The crisp morning air nipped at my exposed skin as I emerged from the castle, a wooden bucket swinging in my hand. Water for a bath – a small indulgence before the grueling day ahead. As I rounded the corner towards the well, a sharp intake of breath snagged in my throat.

There, in the training yard bathed in the golden light of dawn, were Caleb and Erin. Erin, a whirlwind of deadly precision in her leather armor, launched knife after knife. Each blade arced through the air before burying itself with a satisfying thud into the wooden target dummy. Caleb, his arm still immobilized in the sling, sat on a nearby log, his gaze fixed on her every move.

I froze, the bucket suddenly feeling heavy in my hand. A jolt of something sharp and unexpected twisted in my gut. Was it simply the sight of Erin's lethal grace, or was it the way Caleb watched her? His gaze, usually stoic, seemed to burn with a different kind of intensity now.

Erin landed a particularly impressive throw, the blade splitting the target dummy's head clean in two. She turned, a triumphant grin splitting her face. But then, something shifted. The grin softened, replaced by a gentler expression. She walked towards Caleb, her movements deliberate, and perched herself on the log beside him.

Too close.

The words echoed in my mind like a hammer blow. It was ridiculous, irrational even. Caleb was injured, Erin was likely just offering support. Yet, the image before me – the two of them huddled together, faces close as they spoke in hushed tones – sent a surge of jealousy coursing through me.

I couldn't hear their words, couldn't decipher the expressions flickering across their faces. But the intimacy of the scene, the way Erin leaned in as Caleb spoke, his hand resting lightly on the log near hers – it was a tableau that ignited a firestorm of suspicion and something undeniably more.

The other night, after a stolen moment together, a moment filled with whispered promises and a brush of fingers that sent shivers down my spine, Caleb had found an excuse to slip away. Had the pain been real, or merely a convenient escape? Did the warmth I felt mean nothing to him? Was Erin, with her fiery spirit and shared history with Caleb, a more tempting prospect in his eyes?

Gripping the bucket handle tighter, I forced myself to look away. The well water suddenly seemed less appealing, the crisp morning air thick with unspoken emotions. I retreated back towards the dormitory, my steps heavy with a burden heavier than the bucket I carried.

Days bled into one another, each sunrise a stark reminder of the mission looming ahead and the turmoil churning within me. The image of Caleb and Erin, their closeness a stark contrast to the growing chasm between us, burned behind my eyelids. Ignoring Caleb became a self-imposed penance, a shield against the confusing jumble of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

Everywhere I turned, it seemed, Caleb and Erin were there. They'd share a laugh over breakfast, a whispered conversation during strategy meetings, a quick touch on the arm during training drills. These were seemingly insignificant moments, but to me, they were glaring beacons, highlighting a closeness I hadn't noticed before. Had they always been this comfortable with each other?

I sought solace in activity, in the rhythmic clang of Kass' hammer against the anvil in the forge. I watched, mesmerized, as she coaxed molten metal into intricate shapes, her brow furrowed in concentration. The heat radiating from the forge offered a strange comfort, a way to channel the pent-up frustration that simmered within me.

When the forge grew too hot, I offered myself to Isaac in the infirmary. His face, usually etched with a tired smile, seemed to sag under the weight of the recent events. He readily accepted my help, and I found myself surrounded by the soothing scent of drying herbs and cooling salves. I crushed dried flowers, my hands a blur of motion, each press of the mortar and pestle a silent scream against the injustice I felt.

Steam swirled around Isaac's head, carrying the scent of lavender and something sharp, almost metallic. He stirred the bubbling concoction in the copper cauldron, humming a tune I didn't recognize. My gaze drifted to the table beside him, cluttered with vials bubbling with vibrant liquids and bowls overflowing with strange, knobbly roots. Then, it landed on the potion he was working on: a swirling emerald green, flecked with gold.

My nose wrinkled at the unfamiliar scent wafting from the cauldron. Isaac added a new herb, its leaves a vibrant purple unlike anything I'd seen him use before. This wasn't the calming lavender or earthy chamomile we usually relied on for pain remedies.

