He hardly slept.
The candle's flame flickered too dimly to see by, but he wasn't attempting to read. He perched on the cot's edge, boots tied, tunic folded twice at the arms, fingers fidgeting with residual tension. The edge leaned against the wall next to him. Just in case.
When the morning bell chimed, he had already left.
The courtyard was vacant.
The fog still hadn't cleared. It moved through stone arches and training posts like a sigh from something old. Leon passed through it at a leisurely pace. Every noise was amplified—his boots on stone, the groan of timber, the gentle buzz of a stablehand sweeping far off.
She arrived late.
He remained in the yard, arms folded, sword hanging by his side.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Next, hooves.
A white horse cantered into sight, accompanied by two knights.
Isabel sat upright in the saddle, cloak pulled back, one glove fitted snugly.
"Valhart," she spoke effortlessly as she drew near. "Didn't think you would wait."
"I mentioned that I would lead you."
"You never inquired why."
Leon pivoted and started walking towards the path on the upper ridge. "You arrived early." You desire something.
"That isn't a response."
"It's everything I have."
They strolled together next to the outer wall, her horse progressing gently alongside his pace. The trail twisted beside the ancient ramparts—paved, faded, and steep in sections. The wind intensified up here, forcing its way through cracks in the wall.
Isabel looked around.
"Are there no guards?"
"You're equipped."
"I was referring to yours."
Leon nodded in disagreement.
"Fascinating," she whispered.
They arrived at the viewpoint overlooking the southern field. The estate area extended beneath—lodgings, external stables, a slim creek flowing close to the training field.
Isabel got off her horse and gave her reins to a knight, then moved closer to the stone railing.
"Stunning sight," she remarked.
Leon rested against the wall.
She looked at him. "You seem altered."
"I exist."
"You didn't take things this seriously last year."
"Last year I believed we were secure."
Her face remained unaltered. "What's next?"
"At this point, I avoid that error."
She glided along the wall gently, her fingertips brushing the aged stone.
"Reports of clashes near the border have emerged," she stated. "Creatures." Lords of bandits. "Even a trace or two of the demonic."
Leon maintained a motionless expression. "I have listened."
"Do you really think so?"
"I've witnessed worse."
She observed him attentively. "Your home lacks the forces to bolster the southern routes." Your father has been silent during the council. "That's unusual."
Leon remained quiet.
"And still, here you are," she remarked, "preparing as if a personal battle is approaching."
He did not refute it.
Isabel moved in front of him. "What's the reason?"
Leon gazed at her.
Not by her. At her place.
She remained firm. Not ridiculing. Not wavering.
Thus, he responded.
"Since we do."
The words lingered in the air longer than he intended.
Isabel observed him.
"You're aware of something," she remarked.
Leon moved away from the railing. "I have ample knowledge."
"That's perilous."
"It has always been that way."
The wind seized her cloak, blowing it out behind her.
"Do you believe I arrived here to propose a marriage agreement?" she inquired unexpectedly.
Leon remained still. "Did you do that?"
She grinned. It was not warm.
"People always take that for granted," she stated. "Due to my being a woman." Due to my royal status. Due to the kingdom's need for alliances. "However, what I require is leverage."
Leon gazed into her eyes.
"Tying the knot with a damaged home won't provide you with that."
"She replied, 'No.'" "However, if you transform into something beyond a shattered home, it alters the situation."
She moved in nearer.
"You're a threat now, Leon."
"Not at this time."
"Near."
She didn't blink an eye. "Ensure you select the correct side when situations fall apart."
Leon inclined his head gently. "I've done that already."
She observed him for another moment. Then rotated.
"Come here," she urged her knights. "We're finished here."
They departed without any fuss.
Leon remained at the vantage point.
He gazed at the path extending toward the horizon, dust rising beneath the hooves of her leaving horse.
He then turned around and strolled back to the yard.
The training had not concluded.
Not at this time.
Leon arrived at the yard right as the sun rose above the trees.
This time, he skipped the sword rack. He moved towards the flat stones at the boundary of the ring—the ones utilized by the blacksmith for testing hammer hits—and pulled one ahead until it was level with the ground.
He took the axe out of the shed. No exercises. No embellishments.
Only one objective.
Every blow to the stone echoed like a cautionary bell. The axe struck lightly at first, skidding off the sides. Flames flickered with each strike. He was indifferent. He desired to sense the resistance, to gauge the recoil, to understand how his own power countered him.
Once more.
He swung the blade down with more force. Dust spread around his boots. His breathing remained steady, but his hold strengthened each time the metal struck the stone.
Once more.
The jolt crept up his arms.
Once more.
His hand tore open once more.
He kept going.
A voice shouted his name—faraway, irritated. Perhaps Roderic. Perhaps a steward. He didn't glance.
The final blow caused a fragment to soar from the edge of the stone. Leon dropped the axe and observed the fragment fall.
Only a single inch. Perhaps fewer.
However, it shifted.
And so did he.
He knelt and picked up the stone chip, still warm from the strike. It fit in his palm, sharp on one edge, smooth on the other. He closed his fingers around it, not to hold it tightly—but to remind himself what it took to break something solid. The axe rested beside him, its edge dulled and dented. Leon didn't mind. He wasn't aiming for clean cuts. He stood, pocketed the shard, and turned toward the rack where the real blades were kept. The kind that cut men, not stone. It was time to train against something that could strike back.