Raven's heart felt like it was trying to break out of his chest.

He never once imagined he would stand here, kneeling in front of his idol, about to receive a medal and a rank higher than anything he had ever dreamed of.

His excitement was almost too much.

It was the kind of feeling that made a person forget how to breathe for a second.

Being chosen by Vined meant everything to him.

This man wasn't just a general or a duke to Raven, he was the reason Raven even had a life worth living.

Years ago, Raven had been nothing more than a starving boy on the roadside in the Count Paper's territory.

His arms were like sticks, his ribs showed through his skin, and every day felt like it would be his last.

He remembered the cold ground, the hunger that never went away, and the way people walked past him like he didn't exist.

Then one day, Duke Vined stopped his horse in front of the group of begging children.

Instead of ignoring them, instead of turning away, he stepped down.

He didn't say anything grand or dramatic.

He simply told all of them to come with him.

He adopted every child there.

He brought them to the Zenithara estate, fed them, clothed them, healed them, and gave them a place to sleep.

But he didn't force anything on them. He didn't push them or cage them.

He gave them a simple rule, one they could understand even as children.

"I will give you fifteen years," he said.

"During that time, you can do nothing or do something with your life. I won't force you. But after fifteen years, if you haven't achieved anything at all, you will leave the estate. If you succeed at something, then you can choose to stay or go. It will be your decision."

Those words had stayed in Raven's heart all these years.

They were both freedom and challenge.

They were the first thing in his life that made him believe he could be more than a starving boy waiting to die.

He had worked for this with everything he had.

Day after day, year after year, he pushed himself until his bones felt ready to crack.

His effort was noticed, and he was accepted as a disciple by the commander of the Zenithara estate's forces.

That was the turning point. From that moment on, every step he took pulled him closer to the place he stood now.

And now here he was, kneeling in front of the man who had saved his life, the man he admired more than anyone, receiving a rank that sat just one step below his idol's own position.

The weight of it almost crushed him. His throat tightened, and he felt tears rising, sharp and warm.

He bit down on his lips hard, forcing them back. Not here. Not now. He had to stay steady.

As Raven held himself still, Vined walked toward him. His footsteps were slow but firm, the kind a person never forgets.

"Raven," Vined said, stopping right in front of him.

"You are the youngest here, and you have already reached the peak of the fifth star at just twenty-five."

There was a hint of pride in Vined's voice, something rare and warm.

He was looking at the boy he once found half-starved on the street, a boy who had become a full-grown knight standing strong in front of an army.

It softened his expression, and a small smile appeared on his face. "Stand."

Raven rose, legs stiff, hands shaking so badly he almost clenched them into fists to hide it.

The moment felt too big. Too heavy. But he held on and kept his posture straight.

Vined lifted the medal in his hand. "I, Vined D. Zenithara, duke of the Indrath Empire, now appoint you as the vice general of this army."

He stepped closer and fastened the medal onto Raven's chest.

The metal felt heavier than armor, heavier than any weapon Raven had ever carried.

The instant it clicked into place, Raven saluted, sharp, fast, and full of everything he felt but couldn't say.

Vined rested a hand on his back.

His eyes had a shine that didn't belong to a cold general or a distant duke.

It was the look of someone watching a child they were proud of.

Someone who had seen a broken boy rise higher than anyone expected.

The touch stayed for just a second, but it meant more than words.

And Raven stood there, holding the moment close, knowing he would remember it for the rest of his life.

Vined gave Raven one last look, then turned his back to the officers and said,

"You all may leave."

"Yes!" the room answered in one voice.

The sound felt solid, like the walls themselves were saluting before the officers began filing out of the tent.

Raven moved with them, but he kept glancing down at his chest.

His fingers twitched, wanting to touch the medal but too scared to smudge it.

It shone against his armor like a second heartbeat.

This was the highest honor he had ever received, and he knew, deep inside his bones, that he would remember this moment until the day he died.

Almost in a daze, he stepped out into the cold air.

The instant his boots touched the ground outside, several captains rushed him from the front.

Before he could react, hands grabbed him, strong hands, excited hands, and suddenly he was lifted off the ground.

"Huh?!"

Raven's body froze. His arms flailed for a moment, unsure where to go or what to hold on to.

His mind blinked like a lantern in a storm.

He wasn't used to this kind of attention, this loud, wild joy aimed directly at him.

But then he looked around.

On his left, Vice General Vincen was hoisted up by his men, expression unreadable as always, but his eyes were soft with real happiness.

On his right, Vice General Eliza was also lifted, her calm face breaking into a small, rare smile as the soldiers shouted her name.

It wasn't just Raven.

It was all three of them.

"Raven! Raven! Raven!"

"Eliza! Eliza! Eliza!"

"Vincen! Vincen! Vincen!"

The cheers moved like a wave through the camp, rolling over tents and equipment, shaking the freezing air awake.

Soldiers all across the area heard the noise and turned.

When they saw what was happening, they dropped what they were doing and joined in.

More voices rose. More arms lifted. More footsteps stomped with excitement.

These weren't formal shouts or stiff salutes.

These were real, full-blooded cheers from people who were proud of their new leaders.

Through it all, Raven stayed suspended above the crowd, heart pounding, ears ringing, medal shining on his chest.

He had no idea what expression he was making. Maybe he looked shocked. Maybe he looked like he might faint.

But one thing was clear.

He had never felt this alive.

Moments like this tend to stay bright in a person's memory, even years later, long after battles blur and days disappear.

After a while the cheering went on until everyone's throats were close to giving out.

Only then did the soldiers finally lower Raven back to the ground.

The moment his boots touched the dirt, the crowd closed in around him, faces flushed from excitement and voices full of warmth.

"We want a party!"

"Congratulations!"

"Congratulations, Vice General!"

There were hints of envy on some faces, tiny shadows behind the smiles, but none of it took away from the real feeling in the air.

These men and women were proud, proud that one of their own had climbed higher, proud that someone who started with nothing had reached a place worth celebrating.

Raven felt like someone had stuffed fire and lightning into his chest.

His heart thumped so hard he wondered if everyone could hear it.

But he still nodded, still smiled, and this time the smile wasn't nervous or shy, it was pure joy.

A hand slid onto his shoulder.

"Should I call you sir from now on?" someone asked, sounding way too dramatic.

Before Raven could even answer, the same hand grabbed his head, fingers poking through his hair, and ruffled it roughly like he was still a kid training with a wooden sword.

Raven didn't need to look. He already knew.

He tilted his head up and met the man's eyes. "You should," he said, teasing back without missing a beat.

The man standing beside him had grey hair that made him look older than he was, sharp blue eyes, and a face people tended to stare at for a moment longer than normal.

He wore the armor of a captain, and the air around him always carried strength and confidence.

Captain Manoj.

Like Raven, he had grown up without parents.

That was probably why they understood each other better than most.

They had trained together, fought together, survived punishment together, and eaten more bad rations together than either of them wanted to count.

Manoj smirked, folding his arms.

His voice dropped into that annoyingly serious tone he used whenever he wanted to tease Raven.

"Vice General, huh?" He clicked his tongue. "Guess I'll have to start bowing every time I see you."

Raven burst into laughter, unable to help it.

The sound came out raw and bright, the kind that only escapes when a person's heart is too full to hide anything.

"You will call me Vice General from now on," Raven said, matching Manoj's sarcasm with his own.

Around them, more soldiers joined in the laughter, the cold night warming with noise and camaraderie.

The camp felt alive, full of friends, full of pride, full of a future none of them could see yet but all of them wanted to reach.

Moments like these build the kind of bonds that survive war.

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