Chapter 29: Won’t let go
Instructor Heiron’s voice was calm, but firm. "You stay and clean the floor, Janitor Wesley."
Wesley stopped dead in his tracks. His heart sank like a stone.
The instructor walked forward, hands behind his back, eyes scanning the arena floor as if he could already see imperfections only he noticed. "Your spirit," Heiron began, "is commendable. Rare."
His voice had dropped into something softer—almost fatherly.
"I’ve seen many students, hopeful and bright-eyed, storm into this place thinking grit alone will carry them through. Some break when they fail their first test. Some crumble when they realize their family name won’t carry them forever. And some," he glanced at Wesley, "don’t even have the foundation to begin with. Yet you... you came in here with nothing but a mop and the audacity to lead a team of washouts like they were generals. That takes something."
Wesley smiled awkwardly, halfway between flattery and dread.
Heiron nodded slowly. "I won’t insult you by pretending that cleaning these arenas is some noble road to knighthood or mastery of mana. But still, that effort you showed—even if misdirected—is effort nonetheless. The intention, the heart behind it, matters more than most people think."
Wesley’s grip tightened around his mop handle.
"And that’s why I’ll speak to Old Greg myself," Heiron added firmly. "If he’s really forcing you to clean every single trial site—the Sand Pit, the Trial Dome, the Obsidian Yard, the Echo Hall, all of it—then that’s just cruelty. It’s not possible. No one can handle that kind of schedule. Not even knights."
Wesley opened his mouth. He wanted to say thank you. He wanted to bow politely and be grateful for the intervention. But instead, what came out was, "I don’t mind, really. It’s something I promised Old Greg. I need to finish it."
Heiron blinked, mildly surprised.