"… If you are going to get distracted just by seeing her, then it would be better for you not to enter the Selection Tournament."
Aren felt the air leave his lungs.
"What…?"
Kaelreth stopped in front of him.
"I am not asking you. This is a direct order." His voice was low, but firm.
Aren's eyes widened.
"You can't—"
"Did you know the Candidate will be present at the Selection Tournament?"
Aren felt a blow to his stomach.
"No…" he whispered, his throat tight.
"Thank our prince for that. He didn't want to miss the chance to show nobles, delegations, and church emissaries 'the virtue of his future knights.' And your little saint…" Kaelreth smiled without humor. "She was invited as well."
The silence stretched.
"If the same thing that happened yesterday during the procession happens again, it's better to spare everyone the embarrassment."
Aren took a step forward before realizing it.
"You can't say that!" he said, his anger barely contained.
Kaelreth raised an eyebrow.
"Of course I can. I am the knight you were assigned to. And I will not allow you to embarrass yourself… or embarrass me."
The young squire felt his blood boil.
"I will never give up becoming a knight. I didn't come all this way to be told I can't participate because of… because of an emotion."
The knight studied him for a long moment, as if searching for cracks in that resolve.
"I will work harder," Aren said, his voice rough as he clenched his fists. "As much as my body can endure. I'll do whatever it takes. I won't… step back."
The wind stirred the dust in the courtyard. In the distance, the sound of wood striking wood echoed from the general training grounds.
Kaelreth exhaled through his nose.
For the first time, his expression softened… just slightly. Like a tiny crack in stone.
"That's the attitude."
Aren blinked.
Kaelreth stepped closer, stopping just a pace away.
"Fine. I won't forbid you," Kaelreth said. "But I will have to train you even harder."
Aren swallowed.
"You will perform with dignity," Kaelreth continued, his tone making it clear he was speaking of both Aren and himself. "Worthy of bearing the emblem. And worthy of answering when someone calls you by your surname."
Aren felt something ignite in his chest.
Kaelreth nodded toward the training sword.
"Lift it."
Aren obeyed.
"Guard."
Aren took his stance.
Kaelreth walked one step to the right, then to the left.
"I will make you strong," he said. "And I will make you stable."
Aren heard the word as if it were spoken directly to his heart.
Kaelreth looked straight at him, serious.
"But listen to this, Valenfort."
Aren did not move.
"To desire a saint is dangerous."
The squire felt his neck tighten.
Kaelreth continued, without attacking, without accusing. Simply placing a real knife on the table.
"Tell me something, and I want you to be honest," he added. "Is it truly only nostalgia driving you… or did seeing her now as a woman change the way you look at her?"
Aren felt his heart clench completely.
He had no immediate answer.
Because in his mind, the image of the nervous little girl in rags mixed with the image of the young woman on the podium, uncomfortable, blushing, trying to cover herself and still smiling at him.
Kaelreth watched him like someone who already knew the answer before it was spoken.
"That's what I thought."
Aren clenched his jaw.
"I… I don't want to hurt her."
"Good intentions protect no one," Kaelreth said, without cruelty. Only truth. "If you truly want to change something, you need enough power to support your ideals."
Aren held his guard, trembling from exhaustion and from something else.
Kaelreth took a step back.
"Now prove that you deserve to reach that power."
He attacked with a fast, sharp strike that forced Aren to react immediately.
Wood collided. Aren's arm burned.
But this time, Aren did not complain.
This time, he understood what was at stake.
And as he blocked the second blow, a bitter thought drove itself into his mind with the same force as the impact:
If he wanted to reach Lylia… first, he would have to rise even higher within the Order.
—
Hours later, when the training ended, Aren walked with his body shaking from exhaustion.
'This is only the beginning,' he thought with resolve. 'I must become stronger.'
Tired, he leaned against one of the pillars.
He hadn't even had time to breathe when he heard a familiar voice, far too enthusiastic.
"I'm telling you… you should have seen her with your own eyes," Hal said, an imprudent gleam in his eyes. "The city is on fire over that exhibitionist candidate."
"There were too many people, and my size didn't help," Lysander said with annoyance. "But I heard she showed a lot of skin."
Aren frowned as a scowl of anger formed on his face.
Bromir let out a low growl.
Eryndor, who was walking behind them, seemed not to be paying attention at all.
"With a saint like that, anyone—"
"Shut up…"
The words left Aren's mouth out of nowhere, sharp as a sword's edge.
Hal took a few steps back, startled by Aren's tone.
"What the hell? Where did that come from?"
Aren stepped forward. His voice was low, but hard.
"Don't ever talk about her like that again."
Silence took hold of the group.
Lysander shrank back, as if he had been struck.
Hal frowned.
"What's wrong with you?"
Aren clenched his teeth.
"She is a person."
Hal let out a short, defensive laugh.
"Since when are you so sensitive? Do you think you're better than us or something?"
Aren felt his body tremble with overflowing anger.
He remembered the times his father had spoken about how knights must protect their dignity and pride, as well as the honor of those who were important to them. Then he remembered the shame in his friend's eyes.
"I won't allow anyone to talk about Lylia like that," Aren said, grabbing Hal by his uniform and slamming him against the wall.
The name hung in the air.
Bromir froze.
Lysander opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Eryndor turned his head, watching him with cold curiosity.
And then, Aren felt another presence behind him.
Aveline.
She said nothing, but her silence was heavier than everyone else's.