A warriors heart.

The days in Targari passed like grains of sand slipping through fingers—slow but unrelenting. Leo was no longer an outsider in the city, yet he still felt like a foreigner in his own skin. The people respected him, some admired him, but he was still a man lost between two worlds—the broken past of Delia and the uncertain future that lay ahead.

But Nayomi—Nayomi was different.

She did not treat him as a guest or an outcast. She treated him as a challenge.

Every evening, after the sun bled into the dunes, she sought him out. Sometimes, she spoke. Other times, she merely observed him as he trained, testing his patience with silent glances that felt like sharp blades pressing against his resolve. But tonight was different.

A Battle Not Just of Blades

The training grounds were empty, save for the two of them. The wind howled through the dunes, and the torches cast flickering shadows over the sand-carved walls. Leo stood ready, a wooden training blade in hand. Across from him, Nayomi stood barefoot, her dark hair braided tightly, her golden eyes glinting with challenge.

"You have been here long enough," she said, rolling her shoulders. "It is time I see if you are truly worthy of the Targari."

Leo said nothing. He only raised his blade in response.

Nayomi smirked. "Good."

She lunged first.

Their weapons clashed, the sound ringing through the training grounds like a song of war. Nayomi was fast—faster than any warrior Leo had faced before. She moved like the desert wind, swift and unpredictable. But Leo was strong. Even without his voice, he had learned to read movements, to anticipate the strike before it came.

She twisted, aiming a quick strike at his ribs. He blocked, barely. The impact sent a sharp tremor up his arms.

"You hesitate," she taunted, circling him. "Are you afraid to strike me?"

Leo's grip tightened. He struck next, forcing her back with a series of heavy blows. Nayomi grinned at the sudden aggression.

"Better," she whispered.

She swept her leg under his, but Leo jumped, twisting his body midair. When he landed, she was already coming at him again, her breath sharp, her heart pounding as fast as his. The tension between them was more than just the fight—it was something else. Something unspoken.

She spun, and in that split second, Leo hesitated—not because he couldn't counter her move, but because of the fire in her eyes. In that moment, she wasn't just a warrior testing his strength. She was a force pulling him toward her, demanding his attention in ways he wasn't prepared for.

Nayomi saw his hesitation and used it. In one fluid motion, she knocked the weapon from his hands and pressed her blade to his throat.

Silence.

The only sound was their heavy breathing, the only light the flickering torches.

She was close. Too close.

Leo could see the sweat glistening on her skin, could feel the heat radiating from her body. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, but her grip was steady.

"Why did you stop?" she asked, voice softer now.

Leo didn't answer. He couldn't.

She studied his face, searching for something—anything. Then, before she could think twice, she did something reckless. She dropped the blade.

The next moment, her fingers were against his jaw, tilting his face up to meet hers.

"You are not like the others," she murmured. "I do not understand you, Leo of Delia. But I want to."

Leo's heart pounded louder than the battle drums of war. He did not pull away. He did not step back.

For the first time since losing his mother, he allowed himself to feel something other than pain.

And Nayomi—Nayomi was willing to make him feel more.