The sun shone gently over the courtyard of the fortress, casting gold across the white stone and echoing with the rhythmic clash of wood against wood. The training grounds buzzed with youthful voices—new squires drilling formations, clumsily sparring, some wobbling with oversized swords, others nervously adjusting their stances under the watchful eyes of veteran knights.
Commander Arasha Dawnbringer, clad not in her battle-worn armor but her formal officer's coat, sat at her desk with her brow furrowed. Scrolls and sealed letters littered the surface—petty requests from nobles, including one particularly absurd one:
"We require a royal escort to accompany us to the southern coast for leisure—your knights are surely not so overworked as to refuse."
She nearly snapped the quill. "Overworked?" she muttered under her breath. "Are we handing out our swords like ceremonial fans now?"
The door opened without knock. Only one person dared that.
Sir Garran, her second in command, who had supported and protected her since she first got here, stepped in with a scroll in hand. "You'll love this. The new batch of squires has arrived."
Arasha raised an eyebrow, still brooding. "Let me guess. All nobles' children, here for the name rather than the blade."
He shrugged. "Some. But there's one worth skipping the rest for. He's... different. A bit odd. Looks no more than eleven—twelve at best—but the way he handles a sword…"
Arasha blinked.
"He's natural, Commander. And he keeps asking strange things. About Rift formations, celestial blessings, and battle simulations. I'd say he's curious, but it's more like he's testing the world."
Arasha stood, brushing the parchment aside. "Fine. I need a distraction from this idiocy anyway. Let's see what kind of prodigy you're talking about."
****
The moment she stepped onto the field, the atmosphere changed.
Whispers flew between the squires. Trainers stood straighter. The knights nearby saluted.
Arasha's presence commanded the space—tall, elegant, the obsidian braid cascading down her back, her cloak lined with the crest of the Scion Order, eyes calm yet piercing.
And across the field—
Kael froze mid-swing.
His wooden blade had just deflected a strike from a larger boy, parried cleanly, and moved into a fluid counter—only to halt mid-step when he saw her.
There was no awe in his expression, only recognition.
A strange flicker of emotion passed through his gaze—grief, relief, reverence—and something unreadable even to her seasoned eyes.
Arasha tilted her head. "That's him?"
Sir Garran nodded. "Kael. No surname. He wouldn't give one."
Kael turned back to his sparring partner. Without missing a beat, he resumed the duel and disarmed the boy in three moves—efficient, graceful, and oddly… mournful.
As the wooden sword clattered to the ground, Kael lowered his stance and bowed, then walked toward them—toward her.
"Commander!" he called, voice cracking with emotion.
She turned her full attention to him, curious.
Arasha crossed her arms, studying him.
"Yes?"
Kael dropped to one knee, bowing his head.
"I am Kael. A new recruit. And I've come to serve the Scion Order."
She raised an eyebrow. Amused.
"That's a bold introduction."
"I mean every word," he replied, voice steady. "And I swear—I'll never let you fall. No matter what it takes."
Arasha looked at him, puzzled, and then gave him a pat in the head since Kael was way shorter than her.
Sir Garran smothered a grin. "Told you. Kid's got something."
Arasha looked him over—his build, his grip, the subtle calluses on his hands, too developed for someone his age. The quiet discipline in his bearing. But most of all, it was the oldness in his eyes.
That made her pause.
He didn't look like a noble. Didn't act like a child.
And yet…
Why does he feel so familiar?
Arasha studied him for a long moment. Then she spoke, voice low enough only Kael and Sir Garran could hear.
"Well then, Kael… welcome to the Order."
Kael bowed deeply—though for a second, she thought his fingers trembled.
And Arasha, without knowing why, felt her heart stir—as if something momentous had just begun.
****
Months had passed since Kael joined the Order.
And in that time, Arasha had watched the boy rise with a quiet storm—never loud, never boastful, yet somehow always two steps ahead of everyone around him.
