Chapter 7: A Knight’s Shadow

Time passed slowly in Camp Alvus, a place where the days blurred together, not measured by clocks but by the relentless cadence of drills, the rhythm of coordinated marches, and the crackle of magic reverberating in the training fields. For Zeppelin, the days bled into one another like ink swirling in water, quiet, unfamiliar, and tinged with a palpable sense of tension that lingered in the air, as thick as fog.

She wasn't a knight, nor was she even a trainee in the strictest sense. Zeppelin felt like an intruder, a stranger looming at the edges of their world, sleeping only fitfully in the shadowy corners of their communal tents. Yet, despite her isolation, she wasn't entirely alone.

"Morning, Miss Mystery!" chirped a young trainee, his cheeks dotted with freckles and his wind-coated boots caked with mud from the morning dew. "Here, have my spare cloak! You look like you're freezing!"

Another boy, shy yet kind-hearted, handed her half a steamed bun at breakfast, the delicate aroma of savory filling wafting around them. His voice was soft, almost a mumble, as he offered it, "It's too much bread for me anyway."

A pair of older trainees, both girls, one with a fiery braid and the other with close-cropped hair, gestured for her to sit by their fire in the evenings, sharing quiet smiles as they roasted their rations. Though their conversations were sparse, the invitation itself was a thread of connection, an effort that surprised her more than she cared to admit.

It surprised her.

Despite her unclear past, a jigsaw of memories and emotions that felt fragmented, many of the apprentices made a point to include her in their routines. They often remarked that knights had a sacred duty to protect, especially civilians who had faced trauma as she had. If she was going to linger in their midst, they might as well get to know her.

But not everyone shared that spirit.

"She doesn't train. She doesn't fight. Why is she even here?" one sneered behind her back, his tone dripping with disdain, confident that she was out of earshot.

"She showed up with Estavia. That's more than enough reason not to trust her," another conspirator whispered, casting a wary glance in her direction.

Zeppelin heard it all, the whispered doubts and the sharp edges of their judgments, but she remained silent, just as she always did.

Instead, she watched them train from a distance, standing at the fringes of the field. Fire swirled in intricate patterns from their twin daggers, and ice magic snaked intricately around the tips of expertly drawn arrows. Swords crackled with latent energy, while shields gleamed, reinforced by wind or shimmering light. Each knight-in-training had crafted a personal signature, a unique spell or technique that defined them.

They were warriors in the making, full of purpose and skill, while Zeppelin could only observe, her hands clenched in her lap, feeling the weight of her emptiness.

No sword.

No spells.

Just a flicker of something dangerous inside her… something she didn't understand.

Saya Estavia Gisla, that's her name, the knight who rescued her, was a constant, quiet presence.

Each morning, she arrived at the training grounds, shield in hand, her silver ponytail tied neatly and her presence radiating a quiet strength. Her light-based magic was a thing of beauty, sharp and refined, defensive yet precise. Yet her expression never shifted. Cool, focused, entirely unreadable.

She spoke only when needed.

Yet Zeppelin often felt her gaze from across the field, distant, watchful. It was as if Saya was both studying her and standing as a sentinel, guarding her at once.

This duality twisted something in Zeppelin's heart.

Gratitude? Anxiety?

Both, probably.

One evening, as the fire crackled and the chill wind swept through the camp, Zeppelin sat near the edge of the training grounds, her gaze lost in the gleam of her reflection on the blade of a dulled training sword. The memories of her past flickered like shadows beneath the surface.

"You planning to spar with yourself?" a familiar voice teased.

Keil, the flash-step apprentice known for his quick movements, dropped down beside her with a crooked grin that could almost banish the dark thoughts swirling in her mind.

"I… don't know how to use this," she murmured.

"Then learn. We all started somewhere." he replied, nudging her shoulder playfully. "You don't need to be one of us to train with us."

She hesitated, the insecurities creeping back in. "Won't I slow everyone down?"

Keil shrugged. "Some of us blow ourselves up twice a week. You're fine." His nonchalance was unsettling and reassuring all at once.

He wasn't the only one.

Over the following days, an unexpected sense of community blossomed. More apprentices began approaching her with casual warmth, striking up conversations, inviting her to watch their practice, offering tips, and even playfully challenging her to try her hand at training. Not every interaction was kind, a few remained cold and suspicious, their eyes narrowing when they glimpsed her lingering presence.

But the others?

They treated her as though she was… maybe not a knight in their ranks, but at least a part of their loosely woven group.

And slowly, she began to feel it too, an encroaching warmth in her heart, a sense of belonging she had thought lost.

One afternoon, as golden sunlight slanted gracefully over the camp, casting long shadows on the ground, she found herself gripping a practice blade once more.

"Your wrists are still too soft," a voice said behind her.

Saya.

Zeppelin turned, caught off guard by the unexpected presence.

Saya stepped closer, calm and silent, adjusting Zeppelin's grip with ghostly precision. Her hands felt cold against Zeppelin's warmer skin, but her touch was steady and controlled, imbued with an assurance that was disarming.

"You're not used to using your weight. Learn your center."

Zeppelin nodded. "Thank you."

There was a flicker of something in Saya's gaze, a moment of understanding, then added, "If you're going to stay here, it's best to stand."

Then she walked away.

No praise.

No smile.

But in that simple exchange, Zeppelin felt something bloom in her chest.

Hope.

Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to belong.