Shadows and suspicions

The training grounds were still buzzing with energy even as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the dirt-covered field. Most of the recruits had begun winding down, tending to their bruises and aching limbs, but Eli—Elara—remained where she was, her grip on the wooden sword tightening.

She wasn't satisfied.

Her sparring match against another recruit had been sloppy. Sloppy meant weak. Weak meant she wouldn't last here.

She drew in a deep breath, lifting the practice sword again, her muscles burning with exhaustion. But just as she was about to strike at an invisible opponent, a voice cut through the quiet air.

"You should stop before you collapse."

Elara turned sharply. Damien stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his sharp gaze assessing her in that unreadable way of his.

"I'm fine," she muttered, wiping sweat from her brow.

"You're reckless," he said simply.

The comment stung, but she bit back a sharp retort. She had learned not to waste words when speaking to Damien. He wasn't one to be swayed by defiance or excuses.

Instead of pressing further, he turned away. "You'll be of no use if you push yourself past your limit."

That was the closest thing to concern she had ever heard from him. She blinked, watching him disappear into the barracks.

Elsewhere, under the flickering torchlight in the strategy room, Damien stood with Valen and Keshav.

Keshav was as still as ever, his dark eyes surveying the map laid out before them. His presence was quiet, yet it commanded attention.

"Reports from the northern borders," Valen muttered, running a gloved hand through his hair. "There's movement—could be bandits, could be something worse."

Damien nodded. "We'll prepare for an inspection. I'll speak to the commander in the morning."

Keshav, silent as ever, finally spoke. "It's not bandits."

Both men turned to him.

Keshav's gaze was locked on the map. "It's too coordinated. Bandits scatter when threatened. This is different."

Valen sighed. "You always see things before the rest of us do."

Keshav didn't answer. He simply shifted his weight slightly, gaze still on the map. Damien watched him closely, remembering once again why Keshav had always been different from the rest.

Damien had saved him once—years ago, when Keshav had been nothing but a boy staring death in the face. Now, Keshav served him without question, his loyalty unwavering.

And if Keshav said this wasn't bandits… then Damien believed him.

"We'll be ready," Damien said at last.

Outside the training grounds, Lilian sat on a wooden fence, kicking her legs absently.

Elara's childhood friend had integrated herself into the outskirts of the barracks faster than anyone expected. She had made it her mission to learn the names of the knights and recruits—whether they wanted her to or not.

But there was one person she didn't care to befriend.

Keshav.

The man irritated her. It wasn't just that he barely spoke. It was that when he did speak, it was always something curt, dismissive—something that made her feel like an insignificant pest in his presence.

And she hated that.

When she caught him walking past her spot on the fence, she couldn't stop herself from calling out. "Oi, Silent Knight!"

Keshav stopped.

He turned his head slightly, his dark gaze settling on her in a way that made her fingers twitch.

"Yeah, you," she huffed. "Why do you always act like you're better than everyone else? You never talk, you just stand around looking like you know things no one else does."

Keshav didn't blink. "Maybe I do."

Lilian scowled. "Oh, you're insufferable."

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. Then, as if he had already dismissed the conversation entirely, he simply walked away.

Lilian clenched her fists, resisting the urge to throw something at his retreating figure.

She didn't know what it was about him, but something about Keshav infuriated her.

And what made it worse?

She was starting to think he knew it.