"What's that, Isaac?" I blurted.

He glanced up, surprise crossing his eyes. "This? Uh..." he said, gesturing to the potion. "It's a… tonic. Helps keep me balanced."

"Balanced?" I repeated, frowning. "For what?"

He hesitated, then sighed, setting down the ladle with a gentle clink. "It helps me feel more like myself," he said quietly.

A prickle of unease ran down my spine. I studied the herbs. Chasteberry, I knew that one. It was used sometimes to regulate menstrual cycles, but whispers swirled around it having a stronger effect on the female body.

I eyed the cluster of spiky green nuts in the mortar. Tribulus. My mind raced, piecing together the puzzle. Though not as common as some herbs, it was said to have properties that boosted male hormones. Paired with the chasteberry… the truth slammed into me with the force of a giant's fist. This wasn't a generic restorative. This was a targeted concoction, a deliberate manipulation of the body's natural balance.

I swallowed, my voice thick. "Those herbs… they…" I trailed off, unable to voice the truth – estrogen suppression, testosterone production.

His gaze dropped to the cauldron for a moment, then back to me. My own gaze darted down, a blush creeping up my neck as I noticed for the first time how his tunic strained across a broader chest than I'd ever noticed. The bandages I'd seen him wear peeking out from under the collar – they weren't for an injury, were they? Shame flooded me, hot and prickly. How could I have been so oblivious?

Now, everything clicked into place. His quiet solitude, his gentle demeanour, the way he always seemed to prefer loose, baggy clothing, even in the warmer months. His hands, strong but with long, delicate fingers…

Guilt gnawed at me. All this time, I'd been his friend, his companion, and I hadn't even noticed the man beneath the surface. He looked at me, his jaw clenched, and I saw the fear in his eyes, the fear of being seen, of being judged.

"Oh," I breathed, the word barely a whisper.

Isaac's shoulders slumped slightly. "It's… not something I talk about much."

"No, of course not," I stammered, desperately wanting to find the right words. "I just… I understand now." Silence descended, thick and awkward. "I should have noticed before," I finally admitted, my voice small.

He gave a faint smile, a flicker of something akin to relief in his eyes. "It's not your fault, Kira. Most people don't see it."

A new determination filled me. "Well, I see it now," I declared, forcing a smile that felt wobbly but genuine. "And I'm glad you told me."

Isaac's smile widened, this time reaching his eyes. "Thank you, Kira." The tension eased from the air, replaced by a tentative understanding. We stood there for a moment, a newfound respect blossoming between us. Maybe I had been oblivious before, but now, I saw Isaac clearly.

"Do… do the others know?" I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper.

He met my gaze, the surprise giving way to a wry smile. "Yes," he admitted. "They helped me… adapt." The word hung in the air, a silent testament to the journey he'd walked alone for so long.

"My mother," he continued. "She knew even before I did. Made this concoction for me when the changes… started."

My heart ached at the unspoken pain in his voice. Puberty, a joyous milestone for most, had been a battleground for him.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Elyse... she helps me with the bandages every morning. Helps me keep them discreet. The others," he started, picking at a loose thread on his tunic, "they're really good about it. They wouldn't dream of… well, you know, outing me."

My head bobbed in understanding. "Of course not."

"Finn can be a bit… oblivious sometimes," Isaac continued, a hint of amusement in his voice. "But he wouldn't ever intentionally say anything out of line."

"And Marcus and Caleb?"

"They're like brothers," he said, a warmth radiating from his smile. "Always offer to take me on hunting trips, but…" he trailed off.

"Not exactly your thing?" I finished with a grin.

He barked out a laugh. "Exactly."

"And Erin?" I prodded.

Isaac snorted, a sound uncharacteristically playful. "Erin couldn't care less, honestly. As long as I can patch her up after a particularly disastrous mission, she doesn't bat an eyelid."

The image of her treating Isaac with complete indifference was strangely comforting. It painted a picture of a community that valued him for who he was, not what he looked like.

"They sound like a good bunch," I said, genuinely impressed.

