Cillian's hand, still suspended in the air, was suddenly struck away.
Not just rejection it was reflex. Instinctive. Rough.
Blane stepped back, his breathing uneven. "I don't need this," he said, his voice trembling slightly but forcing firmness. Something was being suppressed inside him, something he refused to let surface… yet it only became more visible.
Cillian fell silent.
He didn't respond immediately, nor did he try to approach again. His gaze lowered for a moment, as if searching for the right words or perhaps… trying to understand.
If this continues… he won't be able to move forward.
It wasn't soft empathy.
It was a cold conclusion.
Blane turned sharply. "I don't need your concern," he added quickly, more defensive now, as if every second of silence from Cillian felt like pressure he didn't want.
Cillian exhaled slowly.
Then turned slightly.
"Because…" he began, awkwardly, like someone unaccustomed to saying such things, "we're… friends."
Silence.
Blane flinched.
Not because he was touched but the opposite.
His emotions surged instantly.
"Friends?" he repeated, his voice rising. "You're not my friend. Do you always say things like that to everyone?"
His words were sharp. Too sharp.
But Cillian didn't retaliate.
He simply went quiet.
For a moment.
Sweet words… without substance.
He realized it.
And Blane saw that.
"Is that how you've always been?" Blane continued, his breathing heavy. "Seeing everyone the same way?"
Cillian didn't answer.
But this time, not because he didn't know what to say.
It was because… he understood.
From the look.
From the voice.
Blane carried something.
Deep.
Just like him.
And that was enough.
Cillian lifted his head.
His gaze changed.
Sharper.
"Then…" his voice suddenly rose, cutting through the air between them, "are you going to keep being like this?"
Blane froze.
"Are you going to keep hiding behind that perfect facade?" Cillian continued. "The Prince of Varkon. No flaws. No criticism. No mistakes."
Each word chosen to hurt.
And it hit.
Blane didn't move.
But his eyes widened slightly.
"One small mistake," Cillian pressed, his voice tightening, "and it haunts you until you end up like this?"
His hand moved.
Fast.
Grabbing Blane by the collar.
"Then stop whining about your past and keep moving forward!"
Blane's body jolted.
Not from the force but from the words.
His eyes trembled.
Tears began to gather.
"You know what…?" his voice came out weak, almost breaking.
His hand rose.
Grabbing Cillian's.
Holding it.
Tightly.
"Would you still live calmly," he continued, his voice cracking now, "after killing your only friend?"
Cillian went still.
His grip weakened.
Slowly.
Blane saw it.
And in that instant, something inside him hardened.
Of course…
This is normal.
Someone who just met me… would react like this.
Even Sarah…
That memory surfaced.
A fearful gaze.
Distance.
She stepped away too.
But-
"Thud!"
A punch struck his stomach.
Hard.
Blane gasped.
His body folded.
His breath vanished.
Cillian stood in front of him.
Unshaken.
"Stop oversimplifying everything," he said coldly.
Blane coughed, struggling.
"This," Cillian continued, pointing at him, "is the result of your own choices."
His hand grabbed Blane's collar again.
Lifting him slightly.
"If he was your only friend," his voice deepened, "then what is Sarah?"
Blane clenched his teeth.
"She's… just a subordinate."
"There's no one else like her?" Cillian cut in immediately.
"…No."
"Then," Cillian's voice dropped, almost like a whisper that pierced through him, "what if the same thing happens to Sarah?"
Silence.
Blane's eyes widened.
His body froze.
Fear, real, rose to the surface.
Cillian saw it.
Then he let go.
Blane collapsed.
"You'll stay trapped there," Cillian continued, his voice now calmer, yet far heavier. "In a guilt that never ends."
He stood upright.
"A good sword," he said slowly, "is one held by a knight on the front lines."
The wind blew.
Sweeping away sweat.
"If you only command like a general," he continued, "you'll stay fixed on one point. One person. One loss."
Blane tried to stand.
His body still weak.
"What… are you even talking about…" he muttered.
Cillian didn't answer immediately.
Instead he extended his hand.
A simple motion.
But this time... heavy.
Blane stared at it.
Silent.
Hesitant.
Cillian spoke.
"If you want to become a general people can rely on," his voice was no longer loud, but carried invisible pressure, "learn to build connections."
He paused.
"With pain."
"With loss."
"With something that will never end."
Their gazes met.
"And during that," Cillian continued, "I'll be the one who watches it."
His tone shifted.
More… honest.
"With full awareness… of death."
Silence.
The wind returned.
Blane looked at him.
Those words,
he didn't understand all of them.
Some sounded like nonsense.
Others… too deep.
he understood one thing.
The person in front of him was not speaking emptily.
He was someone walking with the same wound.
And yet… still moving.
Blane smiled faintly.
His hand moved.
Reaching out.
Grasping it.
"If that's the case…" he said softly, "…then I'll be one of your thousand promises."
Cillian didn't pull away.
Didn't tighten his grip either.
But he didn't let go.
Blane stood.
Wiping his tears with the back of his hand.
"If that's trust from the son of Magnus…" he continued, his tone lighter now, "I can't refuse."
He smiled.
Softer.
"From now on… you're my friend."
He paused.
Then added.
"My first friend in Aurelthia."
Cillian responded with a small smile.
Not wide.
But… enough.
Blane turned away.
From the hilltop, the capital of Aurel stretched below—orderly rooftops, towering spires, and roads that cut through the city like veins of life.
He inhaled.
Deeply.
"Alright," he said, his voice returning to life, "Mr. General… let's continue."
Cillian watched his back.
This feeling…
was strange.
Light.
Yet not entirely comfortable.
Like something that had just begun to grow…
without permission.
The two of them moved.
Their steps turned into a sprint.
Catching up to the others.
The morning wind swept past them, carrying remnants of a conversation that would not fade so easily.
In the distance, the Knight students were already far ahead.
Ketty glanced back, frowning slightly. "Those two aren't here yet…"
Omnia observed longer than the others.
Without a word.
"Keep moving," Elyria said, maintaining pace. "We need to regulate our breathing."
Aider groaned beside them, "Instructor Zhang is… seriously insane."
"I told you to manage your stamina," Elyria replied flatly.
They didn't know.
That behind them, two people who had fallen behind- had just begun something far more important than training.
Not victory.
Not ranking.
But trust.
Not born from ease.
But from… the same wound.