The silence in the room was suffocating, the weight of André’s recounting settling over Helena and Jonny like a dense fog. Helena’s knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of her chair, and Jonny, though outwardly calm, felt the heavy thrum of Nox—Alex’s sword—at his side. The sword carried more than just steel; it carried stories of courage and sacrifice, burdens Jonny was only beginning to grasp.

Sensing the emotional heaviness, André shifted the conversation gently, his voice filled with cautious hope. “Jonny,” he began, “I understand if you wish to test your affinity with Alex’s sword.” He paused, his gaze softening. “It’s more than a weapon now. It’s a legacy—a testament to Alex’s bravery, and now, to you.”

Jonny looked at him, hesitant but curious. “I’ve never wielded a sword before,” he admitted quietly. “But… if it’s a way to honor Alex, to keep his memory alive…”

André nodded, his eyes flicking briefly to Nox resting at Jonny’s side. “It’s not just about wielding it, Jonny. It’s about understanding its weight—its history. Nox—or as they called it, Duskrender—is more than a weapon; it’s a symbol of what your father stood for. Sometimes, that connection, the true bond between person and blade, reveals itself in ways we can’t predict.”

Helena’s breath hitched in her throat, her heart tightening at the very thought of Jonny taking up the sword. The prospect of losing him—her last tether to family, to Alex—was unbearable. The weight of her fear was immense, though she fought to keep it hidden. She couldn’t sway his decision; this was Jonny’s path to choose. Still, her every instinct screamed for her to object.

Jonny, though, stood still, his hand hovering near Nox, sensing its history, its call.

André, seeing Helena’s internal struggle, spoke with a quiet yet firm caution. “Before you decide, Jonny, I need you to understand—this sword carries more than just Alex’s legacy. The burden of that blade is heavy, and I don’t want to see you drawn into the same conflict that took him.”

Helena’s gaze shot up to meet André’s, her voice shaky as she finally found the words. “What do you mean?” she whispered, her heart trembling with the possibility of more loss. “Are you saying Jonny could…?”

Her words trailed off, her fear laid bare.

André’s voice grew grave as he answered, his tone laden with the hard truth of the ongoing war. “The Darkborn are relentless. The fight against them—it’s not over, and it may never be. I’ve seen too many good men fall, and Alex was the best of us. His sacrifice gave us time to regroup, to push the Darkborn back, but it came at a terrible price. I don’t want you or Jonny caught in that cycle of sacrifice again.”

He looked to Helena, his expression earnest. “Losing Alex… it was a tragedy none of us will forget. But I don’t want you to lose Jonny too. Another loved one claimed by the same darkness—it would be too much for anyone to bear.”

Helena’s chest tightened, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She had already lost Alex, her heart couldn’t bear the thought of Jonny being taken from her too.

Jonny listened intently, his heart heavy but resolute. He understood the gravity of André’s words, of what wielding Nox truly meant. It wasn’t just a sword; it was a reminder of the legacy of his father—a legacy of courage, of sacrifice, and of an unyielding fight against darkness.

“I hear you,” Jonny said softly, turning to look at Helena. Her silent presence, her barely concealed fear, weighed on him more than André’s warnings. He could see the depth of her grief, the anxiety clawing at her heart. But he also saw her strength—the quiet resilience she had always shown. She had lost Alex, and now she feared losing him too.

The room remained heavy with silence as the weight of André’s warning settled into every corner. Each of them—André, Helena, and Jonny—knew that this moment held significance far beyond just one decision. The choices they made here would ripple through their lives, changing them in ways they could barely anticipate.

André, sensing the conversation nearing its natural conclusion, shifted once more. “I’ve shared what I can,” he said gently, his voice carrying a note of finality. “But my duty calls me back to Calaedria. The fight against the Darkborn isn’t over, and my place is there. I only wish… things could have been different.”

Jonny and Helena exchanged a look—a moment of unspoken understanding passing between them. The legacy of Alex, the weight of his sword, and the choices that lay before them were now clearer than ever. Helena’s hand briefly touched Jonny’s arm, a gesture of silent support. Whatever decision Jonny made, he wouldn’t face it alone.

As André gathered his things and prepared to leave, the midday sun cast long shadows across the room. The quiet stretched on, filled only by the soft rustling of his armor as he moved to the door.

