The courtyard rang with the sound of clashing iron and the thud of boots against hardened earth. Kael’s blade met steel mid-swing, sending sparks between him and Commander Taron—her father.

The man fought like a bear: brutal, methodical, patient. Kael welcomed the challenge, sweat running down his back as his muscles thrummed with the rush of battle.

“Still swinging wide, boy,” Taron grunted, knocking Kael back a step with a blow that rattled bone.

Kael smirked, adjusted his stance. “Still breathing, old man.”

They circled, boots kicking up dust. The guards along the edges cheered, betting quietly. Kael moved fast—too fast for his opponent’s age, too reckless for his father’s training.

Then he caught sight of her.

A flash of white linen. Braids catching the breeze. Not meant to be here, and yet—

His breath hitched.

Taron struck.

The flat of the wooden practice blade slammed hard into Kael’s ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. He stumbled, hissed, and hit the ground with a sound that silenced the courtyard.

“Kael!” voices shouted, but he barely heard them.

She was already moving—rushing past the stunned onlookers, her feet light against the packed dirt. Her hands were already reaching for him.

Kael cursed under his breath, trying to sit up. His pride stung worse than the blow.

Taron leaned on his sword, shaking his head with a half-grin. “Your eyes weren’t on your blade, pup.”

Kael didn’t answer. He was looking at her—at the way she hovered near, eyes wide, fingers brushing his arm like she’d forgotten the rest of the world existed.

He exhaled slowly, every rib aching.

“Worth it,” he muttered under his breath.

And then he let himself fall back again, eyes shut, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.