Morning in the Villa Garden
The morning sun was nothing like the smoke-stained skies of Holberg. Light spilled across the villa's garden, glimmering on beads of dew that clung to the tips of the grass like sparks waiting to ignite. A cool breeze stirred the branches above, bearing witness to the training about to begin.
At the center of the garden stood Arthur. Barefoot, his stance was rooted in the earth itself. Midnight-black hair brushed his shoulders, swaying in the breeze, while those ice-blue eyes cut straight through me. This time, there was no mask—only a face hardened, solemn, and unyielding, like a judge weighing every word.
"Ren." His voice carried the echo of last night's vow. "We begin today. Your first lesson is simple: not to feel the steel, but to impose your will."
I swallowed hard, tightening my grip on my sword. The garden was empty but for us; Mother and Father were at the guild, Nola still asleep. I had no choice but to devote everything to him.
"Understood… brother."
Arthur bent to pick up a slender twig from the ground. It was nothing more than a brittle branch, yet the way he lifted it made the steel in my hand feel inadequate.
"Try to strike me," he commanded.
I frowned. "But you—"
He cut me off. "Rule one: never fixate on what your opponent holds. Fixate on who your opponent is. Even with a twig, he can kill you. Now, strike."
I drew in a breath and lunged. My blade cut through the air—but Arthur slipped aside without moving the twig. His foot pressed into the earth, and my balance faltered.
—Clink!
The tip of the twig tapped my blade. Such a simple motion, yet the vibration that rang up my wrist was as heavy as a hammer's blow.
"You're too noisy," Arthur said flatly. "Until you silence your mind, the steel will never obey you."
Gritting my teeth, I attacked again—quieter steps, steadier breath. But again, the twig barred my path.
"Rule two." His eyes flashed like lightning. "Test your opponent's patience. The moment you grow impatient, you've already lost."
Sweat trickled down my face. "So… I should just wait?"
"Not waiting." His voice rang like wind through iron. "Endure. The opening isn't created—it reveals itself when your will does not waver."
Silence blanketed the garden. Even the birds seemed to hold their breath. I forced myself to calm my racing pulse, to focus only on him.
Arthur's lips curved in the faintest of smirks. "Good. Your strength is not in your rings, but in your mind. Anchor them not to steel, but to will. Only then will you become a true Dover."
I steadied my stance, resolved not to rush. But before I could move, Arthur was upon me. The twig pressed to my throat.
"Rule three." His voice was cold enough to freeze the air. "Never underestimate your elder brother."
My breath caught. Then he lowered the twig, turned, and walked away.
"That's enough for today. Tomorrow will be harsher. Be ready, Ren."
I watched his retreating back, heart hammering. He had crushed me with ease—but also gifted me an entirely new perspective.
Quietly, I whispered to myself:
"Alright, brother… I won't let you down."
Day Two in the Garden
The first light of dawn painted the garden in shades of gray. Dew shimmered on the grass, the morning breeze cool against my face. Before me stood Arthur, hands clasped behind his back, those blue eyes dissecting me.
"Raise your hand."
I lifted my sword.
"No, not like that." He stepped close, his fingers brushing my wrist. "Looser. Strength isn't in a clenched grip, but in the right angle."
I adjusted as he instructed. Suddenly, my shoulders eased, the weight of the blade lifting.
"That's it," he said. "Don't let your mind scatter. Yesterday you won in the arena because you broke Alex's will. Remember—power lies more in the mind than the blade."
We drilled for hours: balance, breathing, footwork. Again and again I fell into the dirt. Again and again I rose. When my knees trembled and breath burned my chest, Arthur finally raised his hand.
"Enough. That will do for today."
I collapsed onto the grass, panting. Gazing up at the sky, my heart still beat with excitement.
"Arthur…" I murmured, bracing my sword across my knees.
"What is it?"
I hesitated, recalling Father's office, the weight of his words. Gathering my courage, I spoke:
"Father asked me to found a branch—to form a mercenary group. And… I agreed."
Arthur's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed faintly.
"Go on."
"I've called it Caïssa. For now it's just me, but Smallsnake will join. I plan to gather more. My aim is to build an elite force… to carve my own path."
The words hung heavy in the air. My pulse quickened. At last, I dared to ask:
"Will you join me? If you stood at my side… no one could stop us."
Arthur was silent for a long while. The wind teased his hair, his gaze cutting into me. Finally, he shook his head.
"No."
A hollow ache spread in my chest. "Why?"
Arthur walked toward the iron fence at the garden's edge. The shadow of the bars fell across his face, and his voice grew heavier.
"My path is different, Ren. To protect the family, I must remain in shadow. The Union must not turn its eyes toward me. If I joined your group, Caïssa's rise would drag my name with it. And that would paint a target on you."
I lowered my head, lips trembling. "So I'll be alone?"
"No." He turned his gaze back on me, those blue eyes cutting straight through. "You simply won't walk the same road as me. But know this—whenever you fall, I'll be there. Because a Dover never fights alone."
His words landed like a heavy stone—crushing, but steady, grounding. I nodded slowly.
"I understand… brother."
This time, a faint smile crossed his lips.
"Good. Now go rest. Tomorrow will be harsher still."
As I sat in the grass, catching my breath, a decision hardened within me.
Even if Arthur did not walk beside me, Caïssa would rise. And one day… even he would be proud.