“If you ever need anything,” André said quietly as he opened the door. “If you ever feel the call to Calaedria or the knights, you know where to find me.”

Jonny nodded. He glanced at Nox once more, the blade gleaming faintly in the light filtering through the window. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with peril, but the memory of Alex—his courage, his sacrifice—would guide them. As André left, the door clicking softly behind him, Jonny and Helena remained, bound together by love and loss, and the ever-present memory of a hero who had given everything.

***

The quiet of the forest deepened as Helena and Jonny made their way back to the cottage. Shadows stretched across the path, the day’s events weighing heavily on them both. Yet it wasn’t just the silence between them that filled the air with tension; something else awaited them at the cottage.

Gavin stood in the doorway, a still silhouette against the fading light. To Helena, he always seemed out of place—a remnant of a world she didn’t understand. When she had first found him, he appeared like a lifelike doll, an object abandoned in the woods. But after Jonny painstakingly worked to bring him back, she saw Gavin was something more. Still, the mystery of his mechanical existence remained foreign to her, a stark contrast to the magic and knighthood of her own world.

For Jonny, though, it was different. He had spent years rebuilding Gavin, connecting with him in ways that Helena couldn't fathom. Now, as they neared the cottage, Jonny’s eyes narrowed. Something was off. Gavin hadn’t moved, but Jonny sensed a subtle change in his presence—something Helena missed.

“You’re back,” Gavin said, his voice steady. To Helena, it was just words. To Jonny, though, the tone wasn’t quite right. He had heard Gavin speak countless times since he reactivated him, but this was different.

Helena noticed Jonny slow his pace, his eyes fixed on Gavin with an intensity she had grown familiar with. She didn’t ask what he was thinking—over time, she had learned to trust his instincts when it came to Gavin.

“You sound... different,” Jonny said after a pause, his voice low. He stepped closer, studying Gavin with that particular scrutiny only he possessed. Helena, staying back, watched quietly. To her, Gavin was still the same—cold, mechanical, unknowable. But Jonny had always seen something more.

Gavin didn’t respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his words came slower, more deliberate than usual. “I have been... observing,” he said. “Things have changed.”

Jonny’s brow furrowed. He stepped even closer, searching Gavin’s face. “What do you mean?”

“I am noticing things I did not before,” Gavin continued, his glowing eyes flickering briefly toward Helena before settling back on Jonny. “In you. In her. And... in myself.”

Jonny felt a chill. It wasn’t just Gavin’s words—it was the way he spoke them. They felt less like the sterile observations of a machine and more like reflections, something deeper. Gavin had always been a collection of parts, codes, and functions to Jonny. But now, standing before him, Gavin seemed... alive in a way he hadn’t before.

Helena, watching from the sidelines, grew more confused. She didn’t understand what Jonny was seeing in Gavin, but she could feel the tension building between them. If Jonny sensed a change, she knew it was significant.

“You’ve changed,” Jonny said, almost in a whisper. He didn’t need to know exactly how or why. He could feel it. Gavin wasn’t just a machine anymore—not in the way Jonny had come to know him.

Helena’s eyes flicked between them, her mind struggling to grasp what was happening. Gavin had always been something alien to her, outside the world she knew. But now, even she could sense that something had shifted, though she couldn’t put it into words.

Jonny stepped back, exhaling slowly. “You’re evolving,” he said, the realization settling in as he spoke. Gavin wasn’t just processing data—he was changing.

“I do not fully understand it,” Gavin replied, his tone even, but with an undercurrent of awareness. “But I am aware of these changes.”

Jonny nodded, absorbing this. He didn’t have the answers, but he knew they were standing on the edge of something. Gavin wasn’t just a machine anymore—he was becoming something else.

Helena, finally speaking, asked softly, “Jonny?” She wasn’t sure what to make of it all, but she trusted Jonny’s instincts. “What’s happening?”

Jonny turned to her, his voice calm but filled with the weight of realization. “He’s... evolving. He's more than just...a thing made up of bolts and parts. It's hard to describe, but I can feel it.”

Helena, though still unsure, nodded. Gavin was still a mystery to her, a strange presence in their lives. But if Jonny believed something had changed, she wouldn’t question it.