At first, it was subtle.
He memorized the rotation schedules of the knights and offered water before they could even ask. He fetched the Leta's preferred herbs before she voiced her need. He preemptively adjusted formations during drills when anomalies appeared on the borders—before the scouts even sent word.
Then came the strategies.
Arasha recalled the moment clearly. It was late evening, the sky bruised with orange and fading crimson as she returned from a minor engagement. Reports piled on her desk, and Sir Garran was muttering curses over the rising activity of unstable rifts along the merchant roads.
Then Kael entered the war room. Still technically a squire, his presence there should have been forbidden—yet none of the knights stopped him.
He carried a roll of parchment and a cold confidence in his steps.
"Commander," Kael said evenly, placing the scroll before her. "I've been studying the pattern of the recent anomalies. I believe I've identified a probable convergence point."
Arasha arched an eyebrow but took the scroll.
She expected gibberish.
Instead, she found an exceptionally detailed report. Maps. Movement data. Even a financial proposition to reroute merchant investments into fortifying the affected zones—backed with calculated risk assessments and a set of merchant guild signatures. Signatures she recognized.
"How did you get these names?" she asked sharply.
Kael simply replied, "I asked."
It was infuriatingly vague. But more than that—it was impressive.
Sir Garran gaped at the scroll. "This… this is better than the plan I've been scraping together for two weeks!"
Arasha leaned back in her chair, studying Kael with sharp, unreadable eyes.
"Where did you learn to think like this?"
Kael tilted his head. "Just observation and logic, Commander."
Another half-truth. She knew it. She felt it.
****
Over the next few weeks, Arasha quietly ordered a background investigation.
Kael Valehart.
He did have a surname, Arasha thought as she skim through the report.
Illegitimate son of Duke Valehart. Born from a foreign maid who died during childbirth. Never formally recognized.
No military education, no renowned tutors. Just a single line marked under "Status" in the records:
Ungifted, Unworthy, Discarded
That was it.
Nothing explained his tactical brilliance. Nothing that justified his vast knowledge on Rift behavior, merchant psychology, or even knight protocol.
Yet here he was, casually anticipating the head cook's inventory shortages three days early, helping optimize the armory's logistics during a supply drought, and recommending field formations that later proved more efficient than the current command manual.
It made no sense.
Arasha stared at the sealed reports one evening, alone in her chambers, the fire crackling low. Her fingers drummed the table. Her instincts as a commander, as a leader—screamed that Kael was not normal.
But he wasn't malicious. He wasn't aiming to hurt.
If anything, he was desperately trying to help.
Why, then, hide who you truly are?
She set the report aside and whispered aloud:
"Just what are you really, Kael?"
****
That night, she stepped into the courtyard, restless. The moon hung full above the darkened stone halls. She wandered, cloak pulled tight over her shoulders—and paused.
Kael stood in the center of the field alone, sword in hand.
He was practicing—slow, deliberate movements. Not just for strength or speed, but precision. The kind of training only those burdened by memory or purpose endured.
She watched silently from the shadows.
His final strike cut through the air with a sharp, haunted grace, and when he turned, he noticed her.
But this time—he didn't pretend.
His voice was quieter than usual.
"You're not sleeping, Commander."
"Neither are you."
A pause. Then Kael offered a half-smile. Tired. Sad.
"It's hard to sleep when the past and future scream at the same time."
Arasha's gaze sharpened.
"You speak in riddles."
Kael looked away, into the sky. "Sometimes riddles are safer than truths."
She stepped forward, her tone neither accusing nor soft.
"I've read your record. There's nothing in there to explain you. Not your talent. Not your mind. Not the way you move like someone who's already lived this war once before."
Kael's knuckles whitened around his sword.
For a moment, Arasha thought he might lie again.
But then—his shoulders slumped, and he whispered, just loud enough to carry across the silence:
"I made a promise to protect you, Commander Arasha."
