Ethan's eyes fluttered open to the now-familiar sight of weathered wooden beams overhead. The same maze of scars and knots greeted him, but this time something was different. His fingers instinctively searched, fumbling desperately around the rough bedding.
*The ring. Where's the ring?*
Panic seized his chest like an iron fist. Had it all been a dream? Had his three days of relentless searching, the moment of triumph when he'd finally found proof of his love—had none of it been real?
CREAK!
The door opened with its familiar protest, and relief flooded through him like warm sunlight.
"Is this what you're looking for?"
Garrick stood in the doorway, his weathered features unreadable. Between his calloused fingers, catching the pale morning light, was Emberlyn's wedding ring—the small circle of gold that represented everything Ethan had left in this world.
"Yes!" Ethan nodded frantically, his voice catching in his throat.
The old man stepped forward with measured steps, each footfall deliberate and weighty. When he extended his hand, Ethan took the ring with the reverence of a man receiving a sacred relic.
Ethan clutched the ring against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady for the first time in days. This tiny piece of gold was his anchor to sanity, his proof that love had once existed in his life.
"Do you think having that ring will make her believe you?"
The question struck like a blade between his ribs. Ethan's eyes widened, meeting Garrick's steady gaze with sudden wariness.
"Huh?" The word escaped as barely a whisper. "How do you—?"
"You don't need to be so surprised." Garrick's voice carried the weight of years and hard-won wisdom. "Who wouldn't notice the commotion from that day? A man beaten bloody in the town square, claiming a woman who doesn't know him is his wife. Word travels fast in Eldervale, especially when it involves their precious Blazing Valkyrie."
*Emberlyn.* Even hearing her title spoken aloud sent fresh pain lancing through his chest.
"Maybe... maybe this will help her remember," Ethan replied, though his voice wavered with uncertainty that he couldn't hide. The ring felt both heavy and weightless in his grip—precious beyond measure, yet perhaps powerless against whatever force had stolen his wife's memories.
"And if she doesn't?" Garrick's question was gentle but relentless. "What will you do then? Beg her again?"
The words hit Ethan like physical blows. "Huh?"
The thought had never truly crossed his mind—not in any concrete way. In his desperate fantasies, he'd imagined presenting the ring, seeing recognition dawn in Emberlyn's beautiful eyes, watching as she remembered their love and threw herself into his arms. But what if the ring meant nothing to her? What if she looked at it with the same cold unfamiliarity she'd shown him?
Would he really have no choice but to fall to his knees again, pleading for her to believe in a love she couldn't remember?
"To be honest with you, in your current state..." Garrick sighed, the sound heavy with sympathy and brutal truth. "It's impossible for her to believe you. Who are you to her now? You're nothing."
The words should have destroyed him. Instead, they sparked something deeper—a recognition that cut through his self-pity like a blade through silk.
*Nothing.*
Ethan fell silent, his mind churning with thoughts he had never dared to confront before. Who was he to Emberlyn now? A stranger who appeared from nowhere, claiming to be her husband. A broken man with haunted eyes and trembling hands. A shadow of whatever he'd once been.
Even he struggled to believe he had once been worthy of her love.
So why would anyone else?
The silence stretched between them, filled with the weight of harsh reality. Garrick studied him with eyes that had seen too much suffering to offer false comfort, waiting to see what choice this broken man would make.
Finally, the old man turned toward the door. "The children are training in the back courtyard. You might find it... instructive."
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Ethan alone with his demons and his choice.
He stared at the ring in his palm, its simple gold band reflecting fragments of light like tiny promises. If he wanted Emberlyn back—if he wanted her love and trust—he had to do more than just beg. He had to prove himself worthy of the man she'd once loved.
But how? How could someone who'd been beaten by a fourteen-year-old boy, who couldn't even navigate a simple forest without getting lost, who had no strength, no skills, no purpose—how could such a man become worthy of the legendary Blazing Valkyrie?
