Just hang in there.
No one noticed Arthur.
He stood frozen at the middle of the field, his breathing shallow, his arms limp by his sides. Everything around him faded, the sound of the wind, Somto's worried murmurs, Carl's precise movements. All of it disappeared into silence.
His eyes stayed locked on Nnenna.
That move...
She shouldn't have known it. No one should've known it.
Because only one person had ever learned it before. And it wasn't Nnenna.
A memory surged to the surface like a wave, uninvited but unstoppable.
--------------
Eleven years ago.
At the edge of the southern cliffs.
Arthur was barely fourteen then, all sharp elbows, messy hair, and a mind always racing faster than his mouth could keep up. His shirt was stained from a morning training session, and a wooden sword was slung across his back.
She came running to him that afternoon, barefoot, face streaked with tears, and fists clenched.
Six year old Anastasia.
