The infirmary door creaked open.
Morning light slipped through a high window, lighting the small, tidy room.
Smooth stone walls held shelves of glass jars, herbs inside giving off a sharp, earthy smell mixed with blood.
A cot with a clean wool blanket creaked under Ash.
Ash lay bruised, ribs burning with each breath.
His gray tunic was torn, stained with sweat and blood, sticking to his lean, muscled frame.
His dark pants were ripped at one knee, muddy boots tossed by the cot, socks worn thin.
A cut bled into his dark hair, face swollen. Blackthorn's cold stare echoed. The shame hurt worse than his wounds.
Princess Elis stepped in, holding a bowl of water and a cloth.
Her blue dress frayed at the hem, sleeves rolled up, a leather belt tight around her waist. Her auburn braid hung loose, catching the lantern's glow. Her green eyes showed worry, her face was calm.
She sat on a stool by his cot, silent, soaking the cloth with a soft splash. She wiped blood from his temple.
"Blackthorn went too far," she said quietly, her voice steady but soft, like she meant it.
Ash winced, shaking his head. "No, he didn't. It's driving me to get stronger. To be better."
Elis paused, her eyes searching his, curious. "Stronger how? What's it doing to you?"
"It's… pushing me," Ash said, his voice rough, like he was figuring it out. "Like I got to prove I'm not nothing, I have to do this. I can't stay who I was."
Her eyes softened, a small nod showing she understood. "Sounds like it worked, then. The pain's gonna fade,but what you learned won't."
They went quiet, the cloth's gentle touch calming, steady.
Ash shifted, his voice low, almost shy. "Hey, can I ask you something?"
"Sure," she said, her tone warm, like she was ready to listen.
"You're a princess. You could have anybody cleaning me up. Why're you doing this? Why're you so… nice to me?"
Elis kept her eyes on the cloth, hands steady, but a small smile tugged at her lips, a bit self-conscious.
"It's not some big plan, you know. It's just how I am. Kinda annoying sometimes." She gave a soft laugh, then her voice dropped.
"My mom was the same way. She always said kindness makes a leader strong, not weak. She spent her life trying to bring kingdoms together, building bridges where people saw walls." Her words slowed, pain creeping in. "She was so close to this huge peace deal… when she died. Everything she worked for just… fell apart."
Ash's chest tightened. "I'm sorry, Elis. Your mom sounds like she was incredible."
"She was," Elis said, looking up, her green eyes raw, open.
"One day I'm going to be queen, a crown that feel will feel heavy, and this heart she told me to keep soft." She let out a tired breath.
"Sometimes I hate it, you know? Being this nice. In a world full of sharp edges, it feels like a mistake."
Ash saw the weight she carried, not just a crown but a whole dream.
"It's not a mistake," he said, his voice firm, surprising himself. "It's what makes you strong. People don't follow you just 'cause you're a princess. They follow you 'cause of who you are. That kindness? Probably rare here. It's the best thing about you. You've looked out for me since day one, I know you sent blackthorn to me, and if you hadn't, I don't know what would have become of me."
Elis froze, her hand still, his words hitting deep.
A faint blush crept up her neck, her calm slipping, showing the young woman underneath, touched and caught off guard.
She looked down, a shy smile breaking through as she gathered the bowl and cloth.
She stood, her movements soft, a little unsteady.
"Thanks, Ash," she whispered, her voice barely there, not meeting his eyes. "Rest up. You're gonna need your strength."
She slipped out, the door closing with a gentle click, leaving the room warmer, lighter.
Ash lay there, their connection lingering, feeling like he'd been the strong one for once.
That evening, under the twin moons, Ash stood in the training yard, ribs aching but ignored.
His tunic was damp with sweat, boots sinking into the dirt circle.
He held his hands out, fingers spread, chasing the spark.
He strained, face tight.
Nothing.
Just the cold night air.
"You're trying to push it out of your pores. Like sweat."
The voice, low and gravelly, came from the shadows near the longhouse.
Captain Blackthorn stepped into the moonlight, his dark green cloak with a faded clover swaying, scarred leather bracers dull, katana's hilt gleaming at his belt.
His arms were crossed, leaning against a post. He'd been watching.
Ash dropped his hands, frustrated. "How else am I supposed to do it?"
"You're not doing it," Blackthorn said, stepping closer.
"You're allowing it. You're a channel, not a pump. Your body's fighting you because you're treating this like a muscle. It's not. It's the opposite."
He stopped a few feet away. "It's breath."
Ash stared, confused.
"Your body's tense. Your mind's screaming. You're holding your breath without realizing it. You're trying to force a river through a closed gate."
Blackthorn put a hand on his stomach.
"The core of your essence ain't in your fists. It's in your gut. Your center. Breathe into it. Deep. Slow. Not to fuel your body, but to empty your mind. The moment you stop trying to grasp it… that's when it'll come."
It was the most Blackthorn had ever said about it. Ash nodded, swallowing his pride.
He closed his eyes.
He breathed. In. Out. Deep, ignoring his sore ribs.
He let thoughts of failure, Noah and Kelvin's faces, the pressure, drift away with each breath. He wasn't Ash, the lost boy. He was a vessel.
He raised his hands, not with force, but with calm intent.
Remember the boar. Not the fear. The feeling. The rightness.
In. Out.
A warmth flickered in his core, a faint ember. He didn't grab it. He breathed, letting it grow.
A wisp of white light—no brighter than a candle flame—danced across his fingertips. It was weak, unstable, and beautiful.
His eyes snapped open. He saw it. A jolt of excitement shot through him. "I did it—"
The light sputtered and vanished, snuffed out like a match in the wind.
Silence returned to the yard.
Blackthorn gave a single, grunting nod.
"Good. The path is forward. Not up." He turned and walked back into the shadows, leaving Ash alone.
Ash didn't