As he sat in the dimly lit room, his mind was torn between hope and despair. Should he cling to the belief that Emberlyn would remember him and love him as she once did? Or should he prepare himself for the heartbreaking possibility that she might never recall their past?
With no clear answers, confusion and unease gnawed at him like hungry wolves.
Yet, even in the darkness of uncertainty, a faint light of determination still flickered in his heart—not the desperate flame of a man clinging to the past, but the ember of someone ready to forge a new future.
Ethan finally rose to his feet, gripping Emberlyn's ring with newfound resolve. The metal felt warm now, as if it had absorbed his determination and reflected it back to him.
He couldn't just sit and wait.
He had to try.
He had to fight.
Even if the road ahead was treacherous. Even if it meant facing heartbreak. Even if it meant becoming someone entirely new.
With unwavering steps, Ethan left the room, ready to face whatever awaited him beyond the door. The ring found its way to a chain around his neck, resting close to his heart—not as a desperate talisman, but as a reminder of what he was fighting for.
No matter how difficult it would be—he would not stop until he reclaimed what was lost.
Even if it meant confronting the impossible.
***
As soon as Ethan stepped out of the small house, the sharp sound of clashing metal reached his ears—like the ringing of swords in battle, but somehow more controlled, more purposeful.
CLANG! THWACK! SWOOSH!
Curious, he followed the sound around to the back of the house, where an open courtyard had been worn smooth by countless hours of practice.
What he saw left him stunned.
A group of children moved with lethal grace, their wooden practice swords cutting through the air with precision that would have impressed veteran warriors. Though they wielded only training weapons, their movements were remarkably skilled—each strike calculated, each defensive posture textbook perfect.
Ethan stood frozen in amazement. The youngest couldn't have been more than six, yet even they showed promise that spoke of dedicated training. The older children moved like seasoned fighters, their youthful energy making the practice look almost like a deadly dance.
At the center of it all, Ling moved through forms with fluid grace, his practice katana seeming to sing through the air. Each strike was perfectly controlled, each movement flowing into the next with the kind of precision that came from years of disciplined practice. Despite being only fourteen, he carried himself with a maturity that commanded natural respect from the other children.
"Hold your guard higher, Grace!" he called out to a small girl whose blonde hair caught the morning light. "A real enemy won't give you time to recover from a low block!"
The four-year-old adjusted her stance with serious concentration, her tiny hands gripping the wooden sword with determination that would have been adorable if not for the deadly precision of her movements.
Nearby, Grey practiced with intense focus, his movements powerful and direct. His storm-gray eyes held the same fury that had made his punches so devastating when he'd beaten Ethan days before, but here it was channeled into disciplined technique.
"Beautiful form, Ling," came a feminine voice. Lily, another of the fourteen-year-olds, was practicing her own sequences nearby. Her movements were different from the others—less aggressive, more defensive, but no less skilled.
Then, one of the younger children noticed him watching.
"What are you doing here, mister?" The boy approached with innocent curiosity, his wooden sword still held in a perfect ready position. It was Aiden—the child who'd helped him navigate the forest maze just days before.
Ethan smiled, recognizing the earnest face that had shown him such unexpected kindness. "I was just passing by when I heard the sound of fighting. I wanted to see what was happening."
Aiden grinned with infectious enthusiasm. "Oh, we're just training with these practice swords!" He held up the wooden blade with obvious pride. "Grandpa says we need to be strong to protect each other!"
The simple statement carried profound weight. These weren't just children playing at being warriors—they were a family preparing to defend themselves in a world that had already taken too much from them.
Ethan watched as Grace attempted a complex combination, her small form moving with surprising coordination. A boy he didn't recognize helped steady her stance, while another offered encouragement. They were all so young, yet they carried themselves with the quiet confidence of people who'd learned that strength was the only protection they could truly count on.
His fingers instinctively tightened around the ring beneath his shirt. He thought of Emberlyn—the legendary Blazing Valkyrie whose mastery of fire and blade had made her a living legend. His determination to win her back burned stronger than ever, but now it was tempered with something new: understanding.
