Of Great Expectations

The morning air was cold, the sort that stung your skin but never enough to settle too far inside. A clang of steel on steel echoed across the courtyard, recruits rotating through sparring matches, movements sharp, voices laced with muted desperation. The fortress was awake, alive with motion — knights sharpening blades, squires lugging barrels of water, the smell of damp earth mingling with the smoke that spiraled up from distant torches.

I adjusted the weight of the new cloak slung over my shoulders. The fabric was heavier than what I was used to, the seams reinforced, leather straps wrapping around my chest and pulling it against me. It still felt foreign. Like something I hadn't yet earned.

But I would.

The ache in my muscles had transitioned from mere fatigue. It was proof.

Across the yard, Asura rested against a wooden post, arms folded across his chest, weight shifted slightly to one side, as he watched the sparring matches with calculated attention. She wasn't like the other recruits: She didn't just watch; she studied, eyes working along every wrong step, every blunted motion. She'd already fought each of them a hundred times in her head.

Her gaze flicked toward me. It was fast, almost no time at all, half a second of taking in the new gear, the way I stood now.

She said nothing.

But I caught it.

I pulled up next to her, arms hanging at my sides. We watched the matches unfold in silence for a moment.

Then—"You're staring."

She smirked, just slightly. "You're imagining things."

I exhaled, shaking my head. "You looked."

A shrug. "New cloak. New armor. Same idiot underneath."

I scoffed. "One of these days I'm gonna shock you."

She cocked her head, a glimmer of amusement crossing her face. "That so?"

I rolled my shoulders and flexed my fingers. "Want to find out?"

Her smirk sharpened.

"You'd last ten seconds, no, you wouldn't make it. A Fight Without Holding Back

The others gave us space. They knew not to get between me and Asura when we fought.

We weren't typical of the rest of them.

They battled for approval, to ascend the ranks, to impress the instructors who barely recalled their names.

We fought because that was all we knew how to speak.

She stood facing me, loose and casual, her fingers lightly resting on the hilt of her dagger. Not drawn. Not yet. She didn't need it.

I set my feet, breathing slowly. No wasted movements. No hesitation.

She tilted her head. "Whenever you're ready."

I lunged.

Quick, calculated, blade swinging low.

The steel never even touched her; she was moving before it could. A flash of movement, a turn of her body — she was not ducking, she was moving. I hardly had time to react before her foot crashed into my ribs.

Pain ignited, but I flowed with the force instead of resisting it, twisting as I dropped, blade slicing the air.

She blocked.

There was a clang of metal against metal.

This meant for the first time she had to parry.

She exhaled a soft, gentle breath.

"Huh."

I laughed, flipping back onto my feet. "That was like at least fifteen seconds."

She smirked. "Felt like five."

The Shift in the Air

The battle didn't continue for long. And she won—of course she won. But I'd had her earn it. And that meant something.

As I regained my breath, mopping the sweat from my forehead, she squatted down beside me, her elbow on her knee.

She eyed me for a second, then — "You're getting better."

It wasn't encouragement. It wasn't flattery. It was just a fact.

I met her gaze. "Not good enough yet."

A shrug. "Good enough to stop being predictable."

I exhaled a quiet laugh. "I'll take that."

She tilted her head slightly. "Still weaker, though."

I groaned, pushing her shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, I got it."

She smirked. "Just making sure."

"But the moment settled, quiet and full.

Then—something shifted.

A murmur swept across the courtyard, a wave of discomfort.

I trailed the others' gazes to the fortress gates, where a small group of knights had huddled together, voices low, faces tight.

Asura's expression sharpened. She felt it too.

Something was wrong.

I wrestled myself upright, looking over at her.

She didn't say anything.

She didn't need to.

We both changed at the same time.

The Return of the Unseen

The knights weren't talking loudly, but we overheard enough.

Another disappearance.

Not a recruit. Not a noble.

A knight.

Gone without a trace.

No signs of struggle. Nobody.

Just gone.

Then—a name.

A name that stopped my breath in my throat.

Ser Aldric.

The very same knight who had issued the quest to the ruins. The one who had cautioned us about chasing ghosts. The one who had warned us not to look too closely.

Gone.

I gulped, pulse-pounding against my ribs. I glanced at Asura.

She had already been looking at me.

We didn't say anything.

We didn't have to.

Because we both knew.

This wasn't just another case of someone going missing.

This was a message.

And it wasn't intended for the knights.

It was meant for us.

The poise one assumes to rattle off a hundred orders without batting an eye, the stoush was growing in the courtyard, a loud whisper, rippling out, passed knight to recruit, recruit to the next man panting in his eye, mouth hissing the words of it. The name hung thick in the air.

Ser Aldric was gone.

I swallowed audibly, and my fingers flexed instinctively at my sides. Gone. A word that felt too light, too simple for what had truly occurred. I'd seen and heard enough to know the truth. He hadn't disappeared. He had been taken.

I pivoted, my feet moving already towards the knot of knights, but Asura's hand snared my wrist.

Her hand was firm, not tight, but it caught me in my tracks.

I glanced at her. Her expression was inscrutable — but I knew her well enough to read the calculation going on behind her eyes. She was not merely observing the knights. She was reading them.

