Ren woke to silence.
For a moment, he simply lay still, waiting for the familiar ache to announce itself. It came, as expected, but something was different. The pain was still there, but it was duller now, more familiar. Less like an enemy and more like an unwelcome roommate he had learned to tolerate.
The sun hung low in the sky. Dawn. Again.
He rose without groaning for the first time since arriving in Eldoria. His body moved, stiff but functional. His hands, when he looked at them, showed new calluses forming over the old blisters. They were beginning to look like warrior's hands. Or at least, like someone who had been hitting things with a stick for several days.
Breakfast came and went. The servant, whose name he still didn't know, smiled at him now when she brought the tray. Ren smiled back. Small connections. They mattered.
The training yard was empty when he arrived. Strange. Sir Kaelen was always there first, a statue waiting to deliver punishment. Ren stood alone in the morning light, his wooden sword in one hand, his shield leaning against his leg, and waited.
Five minutes passed. Ten.
Ren began to worry. Had he come at the wrong time? Had Sir Kaelen finally decided he was hopeless and given up? The thought sent a strange pang through his chest. He didn't want to be given up on. He wanted to prove he could do this.
Footsteps behind him. Ren turned.
Queen Elara walked toward him, alone. She wore a simple riding outfit today, leather breeches and a linen shirt, her silver hair tied back in a practical tail. No crown. No attendants. Just the Queen, looking almost like an ordinary person.
"Sir Kaelen will not be joining you this morning," she said, stopping a few feet away. "He has been called to the northern border. Reports of demon activity near the old seal."
Ren's stomach dropped. "Is it bad?"
"Not yet," the Queen said. "But we must be vigilant. The seals weaken by the day." She studied him for a moment, her stormy eyes unreadable. "Walk with me."
It wasn't a request. Ren fell into step beside her as she led him out of the training yard and through a narrow gate he hadn't noticed before. They emerged into a garden.
It was beautiful. Flowers Ren didn't recognize bloomed in carefully arranged beds, their colors so vivid they seemed to glow. A small fountain burbled in the center, sending sparkles of light across the surrounding stones. Benches of white marble offered places to sit and think.
The Queen sat on one of them, gesturing for Ren to join her.
"You have been here for five days," she said. "Tell me honestly. How do you feel?"
Ren considered the question. "Sore. Tired. Confused." He paused. "But less than before."
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "That is honest. I appreciate that." She looked out over the garden, her expression distant. "I was not much older than you when I became Queen. My father died suddenly, and the crown fell to me. I was terrified. I knew nothing of ruling, of politics, of the weight that comes with leadership."
Ren said nothing. He sensed she needed to speak more than she needed a response.
"I wanted to run," she continued. "Every day for the first year, I wanted to abandon the throne and flee to some quiet village where no one knew my name. But I couldn't. My people needed me. The kingdom needed me. So I stayed. I learned. I grew." She turned to look at him. "You remind me of myself in those days. Lost. Afraid. But still here."
"I don't have a choice," Ren said quietly.
"Neither did I." The Queen's voice was soft. "But choice is not the only thing that matters. What matters is what you do with the lack of choice. You can let it crush you, or you can let it shape you. You are choosing to be shaped."
Ren looked at his hands, at the new calluses, at the strength beginning to show in his fingers. "It doesn't feel like a choice. It feels like survival."
"Survival is a choice," the Queen said. "The most important one. Every day, you choose to get up. Every day, you choose to face Sir Kaelen. Every day, you choose to learn. That is courage, Ren. Not the absence of fear, but the choice to act despite it."
The garden was quiet around them, the fountain's soft murmur the only sound. Ren sat with the Queen's words, letting them settle into the places where doubt and fear had taken root.
"I met Lyra," he said finally. "Sir Kaelen's daughter. She's been helping me in the infirmary."
The Queen's expression shifted, something warm flickering in her eyes. "Lyra is a good soul. Her mother died when she was young, and she has spent her life caring for others. It is her way of honoring the love she lost."
"She's kind," Ren said. "She makes this place feel less..." He searched for the word. "Alien."
"Connection is important," the Queen agreed. "Especially for those far from home. You should nurture it."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching bees drift from flower to flower. The sun climbed higher, warming the garden, chasing away the morning chill.
"Sir Kaelen will be gone for a week," the Queen said eventually. "In his absence, you will train with me."
Ren blinked. "You?"
A glint of something—amusement? challenge?—appeared in her eyes. "You think because I wear a crown, I cannot fight? I was trained by the same man who trains you now. And I was taught magic by Archmage Theron himself. I am not helpless, Ren."
"I didn't mean—" Ren started, flustered.
She laughed, a genuine sound that transformed her face. "I know. But the lesson stands. Come. We begin now."
She rose and led him back to the training yard, where servants had already laid out a selection of practice weapons. But instead of picking up a sword, the Queen retrieved two wooden staves, shorter than the swords Ren had been using, and tossed one to him.
"Magic first," she said. "Swords are useful, but against the demon king's generals, you will need more than steel. You will need the elements themselves."
Ren caught the staff awkwardly. "I don't know any magic."
"No one does, at first." The Queen took her stance, staff held loosely before her. "Magic is not a thing you learn. It is a thing you remember. It lives in all things—in the air, in the stone, in your own blood. You must simply learn to listen."
She moved through a series of slow, deliberate motions, the staff tracing patterns in the air. With each motion, something shifted in the atmosphere around her. The air grew warmer, then cooler. A breeze stirred her hair, though the garden had been still. The stones beneath their feet seemed to hum with quiet energy.
