The old warehouse sat on the edge of the yard, sagging under rot and neglect. Once it had been storage for lumber, but the work had shifted further out, and now it was a carcass of forgotten use, its walls leaning like an old drunk trying to still look upright.
Inside, shadows flickered. Two figures, weaving closer, pulling apart. A boy and a girl. Alain and Seria. If anyone stumbled in, they would call it a lovers' tryst. But Alain's face told another story. He wasn't flushed with joy, he was dazed, strained, the fatigue of her company weighing heavier than any axe.
Seria's voice pricked at him again. "So, I'm saying... hey, are you even listening?"
"Yeah. Listening." The reply slipped from him like breath, practiced from repetition.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, then softened with a mutter. "Hmm. Whatever."
Alain exhaled inside his skull, as though he had survived a blade brushing his throat.
It had been a month. A month of this theater. Day after day, chat in the warehouse. He had learned the rules well: don't interrupt, don't mock, don't speak at the wrong tempo. Above all, never try to out-talk her. That ended badly.
"Anyway, so I'm saying—"
Alain's thoughts screamed inside. Here we go again. His face remained stone while Seria poured her grievances.
Karen, again. The blonde knight in charge of her training. Too harsh, too sharp, too relentless. Seria puffed her cheeks. "She yelled, 'How do you expect to protect the country with that state of mind?! Do you think you can become a knight like that?!' Isn't that too much?"
"Yeah. Sounds harsh."
Alain studied her while she vented. Angry pout, shoulders tight. She looked like some irate sparrow fighting the wind.
She wasn't finished. "And lately… the gazes, Alain. Everyone glares like they want me gone. Some of the older ones spit little insults when they pass. I don't even know what I did to them."
He knew. He had pieced it together. The green group. Women who had failed during knight training, posted here in uniforms that mocked them with color. Bitter and broken, standing on the sidelines, watching Seria ascend where they had fallen. She was young, alive, talented, beautiful. To them, she was a mirror of everything they were not.
But Alain didn't voice this. He offered a silence instead, lips tugged as if he was holding a bitter fruit in his teeth.
"Maybe it's the transfers," he said at last. "Everyone's restless. Looking sharp-eyed because they want better posts. This camp is poison. All trees and no future."
Seria nodded like she wanted to believe him. Relief fought with her doubt. "Ugh. That must be it. Still, it's killing me. I might collapse before we even leave…"
She sighed deep, a weight spilling from her chest. Alain caught the note underneath. Leaving. Returning.
"You're back in the capital in a month, right?"
"About that," she said, scratching her temple. "The academy starts in two, so yes. Something like a month left here."
Her smile tipped into mischief. "If I'd known things would end this way, maybe I'd have run into you sooner. But then, maybe you'd have been torn apart in the forest instead, wouldn't you?"
Her playful grin masked the mild sting of departure. Alain smiled back thinly, quiet, watching her without blinking.
Is it time to move?
The thought had walked on his heels all month. Caution had been wisdom. Let her chatter, let her relax, let her believe this was easy company. Now, though, time bent like a bowstring ready to snap. The transfers loomed. Every day was a gamble.
So Alain spoke at last.
"Hey, about that…"
Seria's eyes lifted. "Hm? What?"
"I've… something for you." His voice softened, careful, casual. "A gift."
Her head tilted, then her face lit like dawn. "A gift? For me?" She leaned forward, smile wide, greedy with curiosity.
"Think of it as a memento. Of friendship."
"What is it, what is it?"
"You'll find out when I give it. Spoiling it makes it pointless."
"True…" she accepted, but her eyes glittered with expectation, restless with the unsolved mystery.
Alain let the corner of his mouth curl. "Thing is, I don't have it on me. It's at my hut. Safer there. You wouldn't want me carrying it through the yard, would you?"
Her shoulders dropped, disappointed. Her sigh betrayed her. Alain savored it, pressing another step.
"Besides," he added, "even if I had it… it's tricky. Who knows when we'll meet like this again? You can't promise tomorrow if Karen drags you into some punishment drill. And I'm barely keeping up with this place myself. More hours, more work."
Her face twisted in frustration. She hated the truth of it, hated it enough to finally quiet her tongue.
Alain did not let the moment fade. He let the silence hold a weight, then dropped a spark.
"Unless…" He let his voice trail. "Unless you make tonight work."
Her head snapped. "Tonight?"
"Yes. Out of your lodging. At midnight." He spoke like water pouring, smooth, calm. "There's that clearing in the forest. You pass it often."
Her lips formed a small 'oh.' She remembered. The shortcut between barracks and yard. The one the old man had pointed them to, alongside this warehouse.
"I'll bring the gift. Meet me at the clearing. That way, there's no risk of missing it."
He kept his smile relaxed, but his gut coiled. If she refused, if she read through him, the whole fragile bond could shatter here.
Seria blinked once, then again. Then she grinned, as free and thoughtless as a child agreeing to share sweets. "Sure. Sounds good. I'll be there at midnight."
The tension in Alain's spine unraveled. He hid the exhale with a nod. "Good."
"Although..." she asked brightly, "you still won't tell me what it is?"
"Surprises are sweeter when you don't guess."
"Hrrmm. You better not disappoint me."
Alain chuckled at her mock sulk. His laughter was genuine, but not for the reason she thought.
She wanted amusement. She wanted a small token of comfort. She wanted kindness.
What she would receive would not fit any of those words.
And that, Alain thought, would be the surprise.