—CLOISTERED GARTH—

In the monastery’s cloistered garth, I focused on my next attempt to conjure the shieldflame. I let out a calming breath, held my arms out. The fire sparked. And a faint orb of fire hovering just above my palm appeared, steady under my control. It held. Woodrow and Wilbur stood nearby, their eyes sharp with interest. Wilbur’s smile widened with childlike wonder as the flowers around us remained untouched by the heat. Curious, Woodrow stretched a hand towards the flame, his finger brushing the surface. He jerked back, hissing softly.

“Aye, that could burn the shadows. Most definitely,” he muttered, shaking his hand with a wry grin.

Some nights, Woodrow would linger long after the others had left, guiding me through my practice. His voice was low and steady, a gentle tether keeping me grounded. “Breathe slower,” he’d murmur, his gaze fixed on me intently. The air hummed around my shieldflame. His closeness made me feel small, vulnerable. Like a child under the watchful gaze of a master.

Was this how Claude felt, I wondered, when Woodrow trained him? For this was a different Woodrow; less playful, more focused. His sharp wit, usually biting, hardened to a keen edge of strategy. I admired how seamlessly he shifted between roles, just as Wilbur did with his alchemy.

“That’s it,” Woodrow would say after a particularly successful attempt, his voice firm but laced with a rare tenderness. “In battle, don’t lose your wits. Focus on your breath, and the flame will hold. I think. Lose yourself to panic and you’ll be of no use to anyone.”

His words soothed the fear I hadn’t even realized had crept into my bones. Looking at the flame hovering between us, and hearing how Woodrow talked, I couldn’t help but think of Gaelmar’s wisdom; how he must have been a guiding light in so many battles. I had been a fool to struggle in silence for so long. Trusting my brothers, I realized, was just as vital as trusting myself. Wilbur’s patience, his gentle precision that saved lives and healed injuries. And Woodrow, with his laughter and warmth, was a force I hadn’t fully appreciated until now.

The next day, Claude found me preparing for more training, a warm smile tugging at his lips. “Ma says you’ve been by the house,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Wish I could’ve seen you.” He explained why he disappeared so late at night. “Vincent Bahram’s not happy with our tributes. He doesn't like when us little people are winning. What a bully of a lord he’ll be. We'd probably leave Rothfield by then, sorry as I am to see it behind.”

"We?" I asked.

"Oh, you're coming with me," he said simply. I chuckled. He turned to leave.

“Claude,” I called after him, my voice soft but insistent. He paused, turning to meet my gaze. I offered him a small, heartfelt smile. “You’re growing stronger.” The words carried more weight than they seemed, a truth I’d been holding in, watching him bloom with every passing day.

His smile was a quiet acknowledgment. He waved before joining Woodrow for practice, but I found myself lingering, watching the way his shoulders moved with newfound confidence. There was something about him that made my heart swell, something I couldn’t fully express in words but that lingered in every glance, every shared smile. He was the fondest friend I had. His presence steadied me, made the world feel less fractured, more whole.

—MOUNT LHOTTEM—

When the next ore collection came, Harlan, Woodrow and Wilbur accompanied Claude. The deposits lay nearest the Rothfield granges, where shadowbeasts rarely roamed. It was safer there, which allowed me to focus on perfecting a shield for Claude as he worked. With his back turned, intent on prying out a sharp rock, I summoned a flame that coiled around him, its warmth embracing the air between us. He didn’t notice the fire itself, but I caught the subtle shift in his shoulders; the way he stood a little taller, his stance more assured. Two direwolves came slinking out of the mountain's path, and my brothers allowed Claude to dispatch them. Turns out, he did not need my shieldflame tonight.

Woodrow watched with a thoughtful smile. “You’re getting better,” he noted, eyes flitting between Claude and me. “Not as agile as Agate or as strong as Harlan, but you’ve got time.”

Harlan’s voice boomed from behind, a rough laugh on his lips. “He may even best the lot of us someday.”

Back home, Woodrow chuckled as he told the story, then pondered intently at Claude's potential. “If that’s true, he’s ready to join the men from Kent. The shadowbeasts pose no real threat. N ot really. They are plenty, yes, but they seem to be mindless now, and very predictable in their attacks. With your blessings, they can withstand the beasts’ howls. I think that Gaelmar’s influence has made the people of Kent immune.”

I nodded, a silent promise settling in my heart. If Claude were to fight alongside the others, I would be there. I would protect him.

—LAKE—

Claude stood at the water’s edge, the moonlight casting his reflection in ghostly hues across the surface. He twisted his arm, inspecting the lean muscle that had grown there, a faint smile of quiet pride tugging at his lips. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “You’re scaring the fish,” I teased, a grin spreading despite myself.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

He chuckled, then dropped beside me, his knee brushing against mine. The touch was light, almost absentminded, but it sent a spark of warmth through me, a comfort in the closeness we’d come to share. I glanced at him, catching the way the light from the lake danced over his features.

“You know,” I murmured, voice soft as a whisper, “you look like this is how you were always meant to be. If the world wasn’t so grim, if the fields were full of life, this is the Claude I think you’d always have been.”

He nodded slowly, a shadow of thought crossing his face. “I just wish we could do more for the people in Rothfield,” he said, voice laced with quiet frustration. “I hate seeing my neighbors fall ill.”

