The dorm room was unusually quiet. Lorian sat across from me, his—or perhaps I should say their—expression uneasy. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his tunic, a stark contrast to the confident and mischievous demeanor I had come to know. Something was weighing heavily on his mind, and I had a suspicion I knew what it was.
“Look, whatever it is, just say it,” I said, trying to sound calm and reassuring. “I’m not going to judge you, Lorian.”
He glanced up at me, his eyes wide with hesitation. It was the kind of look I’d seen before—on soldiers about to confess to something that could change everything.
After a long pause, Lorian let out a breath and spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “Illiad, there’s something I’ve been hiding. Something important.”
I leaned forward, my focus sharpening. “Go on.”
“I… I’m not who you think I am,” he said, his words laced with a mix of fear and relief. “Illiad, I’m not a boy. I’m a girl.”
For a moment, the words hung in the air, almost surreal. I blinked, my mind racing to process the confession. A girl? My memory flashed back to the battle with the Thorny Armadillo—to the moment I had bound his wounds and caught a glimpse of the chest wrap beneath his tunic. It all made sense now. The subtle differences I’d noticed but never questioned: his voice, his build, the way he avoided certain conversations or situations.
I didn’t realize how long I’d been silent until I saw Lorian’s—no, her—expression tighten. She was bracing herself for rejection, for anger, for anything but understanding.
“You don’t have to look so terrified,” I said, my tone softer now. “I’m just… surprised. That’s all.”
“You’re not… angry?” she asked cautiously.
“Why would I be?” I shrugged, leaning back in my chair. “You’re still the same person who stood by me in that fight, who’s been my partner through all this chaos. Your being a girl doesn’t change that.”
Her shoulders sagged with relief, though the tension in her eyes didn’t completely fade. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “But there’s more to this, Illiad. A lot more. I owe you an explanation.”
I nodded, gesturing for her to continue. “I’m listening.”
She hesitated again, her hands trembling slightly. It was clear this wasn’t easy for her. “The reason I’ve been pretending… it’s not something I wanted. It’s something I had to do.”
I frowned, sensing the weight of her words. “You don’t have to rush. Take your time.”
She offered a small, almost grateful smile before taking a deep breath. “It’s a long story, Illiad. And it’s not a happy one. Are you sure you’re ready to hear it?”
I leaned forward, meeting her gaze with unwavering resolve. “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me. Tell me everything, Lorian.”
Her eyes widened slightly at the name, and for the first time, I saw a glimmer of something other than fear—hope. “Thank you,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper.
And then, she began to tell her story.
**
The Backstory Unfolds
Lorian’s voice trembled at first, but as the story unfolded, her words became steady, like someone finally releasing a weight they had carried for far too long.
“I wasn’t always like this,” she began, her gaze distant as though she was seeing a time long past. “I grew up in Aingard. My family wasn’t noble, but we were comfortable. My father, Elias, ran a small vineyard, and my mother, Lenara, managed the household. It wasn’t lavish, but it was enough.”
Her lips curved into a bittersweet smile. “They used to dote on my brother, Lorian. He was everything they could have wanted—strong, ambitious, full of life. He wanted to be a soldier, a protector. The pride of the family. Everyone adored him, including me.”
She paused, and I could see the pain creeping into her expression. Her fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the desk as she continued. “I wasn’t like Lorian. I was… small, sickly. Always catching colds, always a step behind. My parents didn’t mean to neglect me, but compared to him, I was invisible. Except to Lorian. He was my protector, my hero. He would play with me when no one else would, sneak me treats when I was too sick to join the family at dinner. He even taught me how to hold a sword, though I could barely lift it back then.”
Her voice faltered, and I felt a pang of unease. I could tell the story was about to take a darker turn.
“One day, when I was around seven, Lorian and I were playing outside near the vineyard,” she said, her eyes lowering. “There was a tree not far from the house. It had these bright, golden fruits that I loved, but they were always too high for me to reach. Lorian noticed me looking at them and said he’d climb up to get one for me. I tried to stop him—I told him it wasn’t safe—but he just laughed and said, ‘I’m your big brother. I’ll protect you.’”
Her voice cracked, and she closed her eyes, as though trying to block out the memory. “He climbed up, higher than he should have. I was so scared, but he just kept smiling, waving down at me like it was nothing. Then… the branch he was standing on snapped.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. I didn’t say anything, didn’t even breathe, as she forced herself to go on.
“He fell. I ran to him, screaming for help, but… it was too late. He hit his head on a rock at the base of the tree. He didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.”
She swallowed hard, tears pooling in her eyes. “When my parents found us, they were devastated. My mother, especially. Lorian was her everything, and losing him… it broke her. But instead of grieving, she needed someone to blame. And that someone was me.”
