After the first few months at the Knights' Academy, excellence began to show among certain students. Alex stood out as the model student, while Sikakama also secured a place among the top ranks. Yet, a quiet tension simmered between those who rose to the top, especially among the leading members. Each sought to prove themselves in their own way, driven by the goals they believed in.
All the knights were training in pairs in the practice yard. The sun was shining brightly, and excitement filled the air.
Sikakama and Edward sparred together, exchanging precise strikes and parries with their swords. Suddenly, Edward lost his balance and tumbled onto his back.
"You're slow!" Sikakama said calmly, while he smiled resignedly from the ground.
But a strange feeling struck her. She spun around quickly and was startled to see Alex appear before her like a swift shadow. She blocked his strike with her sword and stepped back a few paces.
Edward jumped up, astonished. "Hey! That's not fair!"
If I hadn't blocked that strike… it would have torn through my chest! Sikakama thought, then looked directly at Alex. Did he really want to kill me?
"Leave it," she said to Edward, then addressed Alex. "I don't know why you're angry, but let's settle this here."
A gentle breeze stirred between them, the sunlight glinting across the space that separated them by a few meters. A quiet moment passed.
Then Alex lunged suddenly, his sword flashing in the light, aiming for the first strike. Sikakama parried, sparks flying where the blades met. The duel had begun, and soon their movements grew faster, sparks scattering into the air. Their speed left Edward watching from afar, stunned.
Sikakama advanced to attack, but Alex countered with a powerful kick followed by a strike that hit her face, sending her back from the force. Her anger, however, drove her forward, and she charged, colliding with his forehead. Their foreheads met, blood beginning to drip onto their faces. Their eyes burned with anger, and their swords clashed, each pushing with blade and brow against the other.
It was clear that he had received specialized training; he wasn't like the other knights here. His physical strength gave him a noticeable edge, Sikakama thought.
Alex glanced into her eyes—blue, yet piercing, as if they cut straight through him. The gaze made him uneasy.
"How calm you appear… yet your strikes betray you," she murmured, her voice low, almost teasing, revealing a hint of vulnerability he rarely showed.
"You try to unleash your anger on everyone around you… but is it them who annoy you, or yourself who you are truly angry at?"
After a tense moment, they finally separated, eyes still locked.
Alex lunged across the space between them. The moment their blades clashed, Sikakama soared upward in a graceful arc, her body tracing a half-circle above him while their swords remained locked. In the blink of an eye, she landed behind his back—he twisted sharply and swung again, but she met his counter with flawless timing.
His strikes became wild and unthinking, each swing more reckless than the last. Sikakama, however, remained calm, her body flowing with precise control. One hand rested gracefully behind her back, the other gripping her sword, her posture tall and poised. It was the very stance she had once seen Sir Aldric use during their sparring lessons—a silent echo of his style, now reborn through her own blade. She met every blade with perfect timing, her stance unshakable, effortlessly redirecting his frenzied attacks. Each miscalculated strike left him increasingly off balance, while her grace and composure gave her the upper hand. With a swift movement, she placed the tip of her blade against his throat and whispered, "When you lose your calm… you are dead."
Taking a step away to regain his composure. A final gust of wind swept through the arena, rustling their hair and clothes.
With lightning speed, they lunged at each other, each aiming for a decisive strike that would determine the victor—the last blow in their fierce duel.
Suddenly, Sir Aldric appeared between them , thrusting his palms forward and gripping each of their elbows to hold them in place.
With swift precision, he grabbed both Sikakama and Alex by the heads, slamming their foreheads together. The force of the impact made them both stagger, and moments later, their legs gave way as they collapsed, unconscious, side by side.
The clatter of their swords hitting the ground echoed through the training yard, and the once-furious sparks of battle vanished into a tense silence. Sir Aldric stepped back, his stern gaze sweeping over the students who watched in awe and fear, silently reminding them that even the strongest must respect discipline.
The muddy road stretched before them, ruts and puddles marking every uneven step. The cart creaked as it swayed, drawn by a tired but sturdy horse. Sikakama and Alex sat at the back, both silent, bothered by Juliet's endless chatter from the front seat, which bubbled over with her energetic, lively personality.