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Jonny turned back to Gavin, his voice gentle but resolute. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

For a moment, silence hung between them. The quiet crackle of the fire inside the cottage was the only sound, a soft contrast to the heavy realization in the air.

“I will continue to observe,” Gavin said, his words more reflective, as if he wasn’t just watching the world but beginning to understand himself.

Jonny nodded again, stepping back. Whatever had changed in Gavin, it felt like the beginning of something they couldn’t yet comprehend. Something that would shape their future in ways they hadn’t imagined.

For now, though, it was enough just to know that change was happening—and that, as strange and unknown as it felt, they were in it together.

***

The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting a soft glow over the small cottage on the outskirts of Glenhaven. The morning air, cool and crisp, carried the familiar scent of pine and damp earth. Jonny had been awake for hours, his routine deeply ingrained after years of life with Helena and the steady rhythm of survival.

He stood in the clearing outside the cottage, a well-worn axe in his hand rising and falling with practiced ease. Each strike sent wood splitting cleanly, the rhythmic thud echoing in the stillness of dawn. His movements were fluid and precise, a stark contrast to the malnourished boy who had once struggled to lift the axe. Now, this rhythm was his life—a life that Helena had helped forge, a life that now felt fragile in the shadow of recent events.

From the kitchen window, Helena watched silently as she prepared breakfast. Her hands moved on their own, peeling vegetables and stirring pots, though her attention was elsewhere. Her gaze lingered on Jonny, who had grown taller and more self-assured in the years since she had first taken him in. His frame was lean but strong from the daily chores that had shaped him into someone capable of holding his own.

But today, something was different.

Jonny paused mid-task, resting the axe against a nearby stump. His eyes drifted toward the sword leaning against the tree—a sword that held too much weight, not just in its metal but in its history. Alex’s sword. It had been given to them only recently, and its presence seemed to pull at Jonny, like a thread waiting to be tugged.

Helena’s chest tightened. She had sensed this shift in Jonny since Sir André had delivered the blade, along with the news of Alex's death. The sword was a symbol of sacrifice, of a path that had taken Alex from her, and now it seemed to call to Jonny. The idea of him wielding it, of him following that same path, filled her with quiet dread.

But Jonny was not Alex.

Helena tore her gaze away, focusing instead on chopping herbs with a practiced hand. She couldn’t protect him forever, no matter how much her heart rebelled against the thought. The world was growing more dangerous, the threat of the Darkborn more real with each passing day. Jonny would need to learn to defend himself, even if the cost was a piece of her heart.

Outside, Jonny moved toward the sword, his boots crunching softly on the grass. His hand hovered over the hilt, hesitating for a moment as if feeling the weight of what it represented. He knew, deep down, that this sword was more than just metal—it was a part of Alex’s legacy. And yet, it felt like something alien in his grasp, a tool he wasn’t sure he was ready to use.

With a deep breath, Jonny grasped the hilt and lifted the sword. The blade felt awkward, its balance foreign compared to the weight of the axe he was used to. He gave it a few experimental swings, his muscles straining to adapt. It was clumsy, slow. It didn’t feel like a weapon meant for him.

From the shadows near the cottage, Gavin observed in silence.

Jonny wasn’t aware of him at first, too focused on the blade, but soon he felt the familiar, steady presence of Gavin’s gaze on him. The robot, ever watchful, had grown accustomed to analyzing human behavior in the years since Jonny had brought him back to life. His expressionless face betrayed no emotion, but Jonny could feel his scrutiny.

“Your stance is inefficient.”

Gavin’s voice was calm and direct, like the precise click of a gear turning inside his mechanical mind. It wasn’t the voice of a human, but something close—an echo of logic with the faintest trace of curiosity.

Jonny paused, lowering the sword slightly as he glanced at Gavin. The robot stepped forward, his dark eyes fixed on Jonny’s form with the same analytical detachment he had when repairing broken machinery.

“Loosen your grip,” Gavin continued. “You are fighting the blade’s weight. Let it guide your movement.”

Jonny furrowed his brow but did as Gavin instructed. He loosened his hold on the hilt, allowing the sword to move more naturally. He swung again, and this time the motion was smoother—still unrefined, but there was a difference.