*They're strong because they made themselves strong. Because they refused to remain helpless.*
"Can you teach me how to fight?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them, raw with desperate need.
Aiden's eyes widened in surprise before breaking into a delighted smile. "Of course, mister! Come on, I'll show you some basic moves!"
But before they could begin, a figure stepped between them with deliberate menace.
Grey.
The teenager's stance radiated barely controlled hostility, his practice sword held not in a training grip but in the ready position of someone prepared for real violence.
"Hey, old man!" His voice cut across the courtyard like a blade. "What the hell are you doing here again? You dare show your face after what you did to Anna?"
The practice session had stopped completely. Every child in the courtyard turned to stare, their expressions shifting from curiosity to wariness to outright hostility as they recognized the man who'd hurt their precious Anna.
"What?" Aiden's expression crumbled as he looked between Grey and Ethan. "Did you really hurt Anna?"
The question struck like a physical blow. In his desperate desire to change, to become stronger, Ethan had momentarily forgotten the weight of his past actions. These children weren't just potential teachers—they were a family he'd already wounded.
The other orphans began to gather, drawn by the tension in Grey's voice. Ethan saw their faces change as recognition dawned—the kindness in their eyes replaced by cold judgment.
They weren't just friends. They were family. And whoever harmed one of them would face the wrath of them all.
Ethan lowered his head, shame burning in his chest like acid. He knew he had made terrible mistakes. But he was determined to change—not just for Emberlyn, but for the kind of man he wanted to become.
Without hesitation, he turned and walked toward Garrick, who had appeared at the edge of the courtyard as if summoned by the brewing conflict. Then, ignoring the protests of his pride and the ache in his still-healing body, Ethan dropped to his knees.
"Please..." His voice was steady and sincere, carrying none of the desperate pleading that had marked his previous begging. This was different—not the plea of a man trying to escape consequences, but the request of someone ready to face them. "Teach me how to fight."
Grey scoffed, his fists tightening with barely restrained fury. "Tch. This guy's got no shame!"
He stormed forward, ready to strike down this man who dared to return after hurting Anna, who had the audacity to ask for help after causing pain to their family.
But before he could land a hit—
"I'm sorry," Garrick's voice cut through the tension with quiet authority. "But I cannot accept you here."
Grey halted in his tracks, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. "Heh. Serves you right."
"But why?" Ethan asked, looking up at the elder. There was no anger in his voice, only genuine confusion and a deep sadness that spoke of a man who'd grown accustomed to rejection.
"I won't force my grandchildren to be around someone who makes them uncomfortable," Garrick answered sternly, but his eyes held something that might have been regret. "Their peace of mind matters more than any training I could provide."
Ethan slowly turned his head, scanning the faces around him. What he saw cut deeper than any physical wound could have.
Cold. Unwelcoming. Every eye filled with distrust and barely contained anger.
He didn't belong here. Perhaps he didn't belong anywhere.
One by one, the children walked away, their wooden swords abandoned in the dirt as they returned to the house. The courtyard that had moments before rung with the sounds of training and laughter fell silent, leaving Ethan alone with his failure.
Once again, he found himself rejected.
Once again, he felt the world turning its back on him.
*What should I do?* The question echoed in the empty space, unanswered and perhaps unanswerable.
But as he knelt there in the dirt, surrounded by discarded practice weapons and fading dreams, something shifted in his heart. The rejection hurt—it hurt terribly—but it also clarified something he'd been struggling to understand.
He couldn't force forgiveness. He couldn't demand acceptance. If he wanted to earn a place in this world, he'd have to find another way.
The ring pressed against his chest, warm with his body heat and bright with possibility. Emberlyn had loved him once—not because he'd begged for it, but because he'd earned it through actions, through the man he'd chosen to be.
If he wanted that love back, he'd have to become worthy of it again.
But first, he'd have to find a way to earn the forgiveness of a girl whose only crime had been trying to comfort a broken man.