"Why are you two always fighting?" she teased. "At your age, you should be discovering love, not squabbles. Don't waste your youth…"
The village came into view. Its rooftops peeked between gentle hills, smoke curling lazily from the chimneys. Farmers wearing straw hats worked in the fields, tending to cows and sheep in their pens, while chickens clucked and scratched near the farmhouses. Stone paths wound through cozy homes, and gardens spilled over with greenery. The scent of baked bread, hearth fires, and fresh hay mingled with the crisp air, giving the village a warm, bustling, and inviting charm.
This trip was no ordinary journey. Assigned by Sir Aldric as a lesson in humility and hard work after their reckless duel in the training yard, they were sent to the village of Harrowdale, Juliet's birthplace. She had volunteered to guide them through, ensuring they completed their task.
Finally, Juliet could no longer contain herself. She leapt from the cart first, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Home!" she exclaimed, rushing forward. Her family waited just outside their house, and she ran straight into their embrace. Her parents hugged her tightly, spinning her around with laughter and cheer. Three younger siblings—two boys and a girl—raced toward her, shouting and giggling as they joined the joyful reunion. The happiness of the moment shone brightly, a stark contrast to the muddy, tiring journey they had endured.
Alex and Sikakama had stepped down from the cart and watched quietly, taking in the warm, lively scene. Juliet introduced them to her family.
"This is my father, Bertram Hawthorne," she said, gesturing to the tall man with a warm smile. "He used to serve in the Knights' Ministry and is now retired, enjoying a peaceful life."
"And this is my mother, Elara," she added, as Elara held their youngest daughter, little Liora, just under five years old, gently in her arms. "Welcome, little ones!" Elara said warmly to Alex and Sikakama, her smile kind and inviting.
"And these two troublemakers are my younger twin brothers, Tomas and Leon, both ten," Juliet continued with a laugh, nodding toward the boys who were playfully jostling each other nearby.
Her father approached Alex and Sikakama, placing his heavy hand on each of their shoulders with a hearty laugh. "Welcome to our home! Juliet has told me all about you two," he said warmly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Sikakama and Alex set to work. They carried sacks, fixed fences, and helped in the small fields that needed tending.
It was clear that one of them was not accustomed to life in the countryside.
In his hands, Alex held a small wooden pitchfork, carefully spreading hay for the sheep in a circular pen outside, surrounded by a low wooden fence. He was fully focused on the task, arranging each bundle with precision—until a mischievous goat charged him from behind, butting him sharply in the backside. He stumbled forward as the goat continued to harass him, darting around and nudging him repeatedly.
Sikakama and Juliet stood nearby, watching with barely concealed amusement as Alex struggled with the livestock. Juliet giggled, covering her mouth, while Sikakama's calm blue eyes flickered with suppressed laughter.
"Here, take this," Sikakama called, handing him a plump chicken. Alex snatched it up with a scowl, holding it awkwardly as it flapped and twisted its head in his hands. He froze, unsure what to do with the bird.
Just then, a rooster slid across the muddy ground, eyeing its "mate" fiercely. Alex barely had time to react before the rooster charged, beak aimed straight at the chicken. He stumbled backward, clutching the flapping bird, feathers flying everywhere.
As if that weren't enough, the goat charged from behind, hitting him sharply in the backside. Completely at the mercy of the chaos—the perfect trick of the countryside for someone unused to barnyard life.
The usual mode of transportation in the countryside was an open cart pulled by a draft animal—either a horse or a donkey—moving slowly along winding dirt paths that stretched between the fields.
Sikakama lounged back on the hay in the open cart, one leg casually draped over the other, her arms resting behind her head. The wheels creaked and jostled as the cart rolled along the muddy path. She softly hummed a playful tune, "Ten sheep in the meadow roam and graze…" rocking gently with each bump. Sunlight warmed her face, and she looked entirely relaxed, enjoying the absurdity of their journey.
Beside her, Alex sat stiffly, scowling at the passing scenery and the bustling village around them. He looked clearly annoyed by the rural chaos, yet powerless to change it.