Gavin’s head tilted slightly, the dim glow of his mechanical eyes catching the light. “Efficiency. Do not waste energy.”

Jonny gave a small nod, the tension easing from his shoulders. The sword still felt foreign in his hands, but at least now it didn’t feel impossible.

In the doorway of the cottage, Helena had come to call Jonny in for breakfast, but the sight of him practicing with the sword stopped her in her tracks. Her heart clenched at the sight—Gavin, offering instruction, Jonny growing more adept with each swing. It was a familiar scene, one that should have filled her with pride. But all she could feel was fear. Fear that the sword would take Jonny away.

But Jonny was not Alex.

Helena turned back into the cottage, her breath catching in her throat. Breakfast needed tending to, and she needed to keep her hands busy, or the grief threatening to surface would overwhelm her.

The sun had risen higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the clearing as Jonny continued to practice. His movements, though still awkward, were improving. Each swing felt more natural, the weight of the sword less cumbersome in his grip.

Gavin stood nearby, silent but observant, occasionally offering feedback.

“Shift your weight. Don't overextend your reach,” Gavin said at one point, his tone unwavering.

Jonny grunted in response, adjusting his stance. His muscles burned from the unfamiliar exertion, but he refused to stop. He had to get better. The world demanded it.

“Why are you helping me with this?” Jonny asked after a while, pausing to catch his breath. “You don’t need a sword.”

Gavin regarded him with his usual calm, analytical expression.

“Precision,” he said simply. “The sword is a tool. Like any tool, its efficiency depends on the wielder.”

Jonny chuckled, though the sound was tired. “You always see things so… mechanically.”

Gavin said nothing in return, but Jonny could see the truth in his words. Efficiency was Gavin’s way, his guiding principle. Whether in a machine or a battle, the logic remained the same. The sword, like everything else, was just another system to be mastered.

By the evening, Jonny sat by the hearth, carefully cleaning the blade. His hands moved with more familiarity now, wiping down the metal with a practiced precision. The fire crackled softly, filling the room with warmth.

Helena sat nearby, her sewing in her lap, though her hands barely moved. Her eyes were drawn to Jonny, who handled the sword with an ease that hadn’t been there before. He was improving, growing stronger. But with each improvement, the weight on her heart grew heavier.

She had wanted to protect him from this—protect him from the path that had taken Alex. But the world was changing, and Jonny couldn’t remain innocent forever. She knew that now, as much as it pained her to admit.

Jonny glanced up, catching her gaze. He smiled softly, his eyes warm, though there was uncertainty behind them. In her heart, Helena wished that strength didn’t have to come with the weight of a sword in his hands.

***

It had been two weeks since their visit with Sir André Barker at Glenhaven. Life at the cottage had returned to its usual routine, but there was a quiet, unspoken tension hanging in the air.

Jonny had thrown himself into his daily tasks with a kind of relentless energy. If he kept busy, he didn’t have to think too much. About Alex, about the sword, about Helena’s worried eyes whenever she thought he wasn’t looking.

The only times he slowed down were for meals and the time he spent with Gavin, learning swordsmanship. Despite his mechanical nature, Gavin was a precise and calculating teacher, never missing an opportunity to point out Jonny’s mistakes or suggest improvements to his technique. He wasn’t harsh, though. Gavin’s guidance was quiet, careful, almost... gentle, though Jonny sometimes wondered if that was the right word for it. It was as if the robot was afraid of breaking something fragile, but Jonny knew better. He wasn’t fragile anymore.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

It was early morning, and Jonny was carrying an armload of logs toward the shed, his boots scuffing against the dirt. The air smelled fresh after last night’s rain, and the sun was slowly burning away the mist that clung to the forest. He glanced toward the clearing where Alex’s sword was leaning against the side of the shed, its polished blade catching the morning light.

“Jonny,” Helena’s voice called out from the cottage, her tone light, almost playful. “Bring me the axe.”

He paused, shifting the stack of logs in his arms as he turned to look at her, confused. “The axe? For what?” He frowned slightly, his forehead creasing. “We’ve still got plenty of wood for today.”

