The scent of hay lingered in the morning air. A young boy dashed across the far corner of the palace farm, a bag of oats strapped over his shoulder, the sleeves of his tunic fluttering with each joyful step. His clothes weren't too dirty—he always took care of them—but his smile was bright and carefree, as if feeding the horses was the most exciting thing in the world.
As he neared the horse den, he slowed.
Someone was sitting there.
Hidden partly in shadow, a golden-haired boy sat hugging a large book to his chest. His fine white shirt was slightly torn at the shoulder, and on his left cheek, a bruise had bloomed a faint purple. His emerald-green eyes shimmered under the sun—still wet with tears he hadn't yet wiped away.
The running boy approached carefully, blinking in confusion. "Are you… perhaps a prince?"
The golden-haired boy jolted upright. "N-No!" he stammered, eyes wide, voice defensive.
"But your eyes are green," the first boy said, not backing away. "Every royal has green eyes… that's what my father told me."
The golden-haired boy shrank slightly, unable to deny it. His lips parted, but no words came.
The boy only smiled. He stepped forward, extending his hand warmly. "My name is Kael."
He stood tall, hugging the book close. Though his clothes marked him as a servant, his confidence and cheer shone through like sunlight between clouds. Unlike the others, he didn't bow. He didn't avoid eye contact. He was the first one who spoke to him like he mattered.
The golden-haired boy hesitated, eyes lowering to the offered hand.
Then, he took it.
"My name is Reinhardt."
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Kael awoke with a sudden breath. He sat up slowly, hand pressing against his forehead—waiting for the ache to come. But it didn't.
The dream had been clear this time. Too clear. That child—golden-haired and bruised—he had seen him before. That was Reinhardt, wasn't it?
Stillness filled the room until the door creaked open.
But it wasn't Robert.
Reinhardt entered with a silver tray in hand, smiling far too brightly for this hour. "Good morning, young master," he said, mimicking Robert's tone so perfectly it was almost mocking.
Kael frowned instantly.
"Oh, don't look at me like that." Reinhardt set the tray down beside the bed. "I just wanted to see your reaction. Guess what? It was worth it."
Kael reached for the coffee without a word. The warmth in the cup settled something inside him. Familiar. Grounding. His fingers curled tighter around the handle as he took a slow sip.
Reinhardt pulled a chair beside him, pouring a cup for himself. "You know," he said, voice softer now, "I used to bring you breakfast too. Before all this. Before you had a name that changed the world."
Kael didn't react.
Later, as he stood to change into his training clothes, Reinhardt tried to follow him to the wardrobe.
"Hey, wait—" Reinhardt began.
The door shut in his face.
A loud laugh echoed through the room. "You're really mean in the morning, you know that?"
The stone paths of Vaelthorn echoed beneath their feet as they walked toward the training yard. Kael's steps were silent, Reinhardt's much less so. Servants they passed all bowed deeply, offering quick greetings—but Kael ignored them, eyes quietly scanning.
Still no sign of Robert.
When they reached the courtyard, Elric was already there—her blade cutting clean arcs through the air. Her form was precise, posture unyielding, breath sharp with every swing.
"Good morning, Elric," Reinhardt called, voice smooth.
She paused. Her silver hair shifted with the movement as she turned. A short, polite bow. "Your Majesty."
Her gaze flicked toward Kael, unreadable. Their last encounter was still fresh—his punch, his silence.
She turned slightly, ready to leave. "Then have a—"
"Where are you going?" Reinhardt interrupted, stepping forward.
"I'm going to my office, Your Majesty. There are—"
Again, he cut her off. "Then who am I supposed to train with?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Your Majesty can train with Hero Kael."
The words were pointed, sharp. Her tone was heavier than usual.
Reinhardt clicked his tongue. "Seriously? Why would I train with a sick man?" He flashed a teasing grin and glanced sideways at Kael, baiting her.
Kael glanced back without expression.
Elric's jaw tensed. She knew this man too well. The way he played, twisted things with charm and power—he never changed.
She walked over to the weapons rack and grabbed two wooden swords. Without a word, she tossed one toward Reinhardt. "As you wish, Your Majesty," she said, her stance already shifting into form.
Reinhardt caught the sword easily, grinning. "Kael, might want to step back. It's about to get exciting."
Kael obeyed silently, walking to the edge of the yard.
The first clash came quick—Elric lunged forward, blade swinging clean toward Reinhardt's midsection.
Clack!
He blocked it easily.
She stepped back, feinted left, struck from the right.
Clack. Clack.
Each move was met, deflected, turned aside with almost lazy precision. Reinhardt didn't even look winded. He was smiling the entire time.
"You've gotten better," he said, ducking a wild swing.
"You've gotten arrogant," Elric snapped, pressing forward with a flurry of strikes.
Reinhardt moved like wind—effortless. He pivoted, twisted, then with one clean turn of his wrist—
Clack! Her sword flew from her hand and landed a few feet away.
"Still too easy," he teased.
Elric fell forward slightly, catching her breath. Reinhardt offered a hand.
She hesitated... then took it.
"Seems like this sword still doesn't fit you," he said gently.
"I'm just a bowman," she replied flatly, brushing dirt from her clothes. "Not a swordsman."
She gave him a short bow, then turned toward Kael. Their eyes met for a brief second—hers filled with words she couldn't say—and then she walked past him.
Kael stared after her.
"Let's just do this ourselves," Reinhardt said casually, lifting another wooden sword. He passed one to Kael, who accepted it wordlessly.
Reinhardt began slowly, showing a few basic forms—stances, grip, movement.
Kael followed awkwardly, his limbs unsure. His body remembered, perhaps, but not fully. Still, he moved.
Not perfectly. But he moved.
Reinhardt didn't correct him, only mirrored the pace, sometimes glancing toward him to see how he adjusted.
From behind a stone pillar, Elric watched in silence.
She didn't interrupt.
She couldn't. Not while he was here.
Her hand brushed against the hilt of her own sword, knuckles tight. Her heart beat louder in her ears as she remembered what Reinhardt once told her.
"He didn't reject me."
And now… she saw it with her own eyes.
"Do you wish the young master wouldn't grow closer to His Majesty?"
The voice came softly from behind her.
Elric turned to see Robert, standing calmly with his hands behind his back. He didn't smile.
"You weren't with Kael this morning," she said quietly, not accusing—just observing.
"I didn't want to interrupt them," Robert replied, his eyes still on the two figures in the training yard.
He exhaled softly. "It's been so long since I've seen His Majesty smile like that..."
Elric didn't answer.
She only stood in silence.
And as both of them watched from the shadows, the distance between Kael and Reinhardt seemed smaller than it had ever been.
Elric's hands curled into fists.
But she didn't look away.