The sand of the yard crept into Aren's boots and his throat. The air smelled of sweat, damp leather, and splintered wood.
"Stance," Sir Kaelreth ordered.
Aren raised the training sword and planted his feet.
"Lower. Center of gravity."
He obeyed. His legs trembled.
"Is that all you have?" Kaelreth asked without raising his voice.
Aren clenched his jaw and held.
Kaelreth walked slowly around him, as if inspecting a newly purchased tool.
"High guard."
Aren lifted his arms.
"Now… hold it."
Time stretched.
Sweat ran down his temple, tickled his neck, burned his back.
Minutes passed.
Then Kaelreth forced him to maintain a constant guard, to change position without losing alignment, to block blows that he threw at him without a pattern.
Aren missed a block. The wood grazed his shoulder and the impact knocked the air out of him.
The knight made no comment. He only watched.
The young trainee breathed as best he could, his right arm burning.
"Does it hurt?"
"No, sir."
"You're lying."
Kaelreth did not raise his voice. He did not even sigh. He simply stepped in front of him and touched the wooden edge with two fingers.
"Again."
Aren blinked.
"Sir… I—"
"Again," Kaelreth repeated, his tone leaving no room for debate.
Aren reset his stance from zero. He lowered his center, adjusted his balance, raised his guard, forcing his arms to obey.
The second round was worse.
Not because Kaelreth hit him harder. It was because he forced him to hold the mistake until his body and pride hated it.
"Now movement," Kaelreth finally ordered.
Aren took one step forward.
"Shorter."
He corrected his posture firmly.
"Cleaner."
Aren tried again.
"Was that doubt or fear?"
The question struck harder than the pain in his arms.
He did not answer.
Kaelreth nodded toward the ground.
"Mark. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three."
Aren repeated the pattern until his tongue went dry and his vision blurred.
When he failed the third cycle, Kaelreth merely said:
"From the beginning."
Aren gulped air as if he were lacking it.
It wasn't the training that was breaking him.
It was the calm with which Kaelreth forced him to face himself.
An hour passed. Maybe two. Aren stopped counting.
At some point, the world tilted. The sword's tip trembled. His knees protested. He bit the inside of his cheek and kept going.
Kaelreth stopped one step away from him.
"Enough."
Aren lowered the sword out of pure necessity and nearly collapsed.
Kaelreth didn't help him. He simply waited.
The young man took a long time to catch his breath.
"Do you understand now?" Kaelreth asked.
Aren raised his head, still dizzy.
"Understand what… sir?"
Kaelreth turned his head slightly, and his gray eyes settled on Aren like a blade.
"Why I'm pushing you harder than usual."
Aren felt his stomach sink.
Kaelreth didn't need to say more. Aren understood without explanation.
The procession.
The smile.
The way the world had frozen when he saw her.
Kaelreth walked to a water barrel, wet his hands, and dried them with a cloth, as if the topic deserved neither urgency nor ceremony.
"You weren't the only one. Everyone who talked too much, who broke formation, who thought they were clever enough to stare at the prince, nobles, or candidates instead of the line they were meant to protect. All of them are paying for it now."
Aren tightened his grip on the sword's handle.
"So… I'm not the only one."
"No," Kaelreth conceded. "What doesn't fit with you is the reason."
He said nothing more.
Kaelreth studied him for another second.
"The others are what they are…," the knight continued. "Hormones, loose mouths, fantasies. I've seen hundreds like Hal and the gnome. But you…"
Aren swallowed.
Kaelreth continued without raising his tone.
"You're not a lust-driven fool."
Heat rushed to Aren's face, more from the implied insult than embarrassment.
Kaelreth fixed him with a hard stare.
"So tell me. Why did you stand there like an idiot staring at the candidate?"
The yard seemed to drift away.
Aren heard the choir's chanting again, smelled the incense, saw Lylia once more trying to cover herself with one hand, the tension in her shoulders, the shame in her eyes.
He clenched his teeth, feeling that same helplessness return.
"I—"
"No excuses," Kaelreth cut in. "I want the truth."
Aren inhaled, but the air burned.
"Because…" The word stuck in his throat.
Kaelreth stepped closer. Not threatening. Just near.
"Do you know something others don't?" he asked. "Or do you want something the rest don't dare to want?"
The silence became unbearable.
Aren lowered his gaze.
Kaelreth did not let him escape.
"Speak."
Aren lifted his head, jaw tight.
The words burst from his mouth, unable to be held any longer.
"I know her."
Kaelreth did not move. He did not seem surprised.
"Go on."
Aren felt his chest tighten.
"I knew her when we were children." The memory dug into him like an old thorn. "Her name was Lylia."
The knight blinked once. That was the only sign he had registered the name.
Aren continued, unable to stop himself.
"She was… a frightened girl. She didn't want to be there. And one day…" He clenched his fists. "She left. I promised myself I would find her."
Kaelreth watched him as if measuring how much of the story was true.
"So the Saint was your little friend."
A stab of humiliation hit Aren.
"That's not—"
Kaelreth raised a hand to stop him. And then… he let out a short, dry laugh, without joy.
Aren froze.
The knight stopped laughing just as quickly.
"The gods have a sense of humor," he said, almost to himself.
Aren stepped forward, driven by something beyond pride.
"Sir, it bothered me to see her trapped in something like… that."
Kaelreth tilted his head.
"What do you mean?"
Aren clenched his teeth.
"Being displayed. Seen by people who don't see the Lylia I know."
Kaelreth held him with a calm that irritated him.
"And what do you intend to do about it, Valenfort?" he asked. "Right now, what are you? Just a boy with nostalgia. You're not even a squire."
Aren felt the words scrape him from the inside.
"I'm someone who won't forget her."
Kaelreth looked at him as if that statement were not heroic, but dangerous.
Aren waited.
Kaelreth walked around him again, unhurried.
"Listen to me. I understand how you feel…," he said. "But if you're going to stay this distracted just because you saw her, then it would be better for you not to enter the selection tournament."
Aren lost his breath.