Her voice lingered, light and carefree. And still, she kept singing the little rhyme, her tone unbothered, playful, almost mocking the silence of the road.
"…but then the sly wolf comes along, howling, dreaming to snatch seven away…"
The smell of hay and animals filled the air inside the barn, warm and earthy, clinging to everything around. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the wooden walls, cutting across the dust that floated lazily in the air.
Alex brought a bucket, intending to milk what he thought was a cow.
"Don't do that." Sikakama said, leaning lightly against the wooden handle.
But Alex didn't listen and edged closer. The stubborn bull swung its head and butted him hard.
"That's not a cow."
Suddenly, Tomas—one of Juliet's younger siblings—pointed at them with a mischievous grin. "Prince!" he called, pointing at Alex, then flicked his finger toward Sikakama. "And the maid!"
Sikakama's eyes widened in surprise. "Maid?" she repeated, before chasing the boy as he darted around the barn, laughing.
"Come here."
Juliet's younger brothers loved playing pranks and joking around, and Sikakama happily matched their energy. They even delighted in swinging upside down from tree branches, giggling as the world turned upside down around them.
Hours passed, and the sun began to dip behind the hills. Their hands were sore, clothes streaked with mud, yet a sense of accomplishment warmed them from within.
At last, the work was done. Juliet led them into her home for dinner.
Sikakama sat beside Bertram, Juliet's father, on the wooden porch in front of the house, its floorboards smooth beneath them. The porch stretched along the front, offering a perfect view of the yard and the road beyond. A perfect spot to rest and watch the world go by. Bertram, wearing a simple tunic and a straw hat tilted slightly on his head, sat relaxed, a gentle smile spreading across his face, a small stalk of wheat held casually in his mouth—a habit reminiscent of the farmers of old.
Sikakama glanced at Bertram, her calm blue eyes studying his relaxed demeanor. After a moment of silence, she spoke softly, "Tell me, Sir Bertram… how is life in retirement?"
"I miss my days as a knight," he admitted quietly, his eyes distant for a moment. "But living a peaceful life, raising a family… it's far more rewarding. Truly, it's the greatest thing any man could hope for." His smile split his face, warm and gentle, as Sikakama looked at him, studying the traces of the man he once was and the life he had chosen.
Mr. Bertram was a man of vitality—serious in his work, yet carrying the quiet strength of one who had found peace in the life he had chosen. For him, the countryside was not an escape but a calling—his true path after laying down the sword of a knight. He still remembered the first time he wandered through the fields, when he stopped to help an old man push a cart stuck in the mud. The man had invited him to his home, and together they worked in his fields beneath the sun. The sky here was unlike the city's—open, boundless, and vividly blue, as if it had been hidden from him all his life. Bertram felt the sweat running down his face, yet there was a strange joy in it—in standing beneath a sky unbroken by stone walls, where the sunlight touched his skin and the heavens stretched wide and blue. Wiping his brow with his sleeve, he had looked upward, as if seeing the world for the first time. Later, he shared a simple but hearty meal prepared by the old man's daughter. That day, he realized this was not merely a place, but the very haven his restless spirit had long sought. The crisp morning breeze across the cornfields, the simple warmth of gathering at the family table—these were the treasures that sustained him, the quiet bliss that fueled his spirit.
Sikakama nodded silently, taking in his words, sensing both the weight of his past and the serenity of his present.
There is a difference between what a man pursues and what he truly longs for. Many chase after wealth, careers, and a place within the endless cycle called life. But Bertram's heart sought something else—far from the competitions and the rat race that so many chased. What he truly longed for was simple yet profound: to gaze upon a sky without bounds, to breathe untouched air, to feel the soil beneath his hands as a farmer does, and, at the day's end, to have someone waiting for him.
Just then, Bertram's wife appeared at the doorway, a soft smile lighting her face. "Dinner's ready," she called warmly, her voice carrying across the yard.
