Unbroken: The Last Lunar Heir

The Silver Gallery

The morning air atop the high ramparts was sharp enough to burn the back of my throat.

The upper walkway, known as the Silver Gallery, stretched across the western wall of the fortress. Below us, the courtyard was a distant patch of gray stone, but up here, the mountain wind whipped through the crenellations, carrying the bitter scent of pine and frost from beyond the ward barrier.

I kept my eyes fixed on the flagstones ahead, my posture straight as we stood in line.

“Eclipse Lineage”

The words had echoed in my mind all night, repeating with every beat of my heart while I lay awake in the dark barracks. If Commander Cross wasn’t willing to speak those words out in the light, I certainly wasn’t stupid enough to repeat them. I hadn't asked Rhea, nor had I lingered near the archives. If Jaxen refused to speak about it, neither would I.

High above the walkway, on the elevated observation platform, Commander Cross watched in silence, his hands clasped behind his back. His dark coat caught the biting wind, his pale eyes tracking the rows of cadets below. He didn't speak or issue orders, serving as a quiet, unreadable presence against the overcast sky.

"Atten-tion," a proctor shouted from the end of the gallery.

Forty cadets snapped into rigid formation. For the first time since entering Ironfang, the Unbound class was merged directly with the Legacy cadets. The contrast was stark. We wore dull grey wool stained with dirt and sweat; they wore dark, tailored leather trimmed with polished silver thread.

A senior instructor stepped forward, holding an iron-bound baton. "Today's exercise is squad-level breach defense. Legacy cadets will command. Unbound will form the forward line. You will execute tactical commands without hesitation."

The assignments were called off quickly. When my name was read, I was directed to the eastern flank of the rampart.

Standing at the edge of the stone wall, watching her squad fall into position, was Lyra Sterling.

She didn't taunt the Unbound cadets as we lined up before her. She didn't smirk or throw insults. She held a blunt steel practice blade at her side, her icy blue eyes scanning each of us with clinical efficiency. Every movement she made suggested absolute confidence in her command.

"We take the high corner," Lyra said, her voice carrying clearly over the mountain wind. "Standard wedge formation. Unbound hold the outer edge."

She stepped down the line, stopping directly in front of me. Her pale hair was braided tight against her scalp, not a single strand loose.

"Hold the outer perimeter," Lyra said quietly, her tone flat and precise. "Do not attempt to stand out."

I kept my gaze level, lowering my posture into the guard stance Jaxen had corrected yesterday. "Understood."

Lyra held my gaze for a second longer, checking to see if I would push back. When I remained silent, she simply turned on her heel and raised her blade.

"Move out."

The drill began immediately as two heavy wooden practice beams swung on iron chains across the narrow bridge section of the rampart, simulating a narrow choke-point defense.

"Wedge formation, advance," Lyra commanded from the center, her voice razor-sharp over the clatter of wood and boot soles.

An Unbound cadet two spots to my left hesitated, stumbling back as the first timber swept toward his chest. The wedge gaped open, exposing the flank.

Without thinking, I lunged forward into the opening, planting my boots firmly into the frost-slick flagstones. I raised my heavy iron shield, angling the reinforced center to catch the swinging timber. The blow hit with a bone-jarring crack, sending a shockwave up my shoulders, but my feet held.

"Hold the angle, Vance," Lyra’s voice barked from behind me, instant and cool. "Step two paces forward. Lock shields with the third line."

I stepped into the gap, bracing my shoulder against the edge of the adjacent shield. Lyra was already moving past, her blade striking aside a secondary practice target with smooth, lethal geometry. She didn't offer praise or check if I was injured. She simply utilized the space I had secured to drive the unit through the narrow archway.

When the horn finally sounded to signal a mid-day reset, my lungs were burning, and my knuckles throbbed inside their cloth wraps.

Cadets scattered across the rampart to take water from the iron casks. Garrick unclasped his leather sword belt, stepping toward a stone chest near the weapon rack. He unlaced his heavy right gauntlet, setting a thick leather-bound ledger down on the lid so he could flex his stiff fingers.

"Garrick," Lyra called from the edge of the overlook, waving him over to review the unit's choke-point timing.

Without thinking, Garrick turned and walked toward the overlook, leaving the ledger resting unattended on the stone chest.

I walked toward the water barrel, keeping my pace slow and measured. As I passed the chest, my eyes flicked down for a split second.

The ledger was open to a single parchment page.

It was a list of Unbound names written in neat military script. Near the top of the parchment, my own name was highlighted in silver ink. Beneath it were two short, cold lines:

Origin: Unknown.

Observation Status: Active Monitor.

I moved to step past, but a gloved hand reached down, quietly folding the heavy leather ledger shut.

I froze, turning my head slowly.

Lyra stood beside the chest, her fingers resting lightly on the dark leather. She wasn't holding a weapon, nor was she calling for the proctors. She was looking at me with the same calm, analytical focus she used during the drill.

"The Council doesn't fear Unbound who are weak, Vance," Lyra whispered softly, her voice swallowed by the mountain wind.

She stepped closer, her pale eyes locking onto mine.

"They fear Unbound who don't know who they belong to."

Before I could answer, she picked up the ledger, turned, and walked back toward the observation platform.