Her hands were shaking now, and I fought the urge to reach out, to reassure her. “She said it was my fault. That if I hadn’t wanted that stupid fruit, Lorian would still be alive. And I believed her, Illiad. For years, I believed her.”
I clenched my fists, anger bubbling in my chest—not at her, but at the unfairness of it all. “That’s not your fault, Lorian. You know that, right?”
She gave a hollow laugh. “Maybe. But try telling that to a grieving mother who’s lost her golden child. After Lorian’s death, she stopped seeing me as her daughter. Instead, she started… reshaping me.”
Her gaze met mine, filled with a mix of sadness and defiance. “She started calling me Lorian, dressing me in his clothes, cutting my hair short. She said it helped her cope, helped her pretend he was still alive. At first, I fought it. I cried, screamed, begged her to stop. But it only made things worse. She started… punishing me if I refused. And my father… he just let it happen. I think he was too broken to stop her.”
I felt a surge of helplessness listening to her words. It was hard to imagine what kind of strength it must have taken to endure something like that.
“So I gave up,” she said, her tone resigned. “I became Lorian. Or at least, I pretended to. It was easier than fighting. And for a while, it worked. She started smiling again, treating me like she used to treat him. I told myself it was worth it, even if it meant losing who I really was.”
She looked down, her voice barely above a whisper. “When it came time for me to attend the academy, my parents requested a special admission. They claimed I was their son, and the academy agreed to keep my identity a secret. They didn’t care that I wasn’t Lorian —they just wanted to preserve the illusion.”
Her words lingered in the air, heavy with pain. I struggled to find the right thing to say, to offer even a fraction of the comfort she deserved. “Lorian …”
She glanced up at me, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “That’s why I’ve been pretending all this time. Because if I don’t, I’m nothing to them. Just a reminder of what they lost.”
Her story hit me like a tidal wave. I’d seen my share of suffering in this life and the last, but this… this was a different kind of pain. A child forced to erase her own identity just to survive.
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly. “For everything you’ve been through. But Lorian… you’re not nothing. Not to me.”
She blinked, caught off guard by my words. “You mean that?”
I nodded firmly. “Every word.”
For the first time since she started her story, I saw a flicker of hope in her eyes. A tiny, fragile light in the darkness.
**
Real Name
I leaned forward slightly, my gaze steady as I watched her, sensing there was more she wanted to say. Lorian—seemed hesitant, her lips parting as if to speak but closing again. I waited patiently, knowing better than to rush her after everything she had just revealed.
“My real name,” she began, her voice barely audible, “is Gwyneira.”
The name hung in the air like a fragile, glistening thread. It was beautiful, soft yet strong, but the way she said it carried a weight I couldn’t ignore.
“Gwyneira,” I repeated slowly, as if testing its strength. It felt right, even though it was clear she hadn’t used it in a long time. “It’s a beautiful name.”
She gave a faint, almost bitter smile. “I hardly remember hearing it anymore. It was the name they gave me when I was born, but after Lorian… after everything, it just disappeared. My mother stopped calling me by it, and eventually, everyone else did too. Now, it’s like it belongs to someone else.”
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Her words stirred something deep within me—a sense of injustice, of loss. Gwyneira. A name that carried so much of her true self, buried beneath layers of grief and pretense.
“It doesn’t belong to someone else,” I said, my tone firm. “It’s yours. And it always will be.”
Her eyes flickered with surprise, as though she hadn’t expected such a simple declaration. “You say that, but… everyone here knows me as Lorian. That’s who they see, who they believe I am. It’s easier to let them keep believing that than to face the truth.”
“Maybe,” I acknowledged, leaning back slightly, “but what about you? Do you believe it? Or have you just convinced yourself it’s easier to hide than to fight for who you really are?”
Her expression faltered, and for a moment, I thought I’d pushed too far. But then she let out a shaky breath and nodded. “You’re right. I’ve been hiding. Not just from them, but from myself. It’s easier to pretend to be Lorian because Gwyneira… Gwyneira feels like a ghost. Like someone I can never be again.”
I shook my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “You’re wrong about that. Gwyneira isn’t gone. She’s right here. And while the world might recognize you as Lorian, you’ll always be Gwyneira to me.”
The words seemed to catch her off guard, her wide eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, the room was silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves outside the window.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I replied gently. “But if it’s all right with you, I’d like to call you Gwen—at least when we’re alone. That way, you won’t forget who you are, even if the rest of the world tries to.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, a small, genuine smile breaking through her sorrow. “Gwen. I like that. It feels… real.”
“It is real,” I assured her, leaning forward. “And so are you.”
