The sun rose lazily over the frost-covered fields, casting a pale golden hue over the quiet farm. Alexander stood in the clearing, practicing sword drills with deliberate precision. His movements were fluid, each arc of his blade purposeful and sharp. Despite the lingering soreness from weeks of farm work, his training as a swordsman showed in the way he moved.
Ronan sat nearby, leaning against the fence, his arms crossed and his magenta hair catching the sunlight. Though he had grown more comfortable among the group since his exile, the fire that once drove him had dulled. It was as if the weight of losing his place in the clans had robbed him of direction.
“You’re up early,” Ronan remarked, his tone neutral.
Alexander didn’t stop, his blue eyes focused on the dummy in front of him. “The sun waits for no one,” he replied, swinging his blade in a clean arc.
Ronan raised an eyebrow, watching him for a moment. “You know, for all your posturing, you still swing like a Centralite.”
Alexander paused mid-swing and turned, his gaze steady. “Better than sitting around doing nothing.”
The words hit like a challenge, and Ronan’s jaw tightened. “And what exactly do you think I should be doing?”
Alexander sheathed his sword, stepping closer. “You tell me. You’re the one who stood up to your clan. What was all that for if you’re just going to sit here?”
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Ronan pushed off the fence, his expression darkening. “Watch your mouth, Veridan.”
“Why?” Alexander shot back, his tone sharp. “Because you don’t want to hear the truth? You’ve been here for weeks, and all you’ve done is sulk. If that’s all you’ve got left, then maybe your clan was right.”
Ronan’s hands clenched into fists, but he didn’t swing. Instead, he stepped closer, glaring down at Alexander. “You don’t get it. You’re just some pampered noble playing at hard work. You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything.”
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Alexander didn’t flinch. “Maybe not. But I know what it’s like to keep going anyway.”
For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them thick with tension. Then Ronan let out a bitter laugh, stepping back. “You’ve got a big mouth for someone who doesn’t know when to shut it.”
Alexander met his glare head-on, refusing to back down. “And you’ve got strength you’re wasting.”
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From the shade of the barn, Gabriel leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he watched the exchange. Sorin stood beside him, notebook in hand, flipping idly through the pages.
“Well,” Sorin began, his voice light but curious, “looks like Veridan isn’t all talk after all.”
Gabriel’s green eyes flicked to Sorin. “He’s got a spine. Whether it’s enough to handle Ronan is another story.”
Sorin tilted his head. “Not like you to stay out of something this interesting.”
Gabriel shrugged. “They’ll sort it out—or they won’t. Either way, it’s not my problem.”
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Later that day, the group gathered near the fire, taking a break after their morning chores. Alexander sat quietly, sharpening his sword with deliberate precision. Ronan sat across from him, idly poking the fire with a stick. Though his expression was neutral, there was a restlessness in his movements that hadn’t been there before.
Gabriel dropped onto a log with his usual nonchalance, glancing between the two. “Well, at least you didn’t kill each other.”
Alexander didn’t look up from his sword. “Would’ve been a waste of time.”
Ronan let out a soft snort, tossing the stick into the flames. “Don’t get used to me agreeing with you, Veridan.”
Sorin, sitting nearby, chuckled softly. “Quite the development. I was starting to think you two might actually come to blows.”
Gabriel sighed, leaning back. “We’d have to rebuild the fence again if they had.”
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As the fire crackled softly, Alexander finally looked up, his gaze steady on Ronan. “You’re strong. You could do more.”
Ronan didn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned back, his arms resting on his knees. “Maybe.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow but said nothing, watching the exchange with quiet interest. Sorin, ever the observer, smirked faintly but didn’t comment. For now, the silence spoke louder than words.
The sun dipped lower in the sky, and though the tension from earlier had eased, the weight of Alexander’s words lingered. Ronan’s gaze flicked toward the horizon, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.
For now, it wasn’t ambition—not yet. But it was a start.