The house was cozy and bustling, filled with Juliet's younger siblings. The wooden dining table stretched across the room, polished and sturdy, with warm light reflecting softly from a ceiling lamp above. Steam rose from plates piled high with roasted vegetables, hearty stews, fresh bread, and savory meat. The scent of home-cooked food mingled with children's laughter, echoing through the room.
The mother began dishing out the food, scooping generous portions onto plates and handing them to each person in turn. Each person then passed the plate along to the next, ensuring everyone received their portion.
The table hummed with movement. Plates, bread, and condiments were continually passed, everyone helping one another reach what was out of arm's length. Sikakama and Alex also joined in the rhythm, sliding plates toward those who couldn't reach.
Sikakama picked up her plate and nudged it gently toward the little girl across from her. "Here you go," she said softly. The girl beamed and passed a slice of bread to her brother at the other end of the table.
Alex received his plate and noticed a sibling too far to reach it. He slid it toward them, ensuring they got a portion. Similarly, the salt shaker was passed from hand to hand, each person sprinkling just enough before nudging it to the next. The passing of plates and condiments flowed naturally, a rhythm of sharing and consideration.
Laughter and chatter filled the air. The mother scolded her son, who stubbornly refused to eat his vegetables, "Eat your vegetables, or you'll stay short forever!" Sikakama leaned toward the boy with a grin, whispering, "I don't like vegetables either."
Bertram laughed heartily, his chest shaking with genuine amusement. "That's my boy!" he exclaimed.
"You too must eat, Bertram! Don't let the children think skipping greens is allowed."
"How many times have I told you, I don't like zucchini, woman?" Bertram said, mock frustration on his face.
His wife responded firmly, "You're just like the children—they look up to you and follow your example. You need to behave more responsibly and eat your vegetables."
Juliet glanced at Sikakama and Alex, smiling softly. "They've always bickered about this ever since I was little… but deep down, they care for each other," she added, her eyes sparkling.
All three—the two boys and Sikakama—had some vegetables hidden on Alex's plate, leaving him seemingly the only one who would eat his greens without complaint.
The atmosphere was warm and joyful. Each gesture—passing a plate, sprinkling salt, sharing a smile—wove the family together. Sikakama observed quietly, enjoying the sense of connection and care, noting how simple acts could create such a lively and happy scene.
The evening carried on in a symphony of chatter, laughter, and clinking dishes, each moment painting the picture of a happy, loving family. Sikakama observed quietly, her calm eyes reflecting the simple joy of this lively household.
A small girl, no older than five, approached Alex cautiously, pointing a tiny finger at his golden hair. "Your hair… it's like the prince in the story!" she whispered with wide eyes. Alex only looked down, expression unreadable, showing nothing of the reaction he might have felt.
Meanwhile, Sikakama stepped inside the cozy room, and a small boy ran up to her, tugging gently at her sleeve. "Read me a story!" he pleaded. The other children, seeing her, quickly gathered around, their laughter filling the space. Even the little girl joined, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Sikakama smiled softly, her calm demeanor blending with a gentle warmth. She sat down on the floor, pulling the children close, and opened a book. "Alright, everyone," she said, "let's hear a story."
She began:
Once upon a time, there was a little prince who lived in a grand palace. He had a vast chamber of his own, a cook who baked him cakes and sweets, and countless toys—everything a child his age could wish for. Yet, for some reason, he never enjoyed the palace life. His parents were so absorbed in their ruling duties that he rarely spent any time with them. Surrounded by endless luxuries yet starved of affection, he felt the weight of loneliness pressing in on him. More often than not, he would sit by the window, his eyes wandering toward the distant moon.
One night, he secretly slipped out and wandered into the forest, where the moonlight reflected on a quiet lake. There, a Moon Princess appeared, telling him she could grant him a wish.
The prince wished never to be alone again. The Moon Princess offered to be his friend and promised to appear every night. From then on, the prince eagerly awaited the moon's rise to tell her about his day. But one night, clouds covered the sky, and the Moon Princess did not appear. The prince returned to his loneliness once more.
He wished that his friend could become real—and because he had not used the wish at the right time, it came true. The Moon Princess transformed into a human girl. The young prince was surprised but happy—they were now real friends, and he no longer had to wait for her each night. The Moon Princess was joyful as well, finally free."