Her shoulders relaxed for the first time since our conversation began, the tension melting away as she took a deep breath. In that moment, I saw her—not the facade of Lorian, but the real Gwyneira, hidden beneath years of pain and uncertainty.
**
Reassurance and Bond Strengthened
Gwen sat across from me, the weight of her story settling like a heavy shroud over the room. Yet, there was a glimmer of something different in her now, a faint spark that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was the relief of finally sharing her truth or the knowledge that she didn’t have to bear it alone anymore.
“You’re stronger than you think,” I said quietly, breaking the silence.
Her gaze flickered to mine, uncertainty etched into her features. “You say that, but... I don’t feel strong. Hiding isn’t strength. It’s cowardice.”
“Not true.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “It takes strength to endure, Gwen. To survive everything you’ve been through and still stand here today. That’s not cowardice—that’s resilience.”
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Instead, she looked down, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. It was a small, vulnerable gesture, one I hadn’t seen from her before.
“Besides,” I added with a wry smile, “I’ve seen you in action. You’re not exactly lacking in strength.”
That earned a soft chuckle from her, though it was tinged with a hint of sadness. “Strength in battle is different. I can handle a sword, but… facing this? Facing my past? It feels impossible.”
I straightened, my expression serious. “Then let me help. You don’t have to face it alone.”
Her head shot up, surprise flashing in her eyes. “Why would you want to? This isn’t your burden to carry.”
“Because you’re my friend,” I said simply. “And friendship isn’t about picking and choosing when to be there for someone. It’s about standing by them, no matter what.”
Her eyes glistened, and for a moment, I thought she might cry again. But instead, she smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached her eyes.
“Thank you, Illiad,” she murmured. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”
I shrugged, trying to downplay the moment despite the warmth spreading in my chest. “What are friends for?”
We sat in silence for a while, the tension in the room replaced by a newfound sense of camaraderie. Despite everything she’d revealed, or perhaps because of it, I felt closer to Gwen than ever before.
After a moment, she shifted in her seat, her expression turning thoughtful. “You’re the first person I’ve told all of this to. Not even my family knows how I really feel.”
“That’s because they don’t see you like I do,” I said firmly. “They see what they want to see. But me? I see you—the real you. And I think Gwyneira is someone worth fighting for.”
Her breath hitched, and she looked away, her cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”
“I try,” I replied with a smirk, leaning back in my chair. “Though, to be fair, I think you make it easy.”
That earned another laugh from her, lighter this time, and the sound filled the room like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
“Gwen,” I said after a moment, testing the name again. “It suits you.”
She smiled, her gaze soft as she met mine. “I think I could get used to hearing that.”
“Good,” I replied. “Because as far as I’m concerned, that’s who you are. And no one—not your family, not the academy, not the world—gets to decide that for you.”
For the first time since our conversation began, she looked truly at peace. And as we sat there, sharing this quiet moment of understanding, I realized something important: this wasn’t just about her. It was about both of us—about building a bond strong enough to withstand whatever came next.
And I had a feeling we’d need that strength sooner rather than later.
**
After our conversation, the air between us had shifted. It was as though the weight Gwen—no, Gwyneira—had been carrying had lifted, at least partially. The room felt lighter, and so did she, even though I knew there was still much she hadn’t said and likely much she hadn’t processed. But for now, she seemed calmer, steadier.
“I… I don’t even know where to start,” she said after a moment, her voice quiet but steady. “It feels strange, saying it all out loud. Like I’ve been holding my breath for years, and now I can finally exhale.”
“You don’t have to rush anything,” I said, leaning back against my own bed, which wasn’t far from hers in our shared dorm room. “We’ve got time. And you’ve got me. Whenever you’re ready to talk—or not talk—I’ll be here.”
Her gaze softened, and she gave me a small nod. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone say that to me before. Not even…” She trailed off, a shadow passing over her face as she likely thought of her brother.
I didn’t press. I could tell she was working through it all, and the last thing I wanted was to push her too far too fast.
Instead, I tried to shift the tone. “You know, you’ve been running circles around me in training, and all this time, I thought I was competing against another guy. I guess I’ve got to work even harder now that I know the truth.”
Gwen blinked, then let out a laugh—a real, unrestrained laugh that made her shoulders shake. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me this bruises your ego, Illiad. You’re not that fragile, are you?”
“Who said anything about my ego?” I shot back, feigning indignation. “I’m just saying it’s impressive, is all. Not every day you meet someone who can fight like you and keep a secret like that under wraps.”
She shook her head, her laughter subsiding into a smile. “It’s not like I wanted to keep it a secret. It’s just… easier that way.”
“Easier,” I repeated, my tone thoughtful. “I get it. But you don’t have to keep it up with me anymore. And if anyone else finds out…” I met her gaze, letting the seriousness of my words sink in. “They’ll have to deal with me.”
