Calvinel hit the ground hard, landing flat on his back with a grunt. He lay there for a moment, chest rising and falling with shallow, winded breaths. Then a short chuckle escaped him as he looked up at the sky. "Wow," he muttered. "Knocked flat just like that…"
He turned his gaze toward the man who had done it—a towering, thin figure wrapped in flowing purple robes trimmed with golden embroidery, his long white beard brushing against his chest. His bald head gleamed under the sunlight, and the golden dragon crest on his robes shimmered with a quiet dignity.
"You're stronger than you look, Sir Ameer," Calvinel said with a sheepish smile.
Ameer stepped forward, his expression soft, voice deep but gentle. "You did exceptional, Calvinel." He extended a hand—old, bony, but steady. "Better than most."
Calvinel chuckled again and accepted the hand. Despite his frail frame, Ameer pulled him to his feet with surprising ease.
"Thank you, but I didn't even land a single hit," Calvinel admitted, brushing himself off. "And I was going all out. Just what were you like in your prime?"
Ameer gave a short laugh, patting him on the shoulder. "Let's not dwell on my past." He gestured around them—the vibrant courtyard garden where they trained, nestled within the sprawling campus of the Grand Knight Academy. Students sparred in nearby training circles, some of whom had paused to watch the match. Others were busy with drills or simply chatting along the pathways.
"Let's talk about you, and your future here."
Calvinel blinked, caught off guard by the seriousness in his teacher's tone.
"There is no doubt in my mind you'll become a knight," Ameer went on, his tone quiet but firm. "But I believe you're destined for more than just the battlefield. Not merely a warrior."
Calvinel tilted his head, curious. "What do you mean, Sir Ameer?"
Ameer stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You're kind. You're friendly. People are drawn to you naturally. Your presence lifts others up. That matters more than you think."
He looked Calvinel in the eye. "What I mean, my boy, is that you will be hope. Don't lose that easy-going spirit of yours. We have enough guardians. What we lack are torchbearers."
Calvinel stood there, stunned for a moment. Then, with a grin, he jabbed a thumb at himself. "Don't worry! I'll never let anyone bring me down! Even when it comes to bedding wo—"
A firm smack landed on the back of his head.
"Don't overdo it," Ameer said with a low chuckle as he turned and walked off.
Calvinel rubbed the spot with a wince, but his grin stayed. He watched his teacher leave, the weight of those words sinking in—and something in him clicked.
*Right,* he thought as the days passed in the academy.
*I don't have to be a guardian like everyone else.*
He helped a fellow trainee search for their missing gear.
*I need to be something more.*
He welcomed a nervous new initiate with a warm laugh and a few encouraging words.
*I need to be someone others can rely on.*
He slung an injured student's arm over his shoulder, lightening the mood with jokes all the way to the infirmary.
*I need to be someone who makes people realize they're not alone.*
He comforted a student sobbing over a breakup in the quiet corner of the garden.
*I need to be someone who can be a friend when no one else is.*
He flashed a charismatic grin at a passing group of girls, their laughter echoing down the path.
*I need to be someone whose presence alone lifts spirits.*
He placed a hand on a trembling student's shoulder, guiding them through their trauma with patience.
*I need to be someone who helps others find their light.*
*I need to be someone who becomes their light.*
*I need to be someone who becomes hope.*
*I need to-*
"...You're going to die if you keep that up."
The words cut through his thoughts like a blade.
Calvinel blinked, turning to see the speaker—a tall man with short-cropped hair that had started to gray, lined face, and piercing eyes. He wore the academy's colors, but carried himself with a cold, quiet authority that made everyone else seem smaller.
"You're a knight, not a bard," the man said flatly, stepping closer. "The way you carry yourself… it's an insult to all of us."
Calvinel flinched. He knew who this was—everyone at the academy did. A living legend. A hero.
The older knight stopped beside him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Remember this. We are warriors first. Not whatever this is."
He walked past without another word.
"Did… something happen?" Calvinel asked hesitantly.
The old knight paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed. "Nothing that concerns you."
Then he walked on.
Calvinel stood still, staring after him. Slowly, he looked down at his hand, fingers curling into a fist. Ameer's voice rang again in his mind, clear and certain.
"I'll be your hope," he whispered under his breath. His hand clenched tighter, his smile returning. "Just like everyone else's… Sir Bryanard."