Peter Matthews was an exception.

He was the son of a lieutenant, part of a family who could trace their ancestry back to the Knights Templars themselves, and he had come to the academy knowing exactly what was expected of him. Much like myself, Matthews had been trained by his father in the ways of St. George. Not only that, he was big for his age, intimidating and a decent shot with a firearm. He had been at the top of his class in nearly every subject.

Until me.

Today at the shooting range, Brother Adam had corrected his form, saying he was pulling left because he was overcompensating for the recoil, and Matthews had argued that his form was fine; it was the sight on the gun that was faulty. Adam had then handed the same weapon to me, and I had proceeded to hit the target on every shot. The look on Peter Matthews’s face, as Brother Adam told the rest of the class to follow my example, promised retribution, but I hadn’t thought much of it. I was used to his insults by now, and his anger had never progressed to actual violence. Though that was more due to my never letting him catch me alone and unawares. Sometimes he would meet me in the hall with a hard shove and a warning to watch my step, but it never went further than that. Fighting among recruits was severely punished, and Matthews was careful to give the impression of a model recruit when the instructors were around.

Today, however, it seemed the festering anger and resentment had finally reached a boiling point because Matthews didn’t look like he was going to be satisfied with a shove and a warning to back off. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom with his palms planted on either side of the frame, blocking the exit. His two friends, Levi Smith and Edwin James, flanked him like attack dogs, but Matthews was bigger than either and was the far greater threat.

“Think you’re smart?” he demanded, stepping into the room, out of sight of any monks that might catch him loitering in the hall. “What was that today, Sebastian? You think you’re better than me?”

“No,” I said calmly. “I don’t think I’m better than you. I know I am.”

He lunged at me, swinging a fist at my face. I ducked my head and raised my arm, taking it on the shoulder rather than the chin, and lashed out with a punch of my own, striking him in the jaw. He staggered back with a yelp, and then his friends were on me, kicking and flailing. I covered my head and backed up, trying to disengage, but the bathroom was small, and I was soon pressed into a corner. Blows hammered down on me, six hard fists striking wherever they could land, but I kept my guard up and threw back punches when I could, trying to protect my face.

“Enough!”

My assailants were yanked away, and the rain of blows came to an end. Panting, I looked up to see Brother Eli glaring at us, his large frame a barrier between myself and the others. Levi and Edwin had instantly backed off and were huddled together, looking guilty, but Matthews stared at me with murder in his eyes.

“What’s going on here?” the monk demanded, as though it wasn’t obvious. My head ached, my mouth tasted like copper and I could feel blood trickling from my nose. But my attackers hadn’t escaped unscathed, either. Matthews’s jaw was already swelling, and Edwin had a split lip that was dripping blood into the collar of his shirt. “Who started this?” Brother Eli asked, eyeing each of us, and our wounds, in turn. “Sebastian? Matthews? I’m waiting.” When we didn’t answer, his voice grew hard. “One of you had better start talking in the next three seconds, or your entire class will be punished for this transgression.”

“I did, sir,” I said, and he turned on me with a frown. “Matthews and I were having an argument, and I pushed him to fight. I’m the one who started it.”

“Sebastian.” The monk raised a bushy eyebrow, looking severely unconvinced. I was the quiet one, the boy who spoke only when spoken to. The student who never questioned orders and did exactly what he was told, every time. Fighting with your fellow recruits was strictly forbidden on monastery grounds, and I hadn’t broken a rule since the day I arrived. It was no secret that Matthews hated me; between us, the guilty party should have been perfectly clear.

But I knew Matthews would never own up to it, and if somebody didn’t take the fall, the whole squad would suffer. Succeed or fail together, that was part of the Code of St. George, something I took very seriously. I was not here for myself. I was part of something greater, a brotherhood, united under one banner with one purpose. Even at eleven years old, when I didn’t fully understand what was happening, I was starting to think like a soldier. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one. I was there to kill dragons, but I couldn’t do it alone.