Her smile faltered for a moment, her expression becoming unreadable. Then she nodded, her voice soft. “Thanks, Illiad. That means a lot.”
The conversation drifted after that, the intensity giving way to lighter topics. She asked about my thoughts on the field training, and I told her how I’d been impressed by her quick thinking in the forest. We joked about how the Thorny Armadillo probably regretted crossing paths with us.
But beneath the surface, there was a newfound ease between us, a sense of understanding that hadn’t been there before. I didn’t just see her as my sparring partner or my ally anymore. I saw her as a person—someone who had fought battles far more personal and painful than anything we’d faced in training.
As the night wore on, Gwen grew quieter, her exhaustion catching up to her. I stood to return to my bed, which was only a few steps away, but she stopped me.
“Wait.”
I turned back, watching as she hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “About everything I told you… I just… I want to say thank you. For listening. For not judging. For just… being you.”
I smiled, giving her a small nod. “Anytime.”
Her expression softened, and for a moment, I thought she might say more. But instead, she simply nodded back, her shoulders relaxing as she sat on her bed.
As I lay in my own bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of purpose. Gwyneira had trusted me with her truth, and that meant something. More than anything, I wanted to be someone she could rely on, someone she didn’t have to hide from.
But even as I drifted to sleep, my thoughts were already turning to the future. This was just the beginning, for both of us. And I had a feeling that whatever challenges lay ahead, we’d face them together.
**
A New Chapter in Their Friendship
The following morning brought a strange but welcome sense of clarity. The dawn light filtered through the narrow dorm windows, casting soft hues across the room. Gwen was still asleep in her bed, her posture relaxed in a way I’d never seen before. There was no tension in her shoulders, no restless twitching. She looked at peace, and I realized how rare that must have been for her.
I lay in my own bed for a while, staring at the ceiling and letting my thoughts settle. The events of the previous night were still fresh in my mind, but they didn’t feel heavy or overwhelming. Instead, they felt… grounding. Gwyneira—Gwen—had trusted me with her truth, a truth she’d kept hidden from the world for years. That trust was something I wouldn’t take lightly.
When she finally stirred, her movements were slow and groggy. She rubbed at her eyes, her hair tousled from sleep. For a moment, she looked almost vulnerable, a stark contrast to the sharp, clever partner I was used to seeing.
“Morning,” I said, keeping my tone light.
She blinked at me, her expression softening into a small smile. “Morning.”
We went through our usual morning routines, though the air between us felt different—warmer, somehow. There was no tension, no guardedness. Just two people sharing a space, comfortable in each other’s presence.
As we sat down to breakfast in the academy’s dining hall, Gwen seemed more at ease than I’d ever seen her. She laughed at my sarcastic comments about the overly bland porridge, and even joined in with a quip about how it could double as a weapon.
But as the day wore on, I noticed small shifts in her demeanor. She was quieter when others were around, her usual sharp wit dulled by a layer of caution. It reminded me of the immense effort she must have put into maintaining her facade over the years.
It wasn’t until later that evening, when we were back in our dorm, that she brought it up.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, her voice hesitant. She sat on her bed, her hands fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve. “About what you said last night. About being able to… be myself around you.”
I looked up from where I was organizing my things, giving her my full attention. “Yeah?”
“It’s… strange,” she admitted, her gaze fixed on her hands. “I’m so used to hiding, to pretending, that the idea of not doing that feels almost… wrong. Like I’m breaking some unspoken rule.”
“You’re not,” I said firmly, setting aside what I was doing and moving to sit on the edge of my own bed. “You’ve been carrying that weight for so long, Gwen. You deserve to let it go, even if it’s just a little bit at a time.”
She looked at me then, her eyes searching mine for something—reassurance, maybe, or understanding. “It’s just… what if I slip up? What if someone finds out?”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Then we’ll deal with it together. You’re not alone in this anymore.”
Her expression softened, and she gave a small nod. “Thank you, Illiad. Really.”
The rest of the evening passed in quiet companionship. We didn’t talk much, but the silence was comfortable, unspoken words filling the gaps.
Before we turned in for the night, Gwen spoke again. “Hey, Illiad?”
“Yeah?”
“About… everything. My name, my past, all of it. I think I want to try… being Gwen. At least with you. If that’s okay.”
I smiled, nodding. “Of course it’s okay. Gwen suits you.”
She smiled back, a hint of warmth returning to her eyes. “Thanks. And… if I ever start forgetting who I really am, can you remind me?”
“Every time,” I promised.
As I lay in bed that night, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of quiet satisfaction. This was a new chapter, not just for Gwen, but for us. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I knew we’d face them together. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I wasn’t alone either.