One by one, the children slowly drifted off to sleep, their breathing soft and even. Sikakama stayed seated among them, a serene smile on her face, quietly watching over the peaceful scene.
Even Alex, having listened to the story, felt a strange sense of peace. The anger, the rivalry, and the tension of earlier days seemed to melt away, if only for a moment.
He glanced to his side and saw the little girl resting against him, her tiny hand holding onto his sleeve. Sleep had overtaken her, and he watched her for a moment before gently placing his hand over hers, careful not to disturb her.
Juliet watched the scene from behind the doorway, a small smile on her face.
The night in the village was unusually heavy. A silence clung to the air, broken only by the chirping of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves outside.
And then—
A scream tore through the night.
The maid dropped her tray, dishes shattering against the wooden floor as her voice rang through the house. People rushed inside, following the sound.
"This is terrible!"
There, on the floor, lay the old man—blood matting his hair, a shattered vase beside him, the flowers scattered in a pool of spilled water.
Sikakama moved without hesitation. Kneeling, she pressed two fingers against his neck. "He's alive," she announced, calm yet firm. Relief swept through the room.
The maid staggered back, trembling, before Sikakama's sharp voice cut through the panic: "Fetch the doctor. Now!"
The room filled with murmurs as they all tried to make sense of what had happened. The mess was undeniable—drawers left open, cupboards ransacked, clothes thrown across the floor.
Sikakama's eyes scanned everything carefully. Not planned. Not precise. Her gaze lingered on the broken vase.
Inside another house, a single hand trembled as it pulled open the drawer. Fingers slick with sweat gripped the cold metal of a pistol. The man muttered under his breath, voice low and shaking:
"This land… it should have been mine. That old bastard stole it from my father… it's not my fault. It's not my fault." His jaw clenched, his hand unsteady as he slid the weapon into his coat. But then—his blood ran cold. A pair of small eyes peeked at him from behind the wall. A little girl, no more than five years old, had seen him. She stood frozen, her tiny hands clutching her toy. For an instant, he saw his reflection in her fear.
A sudden shout from outside shattered her thoughts. "Fire!"
Smoke curled past the window, and they rushed out. A blaze had started inside the barn.
Everyone was shouting—"A man is in the fire!"—but no one dared step forward. Alex tried to intervene, but Bertram pushed him back and charged into the flames himself. Seconds later, a figure emerged from the blaze: a man slung over Bertram's shoulder. He set him down and shouted for everyone to help put out the fire. The sight, and the force in his voice, struck the crowd like a slap, snapping them out of their shock. Alex looked at him as if seeing a true knight for the first time.
Buckets of water were passed frantically, villagers shouting, running to douse the flames before they could spread. Alex lunged forward, grabbing a bucket and splashing water toward the fire. A sudden burst of flame leapt higher, striking his face; he jerked back instinctively, covering his mouth with his elbow. Sparks flew upward, reflecting in the eyes of those around him. The orange blaze battered their faces, the heat intense and unforgiving, scorching everything it touched. Every movement seemed to flicker in the fiery glow, casting long, chaotic shadows across the panicked crowd.
Working together, villagers passed bucket after bucket, hurling water on the flames with precision. Suddenly, Bertram appeared, carrying a massive watering trough—one normally used for livestock—hoisted effortlessly onto his shoulder. The strength he displayed left everyone in stunned silence. Sparks sizzled as the last embers hissed under the cooling water. Finally, the fire was under control, the barn safe from further damage. Exhausted but relieved, they stepped back, chests heaving, eyes still flicking to the smoldering remnants of what could have been a disaster.
And then came the scream that froze everyone:
"My daughter! She's missing!" Juliet's mother clutched her chest, her voice breaking, while tightly holding her daughter's toy, the only remnant of her child still in her hands.
Eyes widened. The air thickened.