"This is the foundation," she said, stopping. "The forms teach your body to channel magic, just as the sword forms teach your body to fight. You will practice them every day until they become as natural as breathing."
For the next hour, the Queen guided Ren through the basic staff forms. They were nothing like the sword training. Where Sir Kaelen demanded power and precision, the Queen emphasized flow and awareness. The staff was not a weapon, she explained, but a conduit. A way to focus the magic that already surrounded them.
"Feel the air," she instructed as Ren moved through a simple pattern. "Feel how it resists the staff, how it parts and reforms. That resistance is magic. That flow is magic. You are not controlling it. You are dancing with it."
Ren tried. He really tried. But he felt nothing except the weight of the staff and the burn in his shoulders.
"Patience," the Queen said, seeing his frustration. "Sir Kaelen did not teach you the sword in a day. Magic is no different. It takes time."
They broke for a simple lunch in the garden, bread and cheese and cool water. The Queen asked about his world—about cars and computers and cities that touched the sky. Ren described them as best he could, watching her eyes widen at concepts that were ordinary to him but miraculous to her.
"No magic," she murmured. "And yet you fly through the air in metal birds. You speak to people across vast distances with small devices. You illuminate your cities with captured lightning. Perhaps you have more magic than you know."
"I never thought of it that way," Ren admitted.
"That is the danger of the familiar," the Queen said. "We stop seeing the wonder in it."
The afternoon brought more training, this time combining the staff forms with the sword work Sir Kaelen had taught him. The Queen pushed him hard, though in a different way than the knight. Where Sir Kaelen demanded physical endurance, the Queen demanded mental focus. She would interrupt his forms with questions, testing his ability to maintain the pattern while thinking. She would change the rhythm unexpectedly, forcing him to adapt.
By the time the sun began its descent, Ren was exhausted in a new way. His body ached, but his mind ached more. The constant demand for awareness, for presence, had worn grooves in his consciousness he hadn't known existed.
"Enough," the Queen said finally. "You have done well today."
Ren collapsed onto a bench, his staff clattering to the ground beside him. "I don't feel like I did well."
"You will." She sat beside him, close enough that he could smell the faint floral scent of her hair. "Magic is not like sword work. The sword gives you immediate feedback. You block or you don't. You strike or you miss. Magic is quieter. Its progress is measured in moments of awareness, not in victories."
Ren looked at her. In the golden light of evening, without her crown, she looked almost like an ordinary young woman. Beautiful, yes, but approachable. Human.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Training me personally. You're the Queen. You have a kingdom to run."
She was silent for a moment, watching the light play across the garden. "Because I believe in the prophecy," she said finally. "But more than that, I believe in you. I have seen many summoned heroes in the old texts. Most of them failed not because they lacked strength, but because they lacked connection. They were alone, isolated, tools to be used rather than people to be loved." She turned to look at him. "I will not let that happen to you."
Something passed between them then, unspoken but real. A recognition. A promise.
"You hardly know me," Ren said quietly.
"I know enough." The Queen smiled, soft and warm. "I know you get up every day. I know you try. I know you are kind to servants and grateful for small mercies. I know you sat with Lyra in the infirmary and let her care for you. These things matter more than strength or skill."
Ren didn't know what to say. He sat in the golden light, letting her words wash over him, and felt something shift in his chest. The loneliness that had been his constant companion since arriving began to ease, just a little.
A servant appeared, bowing to the Queen. "Your Majesty, the council requests your presence."
The Queen sighed, the weight of her crown settling back onto her shoulders. "Duty calls." She rose, then paused, looking down at Ren. "Tomorrow, same time. We will continue."
"I'll be here," Ren said.
She smiled once more, then walked away, leaving Ren alone in the garden as the last light faded from the sky.
He sat for a long time, thinking about what she had said. About connection. About being seen not as a tool, but as a person. It was a small thing, perhaps, but it felt enormous. It felt like the first real step toward making this world his home.
When he finally rose and made his way to the infirmary, Lyra was waiting. She took one look at him and smiled.
"You look different," she said. "Less haunted."
"Maybe I am," Ren replied.
She led him to a chair and began her usual routine, checking his hands, applying salve, humming softly under her breath. The infirmary was quiet, the fire crackling, the world outside fading into darkness.
"Tell me about your mother," Ren said suddenly.
Lyra's hands stilled for a moment, then resumed their work. "She was a healer. The best in the kingdom. She taught me everything I know."
"Do you miss her?"
"Every day." Lyra's voice was soft but steady. "But missing someone doesn't mean you stop living. It means you carry them with you, in the things they taught you, in the love they gave. She's still here, in a way. In my hands. In my heart."
Ren thought about his own parents, his own world, everything he had left behind. He didn't know if he would ever see them again. But maybe, like Lyra, he could carry them with him. In the memories. In the person he was becoming.
"Thank you," he said. "For everything."
Lyra finished with his hands and looked up, her brown eyes warm. "You don't have to thank me, Ren. That's what connection is. We help each other. We carry each other. That's how we survive."
She squeezed his hand once, then released it. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow, my father returns. He'll expect progress."
Ren nodded and made his way back to his room. The castle was quiet, the torches flickering, the stones cool beneath his feet.
When he finally lay in bed, staring up at the embroidered canopy, he thought about the day. About the Queen's words, about Lyra's touch, about the small connections that were beginning to root him in this strange new world.
He wasn't a hero yet. He wasn't strong or skilled or magical. But he was learning. He was growing. He was becoming someone who might, one day, be worthy of the faith they had placed in him.
The training had begun.
Tomorrow, it would continue.
And Ren would be ready