"They are," Isaac agreed, a note of pride in his voice. "And you're part of that bunch now, Kira."

How many times had I seen Isaac struggle, his discomfort veiled by his quiet nature, and never thought to ask?

"I'm just glad you're here," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "Here, with us. Being yourself."

The worry that had etched lines on his face seemed to melt away, replaced by a hesitant hope. His eyes, usually guarded, held a vulnerability that tugged at my heart.

"I wasn't sure you'd understand," he admitted, his voice rough.

"Maybe not everything," I conceded, offering him a small smile. "But I want to understand. And I want to help, in any way I can."

He hesitated for a moment longer, then surprised me by pulling me into a hug. It was awkward at first, his taller frame dwarfing mine, but it felt… right. A silent promise of understanding, of a new beginning.

When he pulled back, a genuine smile lit up his face, chasing away the shadows I hadn't realized had settled there.

"Thank you, Kira," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "That means more than you know."

The weight of the conversation lingered with me as I left Isaac's quarters. His story, a quiet journey of self-discovery and acceptance, resonated deep within me. Shame still flickered at the edges, but it was overshadowed by a burgeoning sense of understanding and a fierce protectiveness for my friend.

Stepping outside, the crisp air washed over me, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. I needed to move, to burn off the nervous energy coursing through me.

The menial task of chopping wood, an activity I normally loathed due to the fatigue it brought, became an outlet for my frustration. Each swing of the axe was a release, a way to channel the storm within. Sweat beaded on my forehead, mingling with the tears I refused to let fall. The rhythmic thud of the axe against wood provided a strange sense of catharsis, a temporary escape from the turmoil that plagued me.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Yet, as exhaustion finally claimed me each evening, the image of Caleb and Erin would inevitably return. Their closeness felt like a betrayal, a crack in the foundation I had built my trust upon. Sleep, when it came, was filled with fragmented dreams – whispered secrets, shadowed figures, and a gnawing emptiness that echoed the hollowness within me.

One evening, Caleb made me stay behind after strategy sessions. I knew something was coming, but I wasn't prepared for the onslaught.

"You’ve been avoiding me. What’s up with that? I wanted to talk to you about something," he cornered me.

I shrugged, unwilling to admit the jealousy and turmoil that had been simmering inside me. “I’ve been busy."

"Busy, huh? What were you thinking, going to poison the canteens all alone? One girl against five men?" His voice was sharp, each word a jab.

Shock rendered me speechless for a moment. This was my secret. The only person who knew was Finn, sworn to silence. How? How could Caleb possibly...?

"What?" I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. My cheeks burned. "How did you know?"

"The map. Remember the one we discussed over breakfast? The one that mysteriously vanished right after?"

Heat flooded my face. Stealing the map had felt daring at the time, a clever maneuver to ensure the mission's success. Now, it felt like the act of a clumsy child.

"And Isaac," Caleb added, "not noticing one of his most potent poisons missing from his supplies? Come on, Kira, give the man some credit."

I couldn't even answer. Embarrassment swallowed my words. Caleb's eyes bore into mine, his disappointment palpable.

"You defied orders," he continued, his tone harsh but controlled. I knew he was holding back, and for that, I was oddly grateful.

"Tell me, Kira. What do you think is going to happen?" he pressed. "We disable some supply lines, we find your father, and then you get to waltz out of here, go about your day?"

I remained silent, unable to meet his gaze.

"You think you get to be free while we continue fighting, dying? You think I like this life? You think I enjoy seeing my friends die?"

His words cut deep, each one a reminder of the harsh reality we faced. "Don't let me catch you doing something stupid like that again. You will not like what happens then."

Something in me snapped. "I am a decent strategist, Caleb! And I can fight!"

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You think you can fight? You've been training for what, four months? Do you know how long people train to become good, actually good? The Dusk Cloaks train for years at Falcata. They don’t just learn how to use every weapon imaginable; they also get broken by torture and poison so they can endure anything if captured. Do you have any idea what that takes?"

