The Palace Training Yard. Morning.
Aldric stood at the edge of the yard, his cane in his hand, his leg throbbing.
The volunteers were already there—twelve of them, farmers and hunters and retired soldiers, their weapons mismatched, their armor patched, their faces uncertain. They stood in a loose formation, watching him, waiting.
He had never taught before. He had only learned. From Grog, from Lira, from the hours of falling and getting up and falling again. He remembered the bruises, the exhaustion, the moments when he had wanted to quit. He remembered Grog standing over him, offering a hand, saying nothing.
He walked to the center of the yard.
"My name is Aldric," he said. "I'm not a prince. I'm not a commander. I'm a soldier. I've been fighting for years. I've killed things that shouldn't exist." He met their eyes. "I'm going to teach you how to survive."
Mei stepped forward. "What do we do first?"
Aldric almost smiled. Almost. "First, we learn to fall."
---
The morning passed slowly.
Aldric showed them how to fall—the roll, the tuck, the way to let the ground take your weight instead of fighting it. They were terrible at it. They landed wrong, their elbows hitting first, their heads snapping back, their breath leaving them in grunts of frustration.
They got up anyway. Every time.
He showed them how to stand—feet planted, weight forward, hands ready. They wobbled, shifted, corrected. He showed them how to hold a sword—not too tight, not too loose, the blade an extension of the arm. They fumbled, dropped, picked it up again.
He was hard on them. Harder than he needed to be. But he remembered how Grog had trained him—no mercy, no shortcuts, no excuses. He remembered the bruises, the blood, the days when he couldn't lift his arms. He remembered the moment when it had started to make sense.
By midday, they were exhausted. By afternoon, they were frustrated. By evening, they were something else. Determined.
---
Mei stayed after the others had gone.
She stood at the edge of the yard, her bow across her back, her eyes on Aldric. He was sitting on the bench, his leg stretched out, his cane beside him. His face was pale, his hands were steady, his eyes were tired.
"You're hard on them," she said.
He looked at her. "I know."
"They're not soldiers."
"They will be."
She was quiet for a moment. "You were trained by the barbarian. The one who killed the monster."
Aldric nodded. "Grog."
"Is he always that hard?"
Aldric almost smiled. Almost. "He's worse."
Mei sat on the bench beside him. "And you? Are you worse?"
He looked at his hands. The hands that had held a sword against the beast, against the creature, against things that shouldn't exist. "I'm trying to be."
---
After the volunteers left, Aldric stayed in the yard alone.
His leg was screaming, his arm was shaking, his body was telling him to rest. He ignored it. He picked up his practice sword, walked to the center of the yard, began to move through the forms.
Slow. Careful. Each movement deliberate, each step measured. His leg held. His arm held. He was getting better.
Then his leg gave out.
He fell.
The sword clattered on the stones. The cane skidded away. He lay on his back, staring at the sky, his chest heaving. The clouds were moving slowly, pink and gold in the fading light. A bird was circling somewhere high above.
He didn't get up.
---
Mei found him there.
She had been watching from the edge of the yard, had seen him fall, had seen him not get up. She walked to him, stood over him, looked down.
"You're not alone," she said.
He looked at her. "I know."
She sat beside him on the ground. Not helping him up. Just sitting. Present.
"You've been through something," she said. "Something worse than fighting creatures."
He was quiet for a moment. "I have."
She didn't ask. She just sat.
After a while, he sat up. Picked up his cane. Got to his feet. His leg held.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Same time."
Mei nodded. "Same place."
She walked away.
Aldric stayed in the yard until the stars came out.