Silence ruled, tightening the surrounding air.Hal turned pale.
"Lylia…? Wait. You know the Candidate?"
Aren took a deep breath, tightening his grip slightly.
"Yes."
Hal swallowed, staring at him as if he had been tricked by something cruel.
"Then why didn't you say it before…?"
"I don't need to say I know her to ask for respect for someone."
Hal clenched his fists.
"You can't just say you know her and then leave us hanging like that."
Aren's expression darkened.
"Then say it properly! Who is she to you?"
Aren felt the urge to stay quiet. To lock it all away again.But it was already too late.
Aveline stepped closer.
Before Aren could do anything else, an instructor's voice cut through the moment.
"What's going on here?"
Everyone tensed.
The instructor observed them with a severe expression.
"If you have a conflict, you resolve it like future knights," he said. "With a duel."
Hal swallowed hard, his face twisting with fear.
"Sir, I—"
"No," the instructor cut him off. "There is no 'I' here. There is discipline."
He looked at Aren.
"Do you accept, Valenfort?"
Aren felt something hot rise in his chest. A tangled mess of emotions boiled inside him, all driven by the anger he felt.
"Yes," he answered without hesitation, releasing his grip.
Hal nearly collapsed to the ground, completely paralyzed by nerves.
The instructor turned to him.
"Do you accept?"
Hal looked like he was about to die.
Bromir let out a restrained laugh.
"Come on, Hal. Don't be a coward."
Hal clenched his teeth, swallowing his fear and wounded pride.
"Yes… I accept."
—
The duel was quick.
Not because Aren wanted to humiliate him,but because Hal wasn't prepared for this version of Aren.
The training yard filled with curious spectators.
The instructor handed them training swords and marked the circle.
"You know the rules. The first to incapacitate or disarm their opponent wins."
After finishing the explanation, he stepped out of the circle while the onlookers shouted with excitement.
"Begin."
Hal attacked with a clumsy strike, full of anger at having ended up in that situation.
Aren deflected it easily. His body moved by reflex, applying his training with Sir Kaelreth.
Then he twisted his body and, seeing the opening, delivered a horizontal cut that struck the side of the halfling, sending him flying out of the circle as his wooden sword hit the ground.
Silence swept through the yard as everyone watched, disappointed by how short the duel had been.
Hal lay still on the ground, clutching his side, breathing hard, his face red with shame.
The instructor nodded.
"Valenfort is the winner."
Then he looked at Hal.
"Learn this. Pride does not give you strength. It only makes you loud."
Hal lowered his head.
"Yes, sir."
When the instructor left, the group dispersed, uncomfortable.
Bromir scratched his beard, satisfied.
"Don't worry. If you hadn't done it, I would have."
Eryndor let out a sigh.
"He had it coming."
Lysander looked at Aren with wide eyes, as if seeing him differently for the first time.
Aren didn't enjoy the victory.
After releasing his anger in that single strike, he couldn't help but feel strange.
But he didn't have time to think about it.
Because he felt a fixed gaze on him.
Aveline.
She grabbed his arm firmly and pulled him a few steps away from the others.
"You lied to me," she said bluntly.
Aren clenched his jaw.
"Yes."
Aveline frowned.
"Why?"
Aren looked at her for a moment. He remembered that night in the abandoned chapel, and how she had trusted him enough to tell her story. Yet he hadn't been able to do the same.
"Because I didn't know how to say it," he admitted, a tight pressure forming in his chest. "I don't even… fully understand it myself."
Aveline held his gaze, her serious expression unchanged.
"Then explain it to me."
Aren took a deep breath.
"Lylia stayed at my house when we were children. For a few months. She was brought by paladins of Alfaro and Zoren. Then they took her away. I didn't hear anything about her again… until now."
Aveline didn't blink.
"And you…?"
"I made her a promise," Aren replied. "That I would become a paladin. That I would see her again."
Aveline blinked slowly.
"And now you see her like this," she murmured, more to herself. "As a symbol."
Aren clenched his fists.
"I don't care about the symbol. What I really care about is that she didn't want to be there. I could tell…"
Aveline nodded, remembering as well.
"I saw it too," she said. "The looks... Some were pitying. Others..."
She didn't finish the sentence, but Aren understood.
"And that makes no sense," Aveline added, her voice hardening. "I grew up with a priest of Alfaro. He would never allow a girl to be displayed like that."
Aren swallowed.
"Then something is wrong."
Aveline looked at him.
"Are you going to talk to her?"
Aren nodded.
"They told me she'll be at the tournament…" he added with determination. "I'll find a way to get close to her."
For a second, Aveline opened her mouth as if she wanted to say more.
Her gaze tightened. Something didn't fit with her usual firmness.
But she swallowed it.
She turned away, as if she needed air.
Aren took a step after her.
"Aveline—"
She stopped him with a raised hand.
"Since the day I met you… you were my rival," she said without looking at him. "That was easy. That made sense."
She turned her head just enough for Aren to see something vulnerable in her expression.
"Now… I'm not sure if that's the only reason I keep looking for you."
Aren stood still.
Aveline inhaled deeply.
And her sadness turned into determination, like armor locking into place.
"But it doesn't matter," she said, firm again. "In the tournament, we'll fight. And that day… you'll have to look at me."
Aren opened his mouth, but she was already walking away.
Aveline stopped once, mid-step, and smiled with that fierce edge of hers.
"Even if I have to turn you into paste," she added.
And she left.
Aren remained there, his body exhausted and his mind at war.
Because, even if he didn't want to admit it, Kaelreth was right.
And for the first time, Aren accepted something:
It wasn't only Lylia who had changed.
He had too.