The training grounds had begun to stir again.
The tension from Kael's brief sparring match had faded into murmurs. Some squires resumed their drills with redoubled effort; others glanced his way with hushed awe and unspoken questions.
Kael continued alone, each strike and step precise, rhythmical—neither seeking attention nor avoiding it. Dust rose around his feet as he pivoted into a final slash, halting with perfect balance. The wooden dummy in front of him bore deep gouges now.
Then, the air shifted.
He heard it—not the wind, not footsteps—but the absence of sound behind him.
"I brought you water," came a familiar voice. Calm. Steady. Familiar enough to be unremarkable to most, but Kael didn't mistake her.
Maris.
Clad in her black and white uniform, she approached without fear, a wooden tray balanced easily on her hand. Her posture was modest, her eyes lowered respectfully—but Kael knew the truth. She moved like a panther in silk.
He accepted the cup wordlessly and drank.
"Still precise," she said as he handed it back. "But your center was too high in the third sequence."
He looked at her. Her expression remained carefully neutral, but he caught the flicker of a smirk in her eyes. She was the only one who could say something like that to him and walk away unscathed.
"I wasn't trying to kill him," he replied flatly.
Maris tilted her head. "Yet it looked very much like murder to me."
Before Kael could respond, another presence entered the courtyard. This one loud, heavy with command.
"Enough lounging," a booming voice declared. "Is this a training yard or a summer garden?"
The squires straightened immediately.
From the arched gate strode a tall man in full armor—scarred, grey-bearded, and hard-eyed. His presence dominated the space like a drawn blade.
Sir Aldric Vannemar, Knight-Captain of House Ardent.
Kael glanced at him, then returned to wiping his blade.
"Still scaring the squires, I see," Aldric grunted, stopping a few paces from Kael. "They'll grow up spineless if you keep finishing them in a single move."
"They'd die in one move if they fought for real," Kael replied evenly.
Aldric barked a short laugh. "Fair."
He looked the boy over. "You've grown again. Taller. Sharper."
Kael remained silent.
Maris, now standing at a respectful distance, exchanged a look with Aldric—a flicker of tension between the two. She inclined her head politely, but her fingers lingered on the tray just a moment too long.
Kael caught it. Even now, Maris didn't trust him. Not fully.
Aldric stepped forward and gestured toward the central circle of the yard. "Spar with one of our senior knights."
Kael raised an eyebrow.
"I won't break you," Aldric said. "Not today."
Kael walked forward.
"I'll try not to embarrass you," he replied coolly.
From the edges of the courtyard, everyone stopped. Knights. Squires. Trainers. All turned toward the center as two figures entered the ring—one a boy of fifteen with cold, expressionless eyes; the other, a Senior Knight who had seen four decades of war.
Maris set the tray down carefully. She didn't speak.
But she didn't blink either.