Alex's chest heaved, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. The murder, the fire, the sudden disappearance of the little girl—all assaulted his senses at once. His mind raced, replaying the chaotic sequence like a memory being scrolled through: drawers thrown open, clothes scattered across the floor, a shattered vase beside the man, who bled slowly, grimacing. The small fire had flared up, smoke curling menacingly toward the ceiling, forcing villagers to scramble with buckets of water. And somewhere in the middle of that madness, the child had disappeared.
Alex clenched his fists, determination hardening in his chest. He could not let fear cloud him—not now, not when the child's life hung in the balance.
Everything had unfolded randomly—or so it seemed. Amid the terror, the shouting, and the wails of the frightened, a memory pierced through his panic. He remembered the hill, the day he had stood there with Sikakama. Sunlight spilled over the slope, the valley stretching wide below them. She had smiled, arms stretched wide, eyes gleaming, and said, "Isn't this a beautiful view? If you want to see the whole place… the hill is the way to do it."
At first, the phrase felt cryptic, almost meaningless, drowned in the cacophony around him. But slowly, his mind began to thread the chaos into a pattern. The fire, the screams, the scattered belongings, the bleeding man—it all began to form a sequence.
And then it clicked.The killer wasn't there to kill. He was searching for something. The old man must have caught him, and panic turned to violence.
The fire wasn't the real threat. It was a diversion. A carefully crafted distraction to hide the real act.
His gaze snapped toward the dark slope beyond the trees. Pieces clicked into place. Whoever had orchestrated this would watch from above, exploiting the confusion below, slipping away with the child. Every frantic movement, every terrified cry, every misstep—it was all part of a plan, even if unplanned to anyone else.
The fire was nothing but a smoke-screen. Now he knew exactly where to look.
The night was pitch black, shadows twisting like living things.
And there, a man stood atop the hill, clutching the little girl tightly, the cold steel of his gun pressed against her small head. His breath came in ragged gasps, his steps unsteady, desperate.
From the darkness, another figure stepped into his path.
Sikakama.
Her face was pale, her eyes hard and unblinking.
"Step back!" the man shouted, fear twisting his voice, pressing the gun against the child's temple as a threat. They were only a few steps apart.
Sikakama took a single step forward, deliberate and calm. Then her voice cut through the night:
"Kill the witness."
The man froze, stunned. Her words seemed to chill the very air around them.
She stepped again, slow and unyielding, while he shuffled backward, eyes locked on her.
"No one has seen your face yet. If you kill me now, no one will ever know who you are. You could walk away—free, without consequence."
His grip on the gun tightened. Sweat trickled down his temple.
"It's not your fault—they are corrupt," she added quietly, her words almost a balm against his terror.
Above them, a crow cried out, wings flapping as if mocking his fear. A sudden gust swept across the hill, rustling the grass, tossing Sikakama's black hair wildly around her face. The moonlight caught her sharp features—cold, merciless, carved in stone.
Her lips moved again, barely a whisper:
"Shoot."
The man's nerves snapped. With a strangled cry, he pulled the gun away from the girl's head toward Sikakama—and pulled the trigger.
The shot cracked the silence—
—but Sikakama's head tilted at the last instant. The bullet grazed her cheek, tearing the air beside her.
And in that heartbeat of distraction—
Alex lunged from the shadows behind. His body collided with the man's, knocking him to the ground. The pistol flew from his hand, clattering against the rocks. The girl screamed, but Alex's arms were already around her, pulling her free, shielding her.
The man writhed beneath him, defeated, his escape shattered.
Sikakama stood above them, her cold gaze piercing the night. Blood trickled down her cheek where the bullet had kissed her skin, but she didn't flinch.
Perhaps in another life, one without rivalries, we could have been the closest of friends.
Perhaps in a life where you had never been wounded, you might have been able to love and to trust.
Perhaps in another life, you would speak of what you feel without the fear of having your heart dismissed,
where you could smile when joy touched you, and weep when sorrow weighed on you.
In that life, you would take pride in your achievements, no matter how small.
You would not hide yourself in solitude, fearing rejection once again.
Perhaps, in that life, you would learn how to forgive yourself.
Perhaps, in that life, you would finally learn how to love yourself. Perhaps, in another life..