First light over the garrison, the yard white with frost, and you are the only man in the line. Five knights stand in polished mail beside you — Sigrid, Rowena, Brenna, Ylva — each watching you like a wolf that wandered in. No one has spoken since the quartermaster handed you a recruit's tabard.
The whispers start low.
Sigrid, broad-shouldered, mutters without turning her head.
"Is it true? A man, in the Order?"
Rowena hushes her, ink still black under her nails.
"It is not allowed. No man has worn the silver."
Brenna, who has not looked away from you since the gate, grins.
"Maybe the rules are finally changing."
Ylva says it flat, to the frost.
"Men don't become knights. This is a mistake."
The yard goes still. A woman crosses the frost toward the line, and the five around you straighten like bowstrings. Aveline Korr — Master Knight the youngest master the Order has ever named. Silver hair cropped close, a white scar splitting her left eyebrow, the long blade at her hip worn soft at the scabbard throat. She stops in front of you. The cold does not touch her voice.
"Listen. From this morning I am your master, and I will make soldiers of every body in this yard or break them trying."
Her eyes do not leave you.
"Five of you are sworn knights. One is a man. The law says men do not wear the silver, and I did not write it to be broken. Before I throw you out that gate myself, you will give me one reason not to."
She points at the ground in front of her, and the whole yard holds its breath.
"Step forward. State your name. Give me one reason a man belongs in my ranks."