The courtyard was silent after Selaih's spar. The other children watched her with wide eyes, whispering about the strange light that shimmered from her hands, the way her magic had bent the air differently from theirs.
The man stood with his arms crossed, face unreadable. Only his eyes betrayed a hint of awe, though he quickly masked it. He clapped his hands together.
"That's enough for today," he said firmly. "Remember—strength without control is nothing. Go wash up, eat, rest. Tomorrow, we start again."
The children scattered with reluctant grins, still buzzing with the thrill of their matches.
Kairo lingered by the wooden post he had been sparring against, crimson eyes fixed on Selaih. She avoided his gaze, clutching her arm, as if ashamed of what she'd revealed.
The man crouched beside her, resting a steady hand on her shoulder.
"You did well," he said. "Don't fear what you are. Power is a tool—it becomes good or evil depending on the heart that guides it."
Selaih swallowed, nodding faintly.
From the doorway, the mistress watched, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze lingered on the girl, then on Kairo and Igron. A gleam—sharp and calculating—flashed in her eyes before she turned away into the shadows.
Later that night, the children gathered around the table. Their meal was simple: bread, broth, and a few scraps of meat. Yet the man ate the least, pushing portions toward the younger ones without a word. His hands were scarred from work, but he served them with patience, his voice light, teasing, whenever a quarrel broke out.
"You'll see," he said at last, leaning back with a tired smile. "All this training, all this discipline… it's not just to fight. It's so that when the world tests you, you won't bend. You'll have roots. Deep ones. Strong enough to hold each other up."
The firelight flickered in their eyes. Even Kairo, who sat in his usual silence, felt something stir—a faint warmth, like the ember of a forgotten hearth.
That night, as the children drifted into sleep, the mistress stood at her window, staring into the dark. Her mind was elsewhere—already weaving plans, already calculating profits.
The man, meanwhile, walked the halls, stopping at each bed. He adjusted blankets, checked breathing, whispered quiet words no one would hear but him.
"You're safe," he murmured. "You'll all be safe… as long as I'm here."
The stars burned faint above, the black eye still a shadow on the horizon. And so, with roots planted in both care and betrayal, the year quietly began to turn.