The training yard behind the guild was mostly empty at dawn. Just the clack of wood against wood, a few early risers running drills. Dew clung to the grass, the sky still hazy with mist.
Knight stood alone until Titus arrived, wearing a loose, sleeveless tunic, carrying a long wooden sword—not a practice blade, but a blunt real weapon, meant to hurt.
"You made it," Titus said. "Good. From now on, we train every morning."
Knight gave a small nod since he had nothing to do anyways.
Titus stepped into the yard and motioned him forward. "Let's see what you've got. Come at me."
Knight didn't waste time. He moved fast—sword out, feet steady, slashing low and then twisting into a vertical cut.
Titus parried both without effort.
Knight spun into a kick—Titus caught his ankle mid-air and slammed him to the ground.
Hard.
Knight grunted, air knocked from his lungs.
"Again," Titus said, stepping back.
Knight climbed up, slower this time.
It became a rhythm. Wake. Train. Hurt. Heal. Train again.
Every morning, Titus met him in the yard before breakfast, and they went at it—relentless, brutal, punishing. Knight's shoulders ached, his palms blistered, bruises bloomed under his shirt like dark, angry flowers. Still, he kept showing up.
"You're fast," Titus said on the third day, deflecting a flurry of strikes. "But you're not reading. You swing like a man chasing ghosts."
Knight growled and struck harder.
Titus blocked with ease, then countered with a blow to Knight's ribs that dropped him again.
"Don't fight angry. Fight aware."
Each day pushed him past his limit. Titus forced him to train until his sword arm was too numb to lift, until his legs buckled in the middle of footwork drills, until he coughed blood after impact rolls.
Then they trained more.
Sometimes, the others came to watch.
Miriam would sit on the fence nearby, tossing fruit pieces at him like a bored spectator. "You look like you're losing the world's meanest game of tag."
Amber didn't say much, but she came too—silent, observant. Sometimes after a particularly brutal spar, she'd press a healing charm into his hand without a word.
But even then, Knight refused to use magic on himself.
Pain was part of it. Part of proving he could endure.
Titus swung again, and this time, Knight ducked low—not out of desperation, but instinct. He pivoted into a rising slash that scraped Titus's side, even if it didn't draw blood.
Titus paused.
Knight stood, panting.
"Better," Titus muttered, adjusting his stance. "Now again. Let's go."
They clashed hard—faster this time, sweat flying, wooden blades blurring. Knight no longer hesitated. He didn't try to match Titus blow-for-blow, but danced on the edge of danger, using every ounce of speed and awareness he'd sharpened.
When Titus finally knocked the blade from his hands and pinned him to the ground, it was slower, less effortless.
They were getting closer.
That evening, Knight sat on the edge of the training yard with a cold rag pressed to his jaw with his helmet slightly lifted to expose his mouth and it only. The sun dipped low behind the rooftops, casting gold across the cobblestone.
Footsteps approached.
Amber sat down beside him without a word.
He didn't look at her, but he could feel the silence—not awkward, just shared.
"…You're improving," she finally said, softly.
Knight gave a small grunt in reply.
She added, after a moment, "But you should still let me heal you."
"I'm fine."
"You say that a lot."
He looked down at his scraped knuckles, then reached for the rag again.
"…You stayed to watch," he said.
Amber nodded. "I was curious. About how far you'd push yourself."
Knight didn't answer. But something in his chest loosened, just a bit.
Amber stood and dusted off her robe. "Tomorrow's the weekend," she said. "We're going shopping."
He blinked, looking up.
"Ok"
Before she could answer, Miriam's voice rang out from behind them. "Yup! I'm dragging you around. You owe us after putting on your moody dark knight act all week."
Knight stood slowly. "I never agreed to—"
Miriam clapped him on the back. "Too late! You're coming. And if you try to sneak away, I'll make Titus spar you after you're already sore."
"…You're evil."
"Yup."
Amber chuckled quietly. "Just wear something that doesn't make children cry."
Knight exhaled, slowly adjusting his helmet back to normal.
"…Fine."
The market district was louder on weekends.
Knight realized this the moment he stepped out of the small shared housing space provided to registered adventurers. The streets buzzed with families, couples, peddlers shouting prices, and kids darting between alleyways like sparrows. Sunlight dappled through banners strung across buildings, and the scent of fresh bread wafted from bakeries trying to outdo each other.
He wasn't sure why he agreed to come out.
"Knight!" came the unmistakably bright voice of Miriam. "You're late."
He wasn't. She was early.
She stood near the plaza fountain in a deep blue vest and a white tunic, her blonde hair tied up into a high ponytail that made her look even more animated than usual. She waved dramatically, drawing more attention than necessary. Beside her stood Amber, arms folded gently, her eyes calm but alert. She wore a light gray cloak over a soft, practical dress that complemented the white and red streaks in her hair. She looked like she didn't want to be there. Which made two of them.
