinking about that sludge brings the taste of bile to my throat.
But that was in the past… or maybe the future.
Time twisted strangely now. Some memories came wrapped in fog, others cut too sharp to ignore. I needed to sort them, and maybe, just maybe, if I played things right this time, I could build bonds faster. Avoid some mistakes.
Make allies.
I sit alone in the corner, spooning the lukewarm slop in silence, keeping my head low. A few glances came my way, mostly disinterest,until he noticed me.
The moment our eyes met, I felt it, a spike of hostility like a knife between the ribs.
A soldier stands from one of the central tables, tray clattering against metal as he moves. Tall. Scar over the right brow. Muscles like braided rope. His eyes locks onto me like a predator who remembers the taste of your blood but not your name.
Anger burns on his face, raw and confusing.
Why is he glaring at me like that? Do I know him? Or… did I hurt during my drunken stupor?
He stalks over, each step deliberate, and stops just at the edge of my table. His glare could've peeled bark off trees.
"Well, well, what do we have here?""A new trainee," he says, voice dripping with mockery.
He smiles, a smile without warmth, the kind you see right before a punch.
I keep my voice calm, measured, even though his eyes were practically burning holes through me.
"Do I know you?" I ask, trying to be diplomatic.
It was a mistake.
His sneer twists into something darker, fury barely restrained.
"You don't even remember me? What you did? And now you come here… trying to play soldier?"His voice rose like a whip crack, slicing through the low din of the mess hall.
Spoons paused mid-air. A few knights shift uncomfortably. The room was listening.
I straighten my back, keeping my expression steady.
"If I did anything to wrong you…" I take a breath, measured. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to correct my mistakes."
"Oh, how noble!" he snaps, voice thick with venom."Yes, an apology, how tidy. Just sweep it all away with a few soft words."
He takes a step closer.
"That's not how the world works, Young Lord."
I narrow my eyes.
"If you're here to harass me for some grudge or just because you can, then don't bother. I won't play that game."
The muscles in his jaw clenched. For a moment, I think he'd strike me again. Instead, he laughs, a single, dry, bitter , then spun halfway toward the room.
He jabs a finger toward me, voice booming now, demanding an audience.
"Me, harassing him! Do you hear that?"
His glare swung around to pin me in place.
"You're going to feign amnesia now? Pretend the slate's clean? You think if you act all soft and lost, people will forget the way you used to treat everyone below you like dirt? Like dogs?"
Whispers ruises from the tables. A few knights lean in. Others stare at me like they were seeing a ghost wear my face.
"Do you know how many apologies I had to make on your behalf?""How many punishments I took for the trash you said, the fights you started, the mess you left behind?"
"And now?" he growls, fists tightening."Now you don't even acknowledge our presence."
There was no sneer now.
Only raw, simmering resentment.Like a wound that never closed.
And I stand there, silent, not because I was guilty of the things he said.
But because a part of me knew…
He wasn't wrong.
I meet his gaze, and this time, my voice was firmer.
"I can't change the past.""But I'm not that person anymore."
His fists clenches. His lips curled like he'd heard the same lie one too many times.
"Then prove it," he growls.
.
I take a breath, step forward, not defensively this time, but open. Eyes steady.
"What do I need to prove…""To show you I'm worthy of changing?"
His rage falters.
Just a flicker, like the first crack in glass under pressure.
His eyes searches mine, confusion creeping in behind the fury. For the first time, he doesn't look like he was about to swing.
He looks like he is thinking of a response.
But before he could respond,
"CHALLENGE HIM TO A DUEL!""To the arena!""Let fists speak louder than lies!"
The silence breaks like a dam.
The murmurs of the soldiers erupts into shouts, boots stomping under benches, fists banging the tables. Their blood was up, not because they hate me, necessarily, but because they want a show. Knights are trained to bleed. And when the old wounds of reputation and rank start reopening in front of them, they demand resolution.
One duel to settle the unrest.
One fight to judge if I belonged.
The man across from me, the one I couldn't remember but clearly he felt wronged, looked around at the rising chorus. Then back to me.
"They want it," he says coldly. "I want it.""So fight. And maybe you'll earn that chance to change."
The commander doesn't stop the crowd. Dorsn't call for order. He stands still, arms crossed, eyes like a hawk measuring prey.
"Sunrise," he says, voice cutting through the noise."Training Arena. One-on-one. No armor. No interruptions."
Then his eyes landed squarely on me.
"You asked what you needed to prove. Survive."