"The royal warrior training, of course…" Ronan said flatly.
The queen's fingers tightened slightly around the golden armrest of her throne. "You're right… she can't."
Grace straightened immediately. "No— I can go. At least to watch and learn a few things. Besides…" she hesitated, placing a hand lightly against her chest, "it might help bring back my memory. I promise I'll stay out of trouble."
The king studied her for a long moment. Then his stern expression softened.
"Hmmm… you may be right, my treasure," he said at last. "But Renee will go with you. And Ronan…" His eyes shifted toward his son. "You will look after her."
Ronan scoffed. "What?! She's the older one. Why do I have to take on such a lame responsibility?"
The king's voice turned sharp. "Do you dare defy me? You, of all people, know the reason. Besides, she has always taken care of you."
Ronan clicked his tongue. "Like I ever asked her to." He turned away. "If she's coming, she better make it quick. I'm late for training." And with that, he stormed out of the hall.
Grace folded her arms. "What's his problem?"
The queen smiled knowingly. "Don't mind your younger brother, my dear. He acts like a cold dragon… but he's warm underneath. We both know that."
Grace raised a brow. "Oh really…"
"Now hurry," the queen added gently. "Sir Herold won't like it if you're late."
Grace leaned forward and kissed both her parents on their cheeks before rushing out.
The royal training grounds were beyond anything she expected.
The academy stood tall with silver stone walls etched in ancient runes. Weapon racks shimmered under the morning sun— swords, spears, enchanted bows, and shields glowing faintly with magic. The yard was vast and breathtaking, lined with towering trees that seemed to hum with energy. Most of the action took place there, beneath the open sky.
Grace stepped forward slowly, overwhelmed.
Before she could explore further, two familiar voices called out.
"Crystal!"
Maria rushed forward first, throwing her arms around her. "Oh, Crystal, you're okay! We were so worried!"
Arnold followed, hands in his pockets, smirking. "Yeah. But I knew you'd be fine."
Maria elbowed him. "Yeah right."
"Ouch!" Arnold laughed, then gently took Grace's hands. His voice softened. "Seriously though… I'm glad you're back."
Grace paused.
This place isn't just beautiful, she thought. I'm standing in front of two beautiful people too… His eyes are so charming. And his hands… so warm. Is he her boyfriend or
something?
"Crystal?" Arnold asked. "You okay?"
She blinked quickly. "W–what? Yes! I'm fine. I'm just really happy to see you both."
They laughed and shared a warm group hug.
"Alright, that's enough," a deep commanding voice cut through the air.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped forward. His dark hair fell neatly around his face, and a faint scar ran along his forearm— a silent mark of past battles.
Grace leaned toward Renee. "Let me guess… Sir Herold?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Renee whispered. "Head of the royal guards and special warriors. And your father's closest friend."
Grace nodded slowly.
"Welcome back, Crystal," Sir Herold said firmly.
"Thank you, sir."
"We'll continue where we left off. Defense training." His sharp gaze swept across the yard. "Arnold. Ronan. Step forward. Show us what you've got. And remember— use your powers wisely."
The crowd parted as the two boys stepped into the center.
Arnold's golden eyes glowed faintly as his werewolf heritage surfaced. Though fully human in form, his senses sharpened instantly— every movement, every shift in wind, every heartbeat within range. His connection to the earth pulsed beneath his feet.
Ronan stood opposite him, calm and proud. A faint blue aura flickered around him— the mark of the royal blue dragon bloodline. The air swirled gently at his command. Wind answered to him. And when focused, he could vanish into invisibility.
"Begin!" Sir Herold commanded.
Ronan moved first.
A burst of wind shot forward like a blade, kicking up dust and forcing Arnold to leap backward. The gust curved midair— controlled, precise.
Arnold landed low, palm pressing briefly against the ground.
The earth responded.
A wall of stone erupted upward, blocking the second wave of wind. The impact shattered it, but Arnold was already moving— fast. Too fast for normal eyes.
Ronan narrowed his gaze and disappeared.
Gasps filled the yard.
Arnold froze for only half a second.
Then he closed his eyes.
He didn't need sight.
He listened.
The faint shift of air pressure to his left. The soft scrape of a boot on gravel.
Arnold twisted just in time as Ronan reappeared mid-strike, wind spiraling around his fist. The blow grazed Arnold's shoulder, but he rolled with it instead of resisting.
"Your control is sloppy," Arnold muttered under his breath.
Ronan growled and summoned a stronger gust— a spiraling vortex aimed to throw Arnold off balance.
But the vortex wavered.
Too wide.
Too unfocused.
Arnold slammed his foot down.
The ground cracked.
Thick vines burst upward from beneath the soil, wrapping around Ronan's ankle. Ronan tried to vanish again— but his concentration broke. His invisibility flickered weakly.
Arnold didn't give him time.
With enhanced werewolf agility, he closed the distance in a blur, grabbing Ronan's wrist and twisting it behind his back. He kicked Ronan's legs from under him and pinned him to the ground, pressing his forearm between Ronan's shoulders.
The wind died instantly.
Silence.
Ronan struggled, but the vines tightened.
Sir Herold stepped forward. "Enough."
Arnold released him and stepped back respectfully.
Ronan pushed himself up, frustrated, brushing dirt off his uniform.
Sir Herold's eyes rested on him. "Power without control is wasted strength. Your wind is strong, but you rely too much on instinct and pride. Discipline wins battles."
Ronan clenched his fists but said nothing.
Arnold extended a hand to him. "You'll get there."
Ronan stared at it for a second… then reluctantly accepted it.
From the sidelines, Grace watched carefully.
Something stirred in her chest.
Not just admiration.
Recognition.
The clash of earth and wind… it felt familiar.