We stood there, eyes locked, the air thick with tension. I knew he was right, but I couldn't back down now. "I am not useless!"

"Not useless, no," he said, his voice softer now but still firm. "But reckless. And this recklessness will get you killed."

His words stung more than I wanted to admit. Without another word, I stormed out of the room, my anger boiling over. I was fuming, not just at him, but at myself.

For the next two days, I didn't leave the dorm. I made up an excuse for Kass and Elyse, feigning a stomach bug so they would leave me alone. The isolation was a welcome reprieve, giving me time to simmer in my thoughts, to replay Caleb's words over and over. I knew I would have to come out for food and training eventually, but for now, I needed this time to collect myself.

The dreaded day crept in like an unwelcome guest, heralded by the clanging of metal on metal from the training yard. Caleb's shoulder, declared fit by Isaac, had finally healed enough for combat practice to resume. A knot of apprehension tightened in my stomach, heavy and unwelcome.

The training yard, once a familiar haven, now felt alien. Finn bounced around, a whirlwind of enthusiasm and flashing practice swords. Kass, now a vision of deadly grace in leather armor, honed her skills with daggers. But I stood rooted, a detached observer in a scene that used to ignite a spark of excitement within me.

Caleb stepped onto the field, his arm free of the sling. A flicker of something hopeful sparked in his eyes as he met my gaze. "Kira," he said, "ready to pick up where we left off?"

The question, a simple inquiry, resonated with a hollow irony. Picking up where we left off? When had "we" become strangers navigating an ever-widening chasm? The words "stupid techniques" bubbled up within me, a childish retort that wouldn't erase the doubt gnawing at my insides.

With a forced smile, I shrugged, the effort a physical strain. "Let's get it over with."

The training session that followed was a blur of motions devoid of meaning. My body moved with robotic precision, but my mind was a war zone. Caleb's instructions, once clear and concise, now sounded like hollow echoes. Every parry, every thrust felt like a charade, a desperate attempt to mask the storm brewing within me.

Frustration, a bitter tide, rose within me. Was I a bad fighter now, questioning the very foundation of my skills? Or was it the suspicion, the jealousy that had taken root in my heart, twisting everything out of shape? Guilt coiled around me like a serpent, a constant reminder of the warrior's code I'd sworn to uphold.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I slammed my practice sword into the ground, the clang a harsh exclamation point in the tense silence. "I need a break," I choked out, the raw emotion rough on my vocal cords.

Caleb stared at me, surprise etched on his face. But before he could speak, I turned on my heel and stalked away, the sting of unshed tears blurring my vision. Reaching the edge of the training ground, I sank beneath the shade of a sprawling oak, seeking solace in the cool earth and the gentle rustle of leaves.

The memory of Caleb and Erin, their laughter echoing through the courtyard, replayed on a loop in my mind. A laugh like that, uninhibited and joyous, was a sound I'd never heard escape his lips when we were alone. Was it all a game for him then? The lingering touches during training drills, the stolen glances across the dinner table – were they mere amusements, a way to toy with an unsuspecting newcomer?

The doubt still lingered, a persistent weed in the garden of my trust. But a new emotion had sprouted alongside it – shame. Shame at my own insecurities, at letting suspicion cloud my judgment, at lashing out like a petulant child. It burned in my throat, acrid and suffocating.

Fury, a monstrous beast, clawed its way out of its cage in my chest. It was betrayal that gnawed at the very core of the trust I'd placed in him. Shame, hot and suffocating, twisted in my gut.

Tears, fueled by anger, welled in my eyes, blurring the world around me. But I didn't turn away, wouldn't give Caleb the satisfaction of seeing my vulnerability. I stalked back towards the edge of the training area, each step a thunderclap on the packed earth. I wasn't just returning to practice swordplay. I was returning to face Caleb, to confront the suspicions that had festered like a venomous wound.

Caleb, his brow furrowed in concern, watched me approach. "Kira," he began, his voice laced with worry, "are you alright?"

"We're about to find out, Volkov," I replied, my voice a steely echo of the doubt that gnawed at me. I snatched up my practice sword, the familiar weight a strange comfort in this tumultuous moment.

