Thirteen Years Later
The sound of steel echoed across the training yard, sharp and rhythmic, like a heartbeat in a metal machine.
Sylas lunged forward, sword sweeping low. His father moved with calm precision, parrying the strike with the flat of his blade. Sylas twisted past his father's blade, precise, another strike, another deflection. The tempo quickened. Sweat ran down Sylas's face, his breath staggering, but his eyes never left his father's.
Up on the stone railing above, Midadol leaned her chin into her hand and watched with a smirk.
"Careful, Sir Aldric," she called down sweetly. "He almost looked like he had you that time."
Sir Aldric didn't break focus. "Distraction is the blade's greatest enemy, Princess."
"Oh, well how about compliments then?" she asked.
"Sharper than most."
Sylas darted in again, breaking the tempo, hoping to create a rhythm of his own.
Dashing away to create space, Sylas drew in his breath quickly and shouted, "Fire!" Heat rose in an instant around his palm. With a quick glance at his father's direction, a burst of flame erupted from his hand, streaking toward his father.
Midadol straightened at the terrace, startled.
But Aldric didn't flinch. In one smooth motion, he brought his blade up and angled it sharply. A shimmer of aether flickered across the steel a Reflect ward catching the spell mid-flight. The fire arced upward harmlessly into the sky, exploding in a harmless plume.
By the time Sylas blinked, Sir Aldric had already closed the distance between them.
One step forward. A flicker of silver. Sylas's sword flew from his hand, clattering across the training yard.
Sylas dropped to one knee, breathing hard, frustrated.
Sir Aldric stood still, lowering his blade. "Magic is a tool," he said, voice even. "But it is not everything. It won't save you if your feet are planted wrong and your guard is open."
"I wasn't open," Sylas muttered.
"You were distracted." Aldric gestured subtly toward the terrace. "Even fire can't help you if your attention burns elsewhere."
Above them, Midadol arched a brow, lips curling.
Aldric sheathed his sword with a quiet clack. "Enough for today. Your form is improving, but your guard drops when your focus strays."
Sylas stiffened. "It won't happen again."
He turned and walked toward the castle barracks, leaving father and son's final words lingering in the morning air.
Sylas stared at the ground for a moment before retrieving his blade. He didn't look up until he heard light footsteps approaching on the dirt.
Midadol descended the stone stairs with her usual effortless grace. She stopped just a few paces from him, sunlight catching in her hair, smiling soft and playful.
"You fight like a knight already," she said.
"I was born to protect you," Sylas answered, eyes steady. "And I was late once already."
She tilted her head, her teasing faltering just slightly. "That wasn't your fault."
"It doesn't matter."
"You know," she added, voice lower now, "when I'm queen, maybe I'll command you to relax for once."
Sylas looked away. "That's not something I'm allowed to do."
The afternoon sun cast long golden rays across the courtyard as Sylas and Midadol walked side by side along the stone path leading back to the castle.
The fragrance of alstroemeria drifted in from the garden hedges, and the air was heavy with golden silence.
As they passed under an archway of ivy, Midadol slipped her hand around Sylas's arm, linking herself to him without hesitation—casually, as if it had always been that way.
Sylas didn't flinch or pull away. He simply adjusted his stride to match hers.
"You never walk with anyone else like this," Midadol said, voice light. She tilted her head toward him, a teasing glint in her eyes. "It's almost romantic."
"It's my job to make sure you get back safely," he replied without missing a beat. "You know you're not supposed to wander the grounds alone."
She gave him a sideways glance. "So if I do, you'll come running for me?"
"Of course. That's what I'm supposed to do."
She smirked. "Good to know."
"You're utterly hopeless, Sylas."
He glanced at her, confused. "Hopeless at what?"
"Conversation," she said, squeezing his arm slightly. "Or maybe just girls."
He frowned, thoughtful. "I wasn't trained for either."
She let out a soft laugh. "That much is clear."
They passed under another arch, the castle looming closer, its white stone catching the light like polished bone.
"You should get ready soon," Sylas said. "The court will expect you on time."
"Yes, yes, my birthday dinner," she sighed, drawing out the words with mock weariness. "Thirteen years old and still being paraded in front of nobles like a flower waiting to blossom."
"It's important," Sylas said. "You're the future queen."
She gave him a sidelong glance. "And what are you tonight, then? My knight? My escort?"
"Your guard. Same as always."
She arched her brow. "Not quite the same. Starting tomorrow, you're assigned to me full-time, aren't you?"
He nodded. "Father said I'm becoming of age, at 13 he was tasked with guarding your father so it is my turn without his guidance starting tomorrow."
She smiled, a little softer now. "So starting tomorrow, you'll be the one who watches over me. Alone."
"That's the job I was born for," Sylas said plainly.
Midadol hummed, leaning just a little closer into his side. "You say that like you're being promoted to a job post, not tethered to me for the rest of your life."
Sylas shrugged. "Both are true."
She shook her head, grinning. "You really are hopeless."
He gave her a puzzled glance. "At walking?"
"No," she said with a laugh, "just everything else."
They walked the rest of the path in the warm hush of shared sunlight.
"Do you ever think about why we were born into this?" she asked after a pause. "You as my protector. Me as my father's heir. It feels… heavy sometimes."
Sylas nodded. "It is heavy. But it's not meaningless. My family's protected yours for generations. I was born with that purpose. I carry it with pride."
