Yvain tiptoed as he approached Burn's tent, tray of breakfast in hand for his guardians and a little something extra sweet for his master. To be honest, he had never thought he would experience those feelings again—the ones he felt the morning after his parents had a big fight.

He was only five when he first witnessed Belezak and Madeline having a major argument. He couldn't recall the reason, but the aftermath was etched in his memory: his parents not smiling at each other, the awkward atmosphere lingering around them.

Now, in his early teenage years, he realized how much he despised those moments as he experienced them once more. That was why he had 'run away' the previous night to train.

Turning to the Round Table members watching from a distance, they flashed him a thumbs up, nodding for encouragement.

Balancing the tray with one hand, Yvain used the other to open the tent entrance, only to be startled by a flash of light reflecting off a short blade held by the alert, fresh-from-bed Burn—

"Ah! It's me, Your Majesty!" Yvain exclaimed.

Now he understood why he was the one chosen to approach the tent. No other men dared to come near this hot spot.

The man was still half-leaning, half-sitting in his bed, clearly just awakened for a split second. He was naked, with his lower body covered by the quilt, sporting bed hair and a sharp, slightly tired look on his face.

His abrupt movement stirred the woman sleeping on the same small makeshift bed beside him, Morgan, who quickly grabbed the quilt to cover her previously exposed upper body. But her reaction was only half as fast as Burn's, before she let out a whimper of pain.

"Master, are you okay?" After his eyes adjusted to the dim light inside the tent, Yvain could see how red and bruised her body was.

Suddenly, the boy's bloodshot eyes turned at Burn, who cleared his throat. "Put the food there and give us a minute, son."

Uncertain, Yvain obeyed his words and began to slowly approach the table to set down the food, silently observing to see if they were still arguing.

"Sorry," Burn whispered as he kissed Morgan and tenderly embraced her body. Infusing her with his Force energy, the marks and bruises quickly disappeared. He knew she could heal herself, but he still chose to do it anyway.

After whispering, "Eat breakfast and then go back to sleep," he released her.

He then met Yvain’s eyes again. “Go on, boy. I’ll meet you outside.”

Yvain quickened his pace, but before heading out, he asked nervously, “Did you make up? A-are you still fighting?”

Morgan rose from the bed, turning to the boy, smiling, though with a pale face. “We’re not fighting anymore, Yvain. Wait outside, okay?”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The boy nodded, a big smile on his face, and ran out cheerfully toward the Round Table members, exclaiming, “They made up!”

There was a genuine collective relieved sigh in the encampment that morning.

Burn had slept well, which was why he hadn’t realized it was Yvain’s footsteps approaching his tent. He felt a bit tired after overdoing it the night before.

“You’re going North today?” Morgan asked as she drank the glass of sweet milk Burn handed her.

“Yes. I’ll leave this encampment to Galahad and Yvain. And you’re going to the Great Forest?” Burn asked in return, and Morgan nodded in response.

Burn pulled a chair to sit after moving the table near the bed. His eyes didn’t leave her for a second. “Meet me immediately after you’re done, okay?”

Morgan took a deep breath and nodded. Burn felt satisfied and turned his gaze away from her for the first time. He got dressed, drank his water, and ate his breakfast. He was about to leave when Morgan called him.

“Caliburn.”

The man turned to her, seeing her smile for the first time that day.

“I love you too,” she said.

Burn sneered, “That’s what I thought.”

“Pfft—” Morgan snorted before snapping at him, “Get out.”

***

"I need a new sword."

Burn had just concluded the morning meeting with the Round Table, alongside Yvain, his fellow knights and commanders. He had mentioned that his sword had crumbled, a fact that everyone had anticipated.

Given his aggressive fighting style, it was no surprise that any sword would succumb after only a few years.

Galahad presented him with two new weapons in differently sized boxes. Both boxes were quite large on their own, and when Galahad instructed his subordinates to open them, Burn found himself disappointed.

"I understand my previous sword was the best I had, but is there no other longsword available?" Burn inquired.

"Sir, any other longswords currently available are of inferior quality compared to the one you previously wielded," Galahad responded.

Turning to the boxes, one containing a great mace and the other a greatsword, Galahad explained, "These two were forged by a blacksmith of similar mastery as the one who crafted your previous sword. They were acquired by the Round Table in an auction a year ago."

For Burn, using a lesser quality longsword was preferable to wielding a different type of weapon. It was not that he was incapable of using another type, but it simply did not suit his preference.

The battle in the North did not necessarily require him to wield a weapon of exceptional quality. Nevertheless, something compelled him to relent and opt for the greatsword. Uncertain of when his death might arrive, he chose to be adequately armed.

“Are you about to depart now, Sir?” Galahad asked as Burn strapped the greatsword to his back.

“Yes. If I’m right, Wintersin will be attacking our Northern border. That’s what our spies and informant predicted, right?” Even though he had the previous loops, he still made sure of everything beforehand by sending his men across the land.

Knowing that almost everything had changed, of course he had to do that.

“Are you sure you’re going alone?” Yvain asked.

“Why not?” Burn grasped the boy’s head, ruffling his hair up violently. “Are you scared? Want to come along?”

“I’m okay!” the boy exclaimed as he tried to free himself.

“Don’t neglect your training. I’ve taught you all of your family’s Force art movements,” the man said, flashing a small smile.

“Okay…” Yvain said, still not closing his mouth, about to say something more. The boy hesitated before whispering, “...Master.”

Burn raised his eyebrows.

“...Can I call you that?” he asked timidly.

Looking at the young king who had fully placed his trust in him, Burn tapped the side of his face twice, his big hands the same size as his head. “Do what you want.”

Yvain smiled and nodded.

“But, Sir, are you planning on running there?” Galahad asked.

Burn shrugged. “Mech armors are too slow, and I’d rather run than ride a mech warhorse. At least my ass won't hurt, and I’ll arrive at the same time too.”

At times like this, Burn regretted throwing away his chariot. His new one hadn’t arrived yet.

But right before he left, the encampment received two unexpected guests.

SCREEEEEEEEEECH!!!