Caleb's gaze softened, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. He assumed his fighting stance, his injured shoulder held slightly higher, a subconscious concession. "Alright then," he said, his voice calm, "let's see what you've been working on."

There was no time for strategy, no room for practiced moves. Instead, I launched into a flurry of attacks, fueled by a potent cocktail of rage and a desperate need for answers. My movements were a whirlwind of controlled chaos, a storm of emotion channeled into every swing of the blade.

The clang of my blade against his echoed a hollow counterpoint to the storm raging inside me. Each parry, each riposte, was fueled not by practiced technique, but by a raw, desperate need for answers.

Caleb, clearly surprised by my sudden ferocity, struggled to keep up. Sweat beaded on his brow as he blocked my blows, his movements defensive, hesitant.

Then, with a well-placed maneuver, I disarmed him. The clatter of his sword hitting the ground seemed to hang suspended in the air as his surprised gaze met mine. He was on one knee, braced against the packed earth, his injured arm hanging limp at his side.

A string of what sounded like startled curses erupted from his lips in Zilaran. "Whoa, there, Sparkle," he gasped, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the surprise evident in his eyes. "Easy on the war hero, still a little rusty."

But the sight of his vulnerability only fueled the fire in my gut. This wasn't a playful spar anymore. This was a monstrous hurricane brewing inside me, threatening to tear everything apart. Shame, anger, and a gnawing doubt twisted into a venomous concoction.

I didn't answer. Instead, I let out a sharp scoff, a sound devoid of humor, and tossed my own sword onto the ground with a clatter. The metallic clang seemed to echo the shattering of something precious within me.

Without a word, I turned on my heel and stormed off the training grounds. Tears blurred my vision, and the only sound in my ears was the pounding of my own heart, a frantic drumbeat against the growing storm within.

Just as I reached the edge of the compound, a familiar voice called out.

"Kira!"

It was Kass, her brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong?"

I stopped, my back rigid, refusing to turn around. The last thing I needed right now was someone peering into the abyss of my churning emotions.

"Just leave me alone," I spat, my voice tight with barely suppressed rage.

Kass hesitated, her concern deepening. But sensing the raw edge in my voice, she didn't push it. With a worried sigh, she muttered something under her breath and turned away, leaving me alone with the tempest raging inside me.

I stormed through the entrance of the dormitory, the wooden door slamming shut behind me with a resounding boom that echoed the turmoil within. The familiar, calming scent of lavender and chamomile greeted my senses.

A quick glance confirmed my suspicions. Elyse must have been buried deep within a dusty tome in the library, far from the emotional earthquake I was experiencing. And thankfully, Erin, the woman who'd ignited the spark of doubt in the first place, was conveniently absent – probably off on some top-secret recon mission.

Sinking down onto my bed, I buried my face in my hands. Shame, a bitter pill lodged in my throat, coated my tongue. The raw display of aggression towards Caleb, the chilling dismissal of Kass – it all felt alien, a betrayal of the warrior I strived to be.

I stripped off the sweat-slicked leather of my fighting gear, each piece falling limply to the floor like a shed snakeskin. The familiar weight of my armor, usually a source of comfort, now felt suffocating. Shame clung to me like a second skin, a hot, itchy reminder of my actions.

Tears welled up, blurring my vision. They spilled over, silent and relentless, as I sank into the mattress. My body wracked with sobs that felt like they'd been building for weeks, for months. Maybe it was the suspicion, the fear for Caleb masked by anger. Maybe it was the confusing tangle of emotions his nearness always ignited. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fear of losing him, a fear I hadn't even dared to acknowledge.

Time blurred, measured only by the rhythm of my ragged breaths and the sting of tears that refused to dry. An hour? Two? It didn't matter. The storm within me finally began to subside, leaving behind a raw vulnerability. Exhausted and drained, I curled onto my side, the familiar scent of my worn blanket offering a sliver of comfort.