"Didn't think you'd actually show," Miriam teased when he approached. "What, did Titus beat you so hard during training you forgot how to say no?"
Knight didn't reply. His helmet faced her blankly.
Amber let out a tiny breath that might've been a laugh.
Miriam grinned. "Come on, gloomy. You promised. Kind of."
"I didn't—"
"Too late. You're stuck with us." She looped her arm through his and started walking. "Amber and I are going shopping, and you're the pack mule."
Knight didn't resist. Mostly because Amber gave him the faintest nod—an unspoken agreement that said go along with it. He wasn't sure if it was sympathy or amusement, but either way, he followed.
The marketplace was a blur of sound and color.
Knight hadn't spent much time here before. He avoided crowds. There were too many faces, too many chances to bump shoulders or get roped into something annoying. But being surrounded by the two girls created a strange buffer. People glanced at the helmeted man once, then kept their distance.
They stopped at a tailor's stall first. Linen tunics and silk scarves fluttered in the breeze. Miriam went straight for the flashiest thing she could find—a red and gold scarf that practically shouted look at me.
"What do you think?" she said, wrapping it around her neck with a flourish.
Knight stared. "…Ver noticeable."
Amber chuckled behind her hand.
"That's a compliment," Miriam declared. "I want people to see me and think now there's a girl with taste. Right, Amber?"
Amber blinked. "I think people already do."
Miriam beamed. "See? She gets it."
They moved on, making Knight hold the bags. Amber stopped at a quiet jewelry booth next, admiring a pair of delicate earrings shaped like falling leaves. Her gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary.
"You like those?" Knight asked before he could stop himself.
She looked over at him, surprised.
"…They're pretty," she said softly. "But I don't need them."
Knight didn't say anything more. But a flicker of something stirred in his chest. A sense of wanting—not to impress, or to talk—but to understand her. To give her things she couldn't give herself. Not in some flashy way. Just… quietly. Like those earrings.
They walked through the bazaar until the sun began lowering in the sky.
Miriam chatted most of the time, occasionally pulling Amber into teasing banter, and more often trying to make Knight laugh. She failed. But not for lack of effort.
"Okay," she said, after poking through three different booths. "I'm hungry. Snack break. Knight, go find us something. Surprise me!"
He blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. Food. We'll wait here."
He stood there a moment, then turned to Amber.
"…Do you like sweets?"
Amber's eyes widened a little. "Um. Yes."
He nodded, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.
Miriam watched him go with her hands on her hips. "You see that? Our quiet knight's learning to initiate conversations."
Amber smiled gently. "He's trying."
"Trying so hard," Miriam laughed. "And it's kind of cute."
Amber didn't say anything, but her gaze lingered on the crowd where Knight had vanished.
He came back with a paper bag and three skewers of what looked like grilled mochi. Slightly burnt around the edges. He handed them over silently.
Amber took hers with a soft, "Thank you."
Miriam bit into hers, grinning. "Mmm. You're forgiven for being a buzzkill."
Knight sat on the edge of the fountain, looking toward the cobbled path leading deeper into the capital. Amber sat beside him a moment later. She was unusually quiet again. Not awkward—just… still.
"Do you always wear the helmet?" she asked suddenly.
He nodded.
"I don't mind it," she added quickly. "Just wondering. Must get hot."
He hesitated. "I got used to it."
Amber nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I think everyone has something they use to feel safe. Helmets. Words. Distance."
She wasn't prying. She wasn't even asking. Just offering understanding.
He looked down at the skewer in his hand. "…I don't hate it," he said quietly. "Being here."
Although he was a person who appreciated silence so much to the point where he shut himself in, it didn't feel as annoying and scary to come out to face society.
No, although he hand't realized it himself, he had been enjoying the day he was spending with Miriam and Amber.
"With us?"
"…Yeah."
The word lingered in the evening air.
Miriam leaned over from behind them with the third skewer in her mouth. "Awwww. Was that a genuine emotion? I'm so proud."
Knight looked away.
Amber smiled, warmth blooming quietly in her chest. For just a moment, her fingers brushed his ragged hand.
Not on accident.
As the sun dipped lower and the sky turned pink, the three of them wandered the quieter corners of the market—less shopping, more strolling. Knight didn't say much. But his steps matched theirs. His posture was relaxed for once. And his mind…
…It wasn't spinning with guilt, grief, or self-blame.
For the first time in a long time, his mind was shutting up.
In this small moment, with these two strange, wonderful people, he didn't feel like he had to grieve and scold himself about the past.