His grin flickers, something akin to fear flashing across his face. “I suppose-”
I move.
Not fast, but precise.
My blade taps his exposed side before he can finish his sentence.
I step back.
“Did you feel that?“ I say calmly.
He nods, the colour rising in his cheeks as the others all turn back to their routines.
“That was steel.Thatwould be your death.” I continue, “You rely on speed when your accuracy is failing. But speed will always fail first in a battle.”
I gesture to his stance. “Again.”
He raises his blade, this time covering his flank.
“Better,” I say. “Good, now you’re alive.”
Kael stands beside me now, murmuring under his breath,
“And that,” he pauses, “is why I handle the training talks.”
“Better he learn it now than in the field,” I remark, keeping my gaze on the knights.
“Well, yes, true… but. I find it helps morale if someone smiles around here,” he says.
“Well, that’s your department,” I respond, earning a small chuckle from him. While it pains me to admit it, his humour has saved me more than his blade. He reminds me that there is still a world worth standing in, not just defending. Not that I would ever tell him that, but he knows it deep down. We’ve been in each other’s lives long enough to not need words to communicate anymore.
“Last drill, then we'll call it a day?” he asks.
But before I can answer, something in the air tightens.
Something is wrong.
Kael turns to look at me as we share a silent concern.
He feels it too.
The training yard seems to shift, and the sounds of clanging metal come to an abrupt halt.
I move between the knights towards the centre where they all seem to focus their attention. Hushed whispers and murmurs fill the surrounding space.
That’s when I see her.
This small, fragile being surrounded by a wall of silver armour.
Not weak, just contained, as though she has learned to fold herself inward.
Copper hair, plain at first glance, until the light catches it and it turns soft and deep, the colour of wet earth after rain.
Her eyes are blue, striking in the way jewels are, steady and clear. The kind that seem to register everything and say very little.
Freckles scatter across her nose and cheeks, faint as if the sun put them there absent-mindedly, and I find my gaze returning to them without permission.
She is pretty.