Midadol looked forward, her voice quieter. "Sometimes I wish I could be someone else. Just for a little while."
"I don't," Sylas replied. "If I weren't what I am, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be beside you."
Her heart fluttered—then fell just a little when she realized he didn't mean it the way she hoped. There was no softness in his voice. Just certainty.
She smiled faintly to herself. "One day, you'll say something romantic and not even know it."
Sylas blinked. "Was that not romantic?"
Midadol laughed genuinely, brightly as they climbed the final steps. "Come on, knight. Let's get me dressed for court before you accidentally propose."
Sylas furrowed his brow. "Propose what?"
"Exactly," she said with a grin, and leaned just a little closer as the castle doors opened before them.
"I'll see you tonight, Sir Falcrest."
He bowed without thinking. "Princess."
As the guards outside the castle gates a brief nod of dismissal, Sylas turned away, the warmth of Midadol's touch still lingering on his arm. He walked the castle's courtyard alone, each step echoing louder in the quiet that followed her absence. Sylas's path veered away from the main wing, feet guiding him down the familiar stone steps that led to the old armory beneath the castle.
He knew where he was meant to be.
The armory was quiet in the late afternoon.
Sylas stood by the weapons rack, just setting down his practice blade when the door creaked open behind him.
Sir Aldric stepped in, carrying a long, cloth-wrapped bundle the color of midnight. He said nothing at first, only studied his son with an unreadable look.
"You've grown faster than I expected," Aldric said finally. "Faster than I hoped, maybe."
Sylas straightened at his father's voice. "I was just putting the training sword away."
"You won't be needing it anymore," Aldric replied, walking forward. "This is yours now."
He held out the bundle.
Sylas took it carefully. It was heavier than it looked, not in weight, but in meaning. Slowly, he unwrapped it.
Beneath the cloth was a sword unlike anything Sylas had ever trained with. Beautiful and impossibly sharp, its hilt wore the crest of House Falcrest, two silver wings wrapped around a rising sun. Along the length of the blade,a shine and a soft glow could be seen,
The moment his fingers brushed the hilt, he felt... warmth. Faint. Subtle. But unmistakably alive.
He blinked. "It's... warm."
Aldric nodded slowly. "It knows who you are."
Sylas looked up sharply. "What?"
Sir Aldric didn't answer right away. His gaze lowered briefly to the sword at his own hip. Almost without thinking, his hand moved to it, resting on the hilt, firm but familiar. Sylas noticed the motion. It wasn't a habit typical of his father.
"You said it knows me," Sylas repeated quietly.
Sir Aldric's fingers lingered on his blade for a breath longer, then dropped back to his side.
"There are stories," he said. "That our blades are not merely forged... but chosen. That the spirit of protection lives in each of them. Waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
Sir Aldric placed a hand on Sylas's shoulder. "For the moment they're truly needed."
Sylas looked down again at the sword, Ealgian.
"It feels like it's watching me."
"Then treat it with the respect it deserves," Aldric said. "It's not just a weapon. It is a will. And someday, you might learn it's far more than that."
Sir Aldric's eyes softened. "Because tonight you take your first steps alone. And tomorrow… you'll be her shield, I won't be following behind the two of you anymore.."
Sylas looked up. "I won't let you down."
"I know," Aldric said. He placed his hand once more on Sylas's shoulder firm. "But listen, Sylas. This sword carries more than steel. It doesn't make you invincible. It makes you responsible."
Sylas nodded slowly.
Sir Aldric stepped back and gave a faint smile. "It suits you already. But no sparring tonight. You still have to clean up for the Princess's birthday."
Sylas gave a faint smile. "You really think she'll notice if I'm not polished?"
"She'll notice," Aldric said, chuckling. "And so will the Queen."
As they walked out of the armory together, the weight of the blade rested against Sylas's hip not heavy, but grounding. He was no longer a boy in training.
He was her protector.
And for the first time, the sword made it feel real.
Sylas's quarters were still and quiet when he stepped inside, Ealgian sheathed at his hip. A faint glint running along its scabbard before he set it carefully on the stand beside his bed.
The faint scent of lavender drifting from the small wooden tub already filled. Sylas shed his coat and boots, then lowered himself into the water. The heat seeped into his muscles, unwinding the knots left by training.
For a while, he sat still, listening to the faint drip of water and the muted sounds of the castle preparing for the evening. His mind wandered back to the armory, to his father's voice, to the weight of Ealgian in his hands. That weight still lingered on his hip, even now.
His gaze drifted to the small velvet box sitting on the desk across the room.
"Too plain for a princess," he whispered to himself. "Too simple for a royal dinner." He sank deeper into the water until it reached his chin. "What was I thinking?"
He exhaled slowly. "And if I'm not polished enough tonight…" His brow furrowed. "The Queen will notice. She always does. And Midadol…" He trailed off, uncertain whether her judgment would sting more than the Queen's.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, feeling the lingering grit of the training yard. "Great. Show up looking like I just wrestled a boar and give her a necklace that looks like it belongs at the market. Perfect."
Still, the memory came back Midadol in the gardens, weaving wildflowers into her hair with a smile that made her crown seem unnecessary.
"Alright," he said at last. "Come what may, I'll hand her this gift tonight."
Tonight, he'd find out if he'd chosen well.