"Reflect before you act," she said, her voice low.

I let out a sharp breath but didn't step forward. Not yet.

The knights clustered together in a tight pack by the gate, their words low, but I caught snippets of the conversation.

"No tracks…"

"…His quarters were undisturbed. No sign of forced entry."

"…No one saw anything?"

A pause.

Then a softer voicer, strained. "…Just like the others."

That was all I needed to know.

I stepped forward. "Just like the others, what do you mean?" "

The knights turned to me, their expressions changing: some surprised, some uninterested, but most with the same quiet wariness.

I was not meant to be a part of this conversation. A recruit didn't dare question a knight.

But I wasn't just any recruit. It was Ser Aldric who'd ordered me on that mission. And now he was gone.

One of them, a knight in the middle of the group, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, spoke first.

"This doesn't concern you."

I held his gaze. "It does if the disappearances don't stop."

His jaw tightened.

A murmur went out among the others, wavering, unsteady.

A second knight approached, older, and lower. "Aldric wasn't the first. And he won't be the last."

I swallowed and waited for him to go on.

He didn't.

I took another step closer. "Who else?"

No answer.

The first knight — the one that had said this wasn't my business — let out a sharp exhale.

"That's enough. Keep your head down, recruit,"

I clenched my fists. "Aldric disappearing didn't have anything to do with keeping my head down."

His eyes darkened. "Watch yourself."

A challenge. A warning. Such a dismissal, all in one."

But I was not going to give in.

Asura interposed herself between me and him before I could say anything.

Then tell me," she said, her voice flat, calm, steady. "What do you think will make it stop?"

A flicker of hesitation.

Because she had said what, not who.

She wasn't inquiring whether there was a person behind this. She wondered whether they even thought it was human.

Silence stretched between us.

Then the older knight who had spoken before sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

"There's nothing to stop," he mumbled. "Because there's no leftover there. Just… nothing."

The words were a cold wind in my spine.

Nothing. No signs. No struggle. No trace.

Like it had never happened.

As if Aldric had never been.

I looked at Asura, but I already knew what she was going to say.

This was no longer simply about disappearances.

This was about erasure.

The Ones We Refuse to Forget

We walked out of the courtyard without saying anything else.

I could sense the weight of the knights' stares on my back, but no one called after us. No one tried to stop us.

That, above all, disturbed me.

Asura moved forward with a purpose, hands relaxed at her sides. She wasn't merely moving — she was thinking. Calculating.

I caught up to her. "That wasn't just a warning."

Her eyes flicked toward me. "No. It wasn't."

I swallowed. "They're scared."

She nodded.

That should have been comforting to me. That we were not the only ones who knew what was going on.

But it didn't.

Because if even the knights were scared, this ran deeper than we knew.

I exhaled sharply. "This one doesn't feel like the other disappearances."

Asura slowed a touch, cocking her head. "Why?"

I hesitated. Then—"Because Aldric knew something."

She stopped walking.

The pause was slight, almost a flicker of hesitation, but I noticed.

Because Asura had never been indecisive.

She turned to face me fully.

"And then we've got to know what that was."

A Trail Left Behind

We had one place to start.

Aldric's quarters.

The fortress was large, but his quarters were not far. But the ranked knights were granted rooms along the inner walls — isolated, quiet, private. Too private.

By the time we got to the entrance, the hallway was clear. The door was shut, but not locked.

Asura glanced at me.

"If they catch us, this never happened."

I exhaled. "We won't get caught."

A small smirk. "Good answer."

She pushed the door open.

The room was dark. There are no torches or candles burning. Must the smells of aged parchment and steel hung heavy in the air.

And the first thing I noticed —

Nothing had been touched.

His bed was still made. His desk remains strewn with unfinished letters, ink left uncapped next to them. His weapons leaned against the far wall, neatly lined up.

It was as if he had just walked out.

Like he was supposed to return.

My chest tightened.

That was the difference.

Most disappearances felt like a disappearing — like something taken away. This seemed like something that was waiting.

It was Asura who spoke first, who traced her fingers along the edges of the desk.

Then, she stopped.

I stepped closer. "What?"

She pointed.

A letter.

Unfinished.

One line, scrawled in Aldric's precise, methodical hand.

They're already here.

The ink was smudged. Like he had been interrupted.

Like he had known.

A shiver crawled up my spine.

We shouldn't have seen this.

For a long moment, Asura stared at the words. Then she ripped the page out of the book, folded it neatly, and tucked it into her cloak.

I swallowed. "We should go."

She didn't argue.

We faced away from the door.

And that was when we heard it."

A soft, slow creak.

Not from the hallway.

From inside the room.

We froze.

The shadows in the corner were heavy, pressing, the air leaning on your lungs, making you doubt even if you had heard anything.

Then—a whisper.

Not words. Not a voice.

Just a figure not supposed to exist in this world.

Watching.

Asura acted first, her dagger slipping into her hand.

But before either of us had a chance to react — the weight lifted.

The air cleared. The shadows stilled.

And whatever had been in the room was lost.

A long silence.

Then Asura exhaled, rolling her shoulders as if to shake off an invisible hand. "Let's get out of here."

I didn't argue.

I didn't look back.

And neither did she.