The healer's wing was colder than the rest of the academy, though Serene couldn't tell if it was the stone or the silence spreading across the halls. Her footsteps echoed too loudly as she walked, each one a hollow drumbeat against the quiet.
Lira followed her, small and worried, hands clasped together as if she were afraid of breaking the silence just by breathing. Serene did not send her away. She didn't have the strength to push anyone back right now, and Lira seemed to understand that without explanation.
The door to the infirmary was half-open. A single lantern glowed inside, its light soft and warm against the sterile white linens.
Master Healer Arwen looked up from a stack of bandages when they entered. She was middle-aged, tall, with streaks of silver in her hair and eyes sharp enough to pierce excuses from across the room.
"You're late," Arwen said, not unkindly, but not gently either.
Serene bowed her head. "Instructor Thane told me to come after drills."
"He told you earlier," Arwen corrected. "Your body told you even sooner."
Serene had no answer.
Arwen gestured toward the cot. "Sit."
Serene obeyed. Lira hovered close, unsure if she was allowed to stay. Arwen nodded to her. "If she trusts you, then stay. Most cadets would lie or pretend to be fine."
Serene looked away.
Arwen's hands were warm but firm as she pressed along Serene's ribs. The pressure sent lightning through her side; Serene swallowed it silently.
Arwen did not miss it. "How long?"
"Yesterday," Serene said quietly. "During the retrieval trial. I continued training today."
Arwen's brows rose. "And why would you do that?"
"Because I had to."
"No. You didn't."
Her voice sharpened.
"You chose to."
Serene went still.
Arwen leaned back, expression unreadable. "You're bruised deep. One more strike and you could've cracked bone. You're lucky the second-year held back."
Serene stiffened.
Lira whispered, "Serene…"
But Serene shook her head. "I should have performed better."
Arwen's eyes narrowed. "Better? Child, you should have walked here the moment it happened."
Serene flinched. Not outwardly, but something inside her recoiled at the rebuke.
Arwen sighed—long, tired, knowing. "First-years believe pain is proof of strength. They think suffering in silence makes them a knight."
"It doesn't?" Serene asked quietly.
"No," Arwen said. "It makes you a liability."
The words hit her harder than Marian's strikes ever did.
Arwen wrapped her ribs carefully, tightening the bandages until Serene could feel the pressure stabilizing her breath. The healer's touch was skilled, efficient, unhesitating.
"Pain is a warning," Arwen said. "When you ignore it, you become the weakest member of your unit."
Serene lowered her gaze. "I understand."
"No," Arwen said. "You will understand. But you don't yet."
Serene's shoulders tightened—but she did not argue.
Arwen stood. "You'll rest for the evening. Light drills only tomorrow. And if you attempt to spar, I will personally inform Commander Eira."
Serene bowed her head. "Yes, Master Healer."
Lira helped her off the cot, hands gentle but steady. Arwen watched them leave with a sigh that carried more weight than scolding ever could.
As they walked through the corridor, Lira spoke softly. "You don't have to be alone in everything, Serene."
Serene exhaled shallowly. "I know."
"You don't act like you do."
Serene paused in the hallway, leaning against the wall as her breath tightened again. "If I show weakness—"
"You're not showing weakness," Lira interrupted. "You're showing that you're human."
Serene's eyes lowered.
Lira took a small step closer. "And if you break… don't you think that hurts the people who stand with you?"
The thought had never occurred to Serene. She had always believed failure reflected only on herself. That her pain was hers alone to carry. That others would only see it, judge it, or dismiss it.
But Lira's voice held something else.
Something warm.
Something firm.
"Let us worry for you," Lira whispered.
Serene looked at her for a long moment, something fragile flickering beneath her calm mask.
Then she nodded once.
They walked together back toward the dormitory—Serene slower than usual, Lira staying close without hovering.
When they reached the courtyard again, the sky was washed in gold. The other trainees were dispersing after drills, sweat-soaked and limping, some laughing, some complaining.
Kael spotted her first.
His eyes widened—not with triumph, not with gloating, but with something unreadable. Maybe frustration. Maybe confusion. Maybe shame for being relieved she wasn't indestructible.
He turned away abruptly.
Alden glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression thoughtful, then returned to helping Taren stretch his strained shoulder.
Then Rowen stepped into her path.
He didn't look at the bandages beneath her tunic. He didn't ask if she was hurt. He didn't soften his expression.
He simply studied her stance—precisely the way she had studied his yesterday.
"You went," Rowen said quietly.
"To the healer," Serene replied.
"Good."
She blinked—surprised by the simple word.
Rowen continued, voice low. "Knights don't endure to impress anyone. They endure to survive."
Serene inhaled slowly, her ribs protesting.
"I'm learning," she said.
Rowen nodded once. "Then learn well. Your rivals won't give you time to repeat a mistake."
It wasn't kindness.
It wasn't cruelty.
It was truth.
Rowen stepped aside, leaving her with words that cut deeper than any scolding.
Lira tugged Serene's sleeve gently. "Let's go. You need to lie down."
Serene allowed herself to be led away—something she never did before. Something she wasn't sure she knew how to do.
As she reached her room and closed the door behind her, she sat on the edge of her bed, fingers touching the bandages beneath her tunic.
Her breath trembled once.
For the first time, she whispered the words aloud:
"Strength is not silence."
It sounded strange.
New.
True.
She lay back slowly, letting her body loosen, letting the pain settle instead of fighting it.
Just before sleep claimed her, one final realization threaded through her mind:
Discipline wasn't only about pushing.
It was also about knowing when to stop.
And Serene Valehart—
for the first time—
allowed herself to rest.