Aina had been looking forward to today.
The thought felt foolish the moment she acknowledged it, so she buried it the way she buried most things—under discipline and routine.Still, a faint smile played on her lips.
Her steps were lighter than usual as she walked the corridor toward Elias's room. Morning light spilled through the high windows, pale and clean, and for once she allowed herself to imagine an ordinary day. Today was meant to be simple. Time spent together. Walking the grounds. Talking. Perhaps sparring lightly, if he wished.
'Today,' she told herself. I'll open up today.'
She paused by the window overlooking the yard.
And smiled.
'Elias' was already outside.
He stood alone on the frost-damp ground, a training sword in his hands, moving through the opening form she had drilled into him a hundred times. His posture was familiar—shoulders squared, feet planted just so. He hadn't abandoned her teachings. He hadn't grown careless.
A quiet, private warmth settled in her chest.
'Awwwww,' she thought. 'He's just so cute.'
Then she watched more closely.
The warmth faltered.
His movements were… wrong.
Not incorrect. Not sloppy in the way beginners were sloppy. But stiff. Each motion ended too cleanly, like it had been cut short. There was no flow between one action and the next, no unconscious adjustment of balance. He looked like someone copying a shadow instead of being one with it.
Aina frowned.
'Even when he's tired, he's smoother than this, I made sure of that.'
Concern edged in, subtle but sharp. By the time she reached the yard, it had taken root.
"Elias."
He startled violently.
The training sword slipped from his grip and struck the rack beside him, sending several training blades clattering to the ground. The sound echoed too loudly in the quiet morning.
Aina stopped short.
Her eyes went immediately to his form.
He looked… pale. More than usual. His hair, too, seemed lighter, as though the color had been washed out overnight. And he wasn't dressed properly—no coat, no scarf, bare hands already reddening from the cold.
Her chest tightened.
'Why didn't he say anything? And how long has he been like this?'
Her voice came out level anyway. "Why are you dressed like that?"
He bent to pick up the fallen swords, movements careful and oddly segmented, as if he were concentrating too hard on each step.
"I am...Fine."
The pause between the words struck her harder than the words themselves.
That wasn't how 'Elias' answered when he was fine.
Aina's irritation rose automatically—then folded inward, turning sharp and uncomfortable.
Why is he acting like this? I he feeling under the weather?"
And yet, beneath it all, something warmer stirred.
'Awww, he came out anyway. He's not feeling well yet he came out ecause of me."
He hadn't hidden in his room. He hadn't tried to avoid her. Even sick, even uncomfortable, he was here.
That mattered more than she wanted to admit.
She removed her scarf without comment and wrapped it around his shoulders, tugging it snug with brisk efficiency. Her fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary before she pulled back.
"Dress appropriately," she said coolly. "You already seem to have caught a cold."
She circulated energy through herself, warming the air around them, pretending it was nothing more than habit.
"Come now, lets go back into the house before it gets worse.''
He didn't relax.
"…No...."
The word was flat. Empty.
Aina's unease deepened.
"No?" she said. "What do you mean no?"
Now she was really worried.
He hesitated.
Then he picked up the wooden sword and raised it.
"S...par."
Aina blinked.
'Huh?'
"Elias," she said, softer now, "if you're not feeling well—"
"S...par," he repeated, louder, as if the word itself were an instruction he had to complete.
Her chest ached and thoughts raced, colliding into one another.
'Is he dizzy? Is he feverish? Does he think he owes me this?'
She swallowed the thought.
"I-If you insist," she said, voice returning to its usual coolness.
Iron dust rose at her feet, shaping itself into a simple blade. She kept her stance relaxed, defensive.
"Lightly," she warned. "If you feel unsteady—"
He attacked.
Straightforward. Rigid. No feints, no adjustments.
She parried easily.
Again he struck. Again she deflected. He followed with another attack, then another, each movement snapped into place like pieces of a poorly strung marionette.
'This isn't like him,' she realized, unease sharpening. 'He's not thinking. Normally, he'd think up ways to counter me but nowe he's just executing.'
She disarmed him.
He retrieved the sword and came again.
They exchanged blow after blow, each ending the same way—with him thrown aside, disarmed, or knocked to the ground. Each time, he rose again without hesitation, expression unchanged, eyes unfocused.
Her concern grew heavier with every repetition.
'Whats wrong with him.'
"Enough," she said finally, pressing the iron blade against his chest. "That's enough."
He didn't respond.
He moved again, entering her inner circle and aiming a jab at her face just as she blinked.
Her breath caught.
Her energy responded instinctivelty and a sharp bolt of lightning cracked across the space between them.
He fell.
For a heartbeat, Aina forgot how to breathe.
She was at his side instantly. "Elias—!"
Red light leaked from him—not blood, but energy, flaring like fire and hardening in the cold air.
Her hands trembled.
'I— I didn't mean— Elias, answer me.'
She forced herself to stand, heart pounding, fear clawing its way past discipline and training.His eyes opened and he stared at her blankly.
"Stay down," she she said quietly.
He rose, picked up his sword and advanced.
Relief and dread twisted together in her chest.
"Why are you doing this?" She asked.
"…Challenge."
Whatever warmth had lived behind Aina's eyes vanished.
Her face went blank, iron-cold, lightning threading faintly along her blade.
"So that's it," she said softly.
"Very well then, you want to proove yourself so I'll see how strong your conviction is."
The yard held its breath.
"Come."
And she had no idea why.