Sleep, a reluctant visitor, finally tiptoed in. Exhausted from the emotional maelstrom and the torrent of tears, I drifted in and out of consciousness. Images flickered behind my eyelids – Caleb's surprised face, the sting of my blade against his sword, Kass' concerned gaze. Each image brought a fresh wave of shame and a burning need for resolution.

Darkness deepened outside my window, punctuated only by the silvery glow of moonshine filtering through the gaps in the wooden shutters. A soft rustling sound stirred me fully awake. On my nightstand, bathed in the cool light, sat a plate piled high with food – warm stew and a crusty roll, a silent offering of comfort. Beside it, a small, white ball of light hovered, casting an ethereal glow on the room.

Recognition dawned. Elyse. The others must be at dinner, their beds empty and neatly made. My stomach rumbled, a traitorous reminder of the long hours since I'd last eaten. But the thought of facing anyone, of explaining the raw mess of emotions I was grappling with, made me flinch.

With a reluctant sigh, I reached out and picked up the plate. The warmth of the stew seeped into my chilled fingers, a small comfort in the vast emptiness I felt. As I took a tentative bite, the ball of light flickered for a moment before dimming and zipping through the crack in the door. A silent message delivered, I presumed, to its scholarly mistress.

A wry smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

The sunlight, unwelcome as ever, speared through the cracks in the shutters, painting bright stripes across the floor. I stirred, the weight of the previous night's decision a heavy cloak on my shoulders. Yet, beneath it, a flicker of something new – resolve. Today wouldn't be about dwelling on the mess, but about untangling it.

Avoiding the training ground was the easiest part. The rhythmic clang of swords and the shouts of instruction felt like a physical assault on my already raw nerves. All I saw were flashes of Caleb and Kass throughout the day – their camaraderie a harsh reminder of the fractured trust I'd left smoldering with my outburst. A small pang of guilt stabbed at me, but I pushed it down. Today was for introspection, not apologies. I couldn't face them… not yet.

The midday meal arrived, the sounds of laughter and chatter from the dining hall a jarring contrast to the quiet turmoil within. Slipping past the doorway, I caught a glimpse of the others gathered around the worn wooden table, their faces illuminated by a shared meal and easy conversation. My stomach rumbled in protest, a traitor in this silent battle.

The kitchen, thankfully, was deserted. I grabbed a bowl of steaming porridge. Isaac's chambers, tucked away in a quiet corner of the castle, called to me. There, within the familiar scents of herbs and the rhythmic thud of mortar and pestle, resided a kind of sanctuary.

Isaac was hunched over a worn table, surrounded by an apothecary's dream – vials filled with colored liquids, jars overflowing with dried roots and leaves, and a mortar and pestle poised for grinding. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of chamomile and the sharp tang of antiseptic.

He glanced up as I entered, his blue eyes holding a quiet understanding. A silent greeting passed between us, and I settled onto a stool tucked in the corner. The rhythmic thud of the pestle as Isaac crushed herbs became a soothing lullaby against the storm inside me.

We talked, yes, but of mundane things – the weather's fickle mood, the promise of a bountiful harvest, the chipped mug Isaac refused to part with. The simple conversation, devoid of judgment or expectation, soothed a different kind of ache within me. It was a balm on the raw, exposed nerve of my insecurities.

Finally, with a lingering glance at Isaac surrounded by his healing herbs, I rose. Stepping back into the hallway, I nearly collided with a broad chest. Relief washed over me – it was Marcus, not Caleb or Kass.

"Kira!" he boomed, his voice laced with a familiar warmth, but also a hint of something else – knowing. "There you are. I was just heading out for a hunt this afternoon. Figured you might be cooped up."

Surprise fell across my face. Had he seen me storm off the training grounds? "Cooped up?" I echoed, a wry smile pulling at the corner of my lips. It was a weak attempt at deflection.

Marcus scratched his beard thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on me a beat too long. "Yeah," he said slowly, his voice softer now. "Seems like you could use a change of scenery. Clear your head a bit."

His words struck a chord within me. He saw right through me, didn't he? With a sigh, I admitted defeat.