The clatter of wooden staves echoed in the yard. Sweat, dust, and laughter carried on the air. But under the shadow of the hall, one pair of frail hands clenched the edge of a blanket.
The boy—thin, pale, and coughing—watched the others train. His eyes burned with envy, with longing. Slowly, trembling, he slid one foot down to the dirt. Then the other.
"Kairo…" Igron muttered, noticing.
The boy staggered, knees buckling before he even cleared the shade. His small frame collapsed with a hollow thud, breath rasping out of him in pained gasps.
Before anyone could move, Kairo was already there. He dropped to his knees, hands steady as he lifted the child. The boy's skin was cold, his pulse faint.
"Kairo, don't—he's—" Igron started, but stopped. Something was happening.
Kairo's hand rested over the boy's chest. Warmth pulsed—not from the sun, not from the world, but from him. A faint glow, invisible to the others but sharp to Kairo himself, stirred.
The boy's ragged breathing eased. His trembling slowed.
"Kairo…" the boy whispered, eyes fluttering open. Color returned to his cheeks—just a hint, but enough to draw gasps from the other children.
And for the first time in longer than anyone could remember, Kairo's lips curved upward. A small, fleeting smile.