Ruby eyes blinked open beneath the afternoon sun.
Theo stared at me for a second, clearly registering my existence, before pushing himself upright with a tired groan. I smiled, because of course I did—he looked like a knight who had lost a battle against gravity itself.
The driftlings around him continued rolling through the grass, completely unbothered by the existential struggles of humans.
"You're done with lessons already?" he asked, fatigue clinging to his voice and pale face.
"Yep!" I replied cheerfully, popping the p like my life depended on it.
"I see," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"So… here for sparring?"
I nodded enthusiastically.
That earned me a look.
A concerned brother look.
"Hey, Eve," he said after a moment. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why are you suddenly trying to learn swordsmanship?" he asked. "Don't you already have bodyguards?"
I sighed internally.
Ah yes. That question.
"Because," I said slowly, "what if I'm somewhere dangerous and the knights get outnumbered?"
Theo blinked.
"Then my survival rate drops significantly," I continued calmly. "And I'd rather not die beautifully and tragically before adulthood."
Silence.
He stared at me for a moment, then turned his gaze back toward the garden stretching before us.
"…When you put it that way," he said, "it actually makes sense."
Victory.
While Father was still deep in conversation with several unfamiliar men, Theo and I talked—about nothing and everything. From trivial nonsense to oddly deep thoughts, like siblings do when the world pauses just long enough.
"Well," he said suddenly, "there is something I hate."
"Oh?" I perked up. "Like what?"
"…Spiders."
I froze.
Then burst out laughing.
"Spiders?" I repeated. "You're scared of spiders?"
"I am not scared," he snapped. "I just hate how they have too many eyes and legs."
I snorted.
"Pfft—"
Theo tried to hold it in.
He failed miserably.
"It's not funny!" I yelled, face burning as I crossed my arms. "You try liking something with eight legs!
He laughed harder.
"Sorry, sorry," he said between breaths. "It's just—you don't look like someone afraid of bugs. You wander through forests like it's nothing."
"That's because I don't see them," I muttered darkly. "Ignorance is bliss."
He quieted down eventually.
"There was a time you cried for no reason, though," he said thoughtfully.
I stiffened.
"…There was?"
He nodded. "You were yelling, saying you didn't know Mother and Father. Asking who everyone was. It scared everyone."
Ah.
That incident.
Embarrassment punched me in the face.
"But," he added softly, "it was the first time I'd ever seen you cry like that."
I looked away.
"Well," I said, trying to sound casual, "I had a reason."
Theo raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I had a really bad dream," I replied. "It felt… too real."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "That would do it."
We sat together in silence after that.
The driftlings bumped into each other like drifting clouds, and for a brief moment, the world felt peaceful.
Then—
"Evelyn! Theo!"
Father's voice echoed across the training grounds.
I stood quickly, brushing imaginary dirt from my dress, and offered Theo a hand. He took it, smiling faintly.
"Looks like we're being summoned," he said.
Ahead, Father stood with a wooden sword in hand, two guards at his side. His smile was warm.
Too warm.
Theo leaned closer and whispered, "Dad's scary when he's serious."
I nodded fervently. "Extremely."
Father raised an eyebrow.
"…Are you planning to train in that dress?"
I froze.
"Oh."
Right.
"…I don't have training clothes."
Silence.
Theo stared.
Father stared.
The guards stared.
"Well," Father sighed, rubbing his neck, "you can't practice in a dress."
"I have spare clothes," Theo offered. "You can borrow mine."
Bless him.
Selene escorted me to the knights' changing room, tying my hair into a neat ponytail. Theo handed me black knee-length shorts and a plain shirt.
Uncomfortable—but free.
I kept my flat blue shoes. Not ideal, but better than tripping over lace and dying with dignity.
When I returned, Father handed me a wooden sword.
I expected him to teach me.
Instead—
"If I teach you, I'll go easy," he said. "So I arranged for someone else."
A woman stepped forward.
She had short brown hair, hazelnut eyes, and the kind of scars that told stories without words.
"This is Sergeant Maribel," Father said.
"She'll be your instructor."
The knight bowed. "A pleasure, young miss."
Training began.
Basic stances. Simple swings. Footwork.
Day one was merciful.
But as sweat dripped down my spine and my arms ached, I knew—
Tomorrow would hurt.
And somehow…
I was looking forward to it.