Helena stood in the doorway of the cottage, wiping her hands on her apron. Her auburn hair, slightly streaked with gray, was pulled back loosely, and her eyes sparkled with a playful warmth that Jonny hadn’t seen in a while.

“Oh, I’m not chopping wood.” She stepped out into the yard, folding her arms with a wry smile. “It’s your hair I’m after. If it gets any longer, I won’t be able to tell you apart from a wild direwolf.”

Jonny blinked, then let out a short laugh. “My hair?” He shifted the logs again, balancing them awkwardly as he ran a hand through his unruly black hair. It had gotten longer, he supposed, hanging down past his ears and falling into his eyes when he wasn’t paying attention. “I’ll just tie it back, no big deal.”

Helena shook her head, walking over to him. “Tie it back, sure, but it’s still a mess. Come on, let me give you a trim. You’ll feel better afterward.” She gave him a look that was half-command, half-request, and Jonny couldn’t help but smirk.

“Alright, alright,” he said, shaking his head in defeat. “But don’t cut it too short, okay? I don’t want Gavin making fun of me.”

Helena’s smile softened as she motioned him toward a stool she had set up under the oak tree in the yard. “I doubt Gavin’s the type to laugh at a haircut, Jonny. Now come on, sit down before you change your mind.”

With a sigh, Jonny set the logs down in a neat pile by the shed and walked over to the stool, sitting down with an exaggerated groan. “Fine, but you’d better be quick. I’ve got training to get to.”

“Training can wait a few minutes,” Helena said, taking out a pair of scissors from her apron pocket. She stood behind him, gently combing her fingers through his hair. The soft, repetitive motions were calming, and for a moment, Jonny closed his eyes, letting himself relax.

It had been a long time since Helena had cut his hair. The last time had been... what, three to four months ago?

He felt Helena’s gentle tug on his hair as she began cutting, the soft snip of the scissors breaking the morning’s peaceful silence. The sound was familiar, comforting even, like the crackling of the fire in the hearth during the winter nights.

“You’ve been working hard,” Helena remarked quietly as she trimmed the back of his hair. “I can see the improvement. With the sword, I mean.”

Jonny’s eyes remained closed, but he gave a small nod. “Yeah, Gavin’s been a good teacher. He doesn’t say much, but he knows what he’s doing.”

“And how about you?” Her tone was softer now, and Jonny could feel the shift in her voice, the underlying question she wasn’t quite asking. “How are you holding up?”

Jonny opened his eyes slowly, staring down at the strands of dark hair falling into the grass. He hadn’t really thought about it. Or maybe he had, but he didn’t have an answer.

“I’m fine,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter than before. “I just... keep busy. It helps.”

Helena didn’t respond right away. She continued cutting his hair, her movements slow and deliberate. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice gentle. “It’s okay not to be fine, Jonny. You’ve been through a lot. More than most boys your age.”

Jonny felt his throat tighten slightly at her words, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not when everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t control.

“I know,” he said quietly, looking down at the ground. “But I’ve got work to do. And training. I have to be ready... in case something happens.”

Helena sighed softly, brushing a few stray locks of hair from his forehead as she finished cutting. “You’re doing your best. That’s all I can ask for.”

There was a brief silence, the air between them heavy with unspoken words. Jonny shifted on the stool, feeling the weight of everything they weren’t saying. But then, as if sensing his discomfort, Helena stepped back, her tone lightening again.

“There. All done.” She smiled as she brushed off the last bits of hair from his shoulders. “You look much more like yourself now.”

Jonny stood up, ruffling his hair with a grin. “Not bad, Helena. I think I’ll keep you around.”

Helena rolled her eyes, swatting him lightly on the arm. “You’re lucky I don’t charge for haircuts.”

He laughed, a sound that was becoming rare these days, and for a moment, the tension lifted. They stood there together under the oak tree, the sun filtering through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

Jonny glanced at her, his smile softening. “Thanks, Mom.”

It was a simple thing to say, but the weight behind it was far more than gratitude for a haircut. It was for everything. For being there. For being his family when he had none.

Helena reached out and gently pulled him into a brief hug, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. “You’re welcome, Son.”

For a moment, the world outside their small cottage seemed far away. The worries, the sword, the Darkborn—all of it faded into the background, leaving just the two of them, standing in the quiet warmth of the morning.