A pang of guilt tightened in my chest. But with it came a glimmer of something else. “Claude, about that… there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. The ores you’ve been collecting? We’ve got enough now that the people of Kent are stronger, healthier. And I thought that perhaps we can treat and heal other people beyond our granges. But we need more before we can start treating others, before we can truly share, and I am not certain of the approach we would take.”

His face lit up, eyes shining with a joy so pure it made me ache. “I'll think of something," he said confidently. But even if I could not, I've got a feeling people around these parts will be drawn to you.” He held my gaze with a look that made my breath hitch. There was something solid there. “At the core of all that, Ryne, is you. I see it. And I’m grateful." His fingers traced the grass beside him. "It’s a shame we had to stop our lessons in Old Yarbro, but at least I can write my name. Your name. The names of those I care about.”

I swallowed, my chest tight with an emotion I couldn’t quite name. “I’ll teach you all you want to know. Letters that could raise your standing if you wanted it. Letters to connect you to others, to speak to your brothers even when they’re far from here.”

Claude’s gaze lingered on the water, and then he nodded slowly. “I’ll grow stronger. I’ll find a way to give back and make something of myself.”

“You already are something,” I said softly, reaching out instinctively to grip his shoulder. I held him there, fingers pressing into the solid warmth of him, hoping he could feel the sincerity of my words. His smile was shy, a softness in his eyes that made me ache.

We sat in silence for a while, the quiet companionship filling the air between us. When the time came to leave, Claude’s arm brushed against mine as he helped me reel in a silvergill. His hand lingered on mine, fingers warm against my skin, but I didn’t pull away. Moments like this felt too precious to rush.

—ROTHFIELD TOWN—

“Come join me in town,” Claude whispered later, tugging at my sleeve. There was a sparkle in his eyes, a glimmer of mischief that made me want to say yes. “It’ll be quick, and no one would see us if we keep to the shadows.”

Years of hiding urged me to refuse, but I found myself nodding anyway. This was Claude, and I trusted him enough to allow him to lead me out into the quiet dark of the woods. The cool air enveloped us like a silken shroud, thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering flowers. We moved through the trees, silent shadows beneath the canopy, until we reached the iron-locked wooden gate of the town. I watched him uncoil the chain and swing the door open, the thrill of stepping into new territory making my heart race.

“Want me to hold your hand?” he teased, his voice playful, his eyes glinting with mischief. I chuckled softly, the sound almost lost in the whisper of the leaves. He stepped back, giving me space, but as I passed him into the neat dirt path that led to the town.

The town itself sat quietly under the moon’s gaze, its cottages clustered together like huddled shadows, each one exhaling a ghost of warmth. Smoke rose in thin wisps from chimneys, dissolving into the night sky like secrets shared among old friends. Cobblestone streets wound through the center, glistening faintly under the glow of scattered torches, each flickering light casting soft, dancing shadows that seemed to embrace the night.

“It looks deserted, but it was nicer back then,” Claude murmured beside me, his voice low, smiling sadly at his childhood memories.

“It’s charming,” I replied, my voice a breathless whisper of wonder, the ethereal beauty of the scene tugging at my heartstrings.

As we passed the town square, its cobbles worn and weathered, I noticed the way Claude’s features softened in the moonlight. His smile was still tinged with nostalgia, and I felt an inexplicable urge to reach out and brush my fingers against his cheek.

“Used to be lively, once upon a time,” he said softly, his gaze far away, lost in thoughts of yesteryear. “Now it’s just a ghost of what it used to be.”

He pointed out a bakery, the faint scent of bread still lingering in the air like an echo of laughter, and a little bookshop tucked away in a narrow alley, its door slightly ajar, inviting whispers of forgotten tales. “I used to dream of buying something there,” he murmured, smiling faintly, a wistfulness in his tone.

“What did you want?” I asked, curiosity piqued, my heart fluttering at the vulnerability he displayed.

“A book on knights,” he admitted with a chuckle, a soft blush creeping to his cheeks. “Always thought I’d make a fine one, but we were too poor. And lowborn folk like us would never have a chance wearing silver armor. Not in this kingdom. Ma used to say dreams like that are best left for bedtime.”

“I don’t think they are.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, filled with a sincerity. He turned to look at me, eyes wide with surprise, and for a moment, the world around us faded into a quiet hum. “Dreams aren’t foolish. They keep us going. Maybe one day, we can bring this place back to life and bring your dreams into reality.”

His gaze softened. He chuckled and nodded slowly, a flicker of determination igniting within him. “Yeah. Maybe we can.”

We stood close, our shoulders brushing together. I felt a longing stir within me, a desire to reach out and pull him closer, to share in the dreams we wove together.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “to fill this place with laughter again? To share stories of bravery and adventure?” My heart pumped as I dared to dream aloud, the words flowing like the moonlit stream beside us.

Claude’s eyes sparkled with excitement, a soft light dancing within them. “Yes! We could host gatherings, write tales of our adventures, maybe even become the heroes of our own stories.” His voice held a weight of unspoken promise, and I found myself lost in the depth of his gaze.

In that moment, surrounded by the ghosts of what once was, I could see a glimmer of what could be: a future painted with laughter, courage, and perhaps something more profound than friendship. I took a step closer, our breaths mingling in the cool night air. "We can do it together."

His gaze flickered down, then back to me, and the silence between us stretched like a taut string, vibrating. “Together,” he echoed, the warmth in his voice resonating in my chest.

The moon above shone brighter, illuminating the path before us, and in that small, quiet town, dreams began to fill the empty shadows.