That stopped her.
"What?"
Protect me? The Commander of The Scion Order? The one who bears a great divine blessing of Luxfire? Why should a eleven year old protect me? It should be the other way around!
Those thoughts were almost blurted but Arasha—under years of discipline was able to keep her mouth shut.
Kael looked at her, and though his eyes were young, they carried the sorrow of a thousand regrets.
"Even if I have to do it all over again… even if I'm a nobody… I'll protect you until the end."
The moonlight gleamed softly across the courtyard as the silence stretched between them, Arasha's eyes fixed on Kael. His confession lingered in the air like the echo of a fading bell.
"Even if I have to do it all over again… even if I'm a nobody… I'll protect you until the end."
She stepped closer, drawn by something in his voice—not bravado, not desperation, but resolution. A deep, painful kind of will that felt far too heavy for someone so young to carry alone.
Arasha looked into his eyes. That fire—brilliant and raw—was not of a child who had grown up dreaming of knighthood. It was the fire of someone who had known loss. Again and again. And still kept moving.
"Kael," she said gently, voice softer than any command she'd ever given, "You shouldn't have to protect me. You're young. You're gifted, yes—but I see it. That fire in your eyes… it burns too fiercely."
She reached out, not touching him, but her presence like a shield.
"It's my duty to protect you. That spark of yours? I'll guard it. I'll make sure it doesn't burn out."
For a moment, Kael stood completely still.
Then he turned away, a sharp jerk of his head, one arm rising to hide his face as his shoulders began to shake.
Arasha blinked. "Kael?"
No answer.
She took a step toward him, alarm blooming in her chest as muffled sobs escaped.
"Kael—wait—did I say something wrong?"
But he didn't answer. The sobs only deepened, pulled from a place far beneath skin and breath. A child's weeping—but not a child's pain. A soul mourning something long lost, found again, and still slipping away.
Panicked, guilt twisting in her stomach, Arasha did the only thing she could think of—she closed the distance and pulled him into a hug.
Kael tensed at first.
And then—
He collapsed into her, arms clinging around her waist, head buried into her shoulder, crying harder now, letting everything out.
His grief.
His relief.
The fear that had built, silent and thick, since the moment he'd returned to the past and first laid eyes on her again.
Arasha held him awkwardly at first, completely out of her depth. She wasn't used to this.
Was she comforting him or making it worse?
Her mind raced for some kind of protocol, some rule, some answer—
Until the sharp voice of the head medic, Leta, rang out behind her.
"Commander! Just what did you say to the boy?!"
Arasha jumped slightly, spinning around halfway while still awkwardly supporting Kael.
"I—I don't know! I think I upset him! I was just trying to be—" she looked down at the still-crying Kael and added quietly, "—gentle?"
Leta marched forward, robes rustling like storm clouds. She crouched down beside Kael, her tone softening instantly as she brushed a hand over his hair.
"Oh, sweet boy… it's alright. You're safe now."
She shot Arasha a sideways glare.
"You might be able to handle battlefield diplomacy, Commander, but you've got the subtlety of a hammer when it comes to emotions."
Arasha's brows furrowed in protest. "That's not fair—I was trying—"
"Trying is not the same as knowing how to handle a grieving child!"
"Grieving?" Arasha blinked. "But why—?"
But Kael had already begun to calm under Leta's gentle care. She helped him up, arms wrapped around his trembling shoulders, her voice a soothing lull of comfort as she led him away.
Just before they turned the corner, Kael glanced back once, his eyes red, lips trembling—but he managed a small nod. Not at her authority, not as a soldier, not even as a subordinate.
Just as Kael.
And Arasha stood alone in the courtyard again, the moon now half-covered by a drifting cloud. Her arms still tingled where she'd held him, and her heart clenched in a way she didn't quite understand.
Why do you cry like someone who's lost me before?
She'd have to find that answer. And she would.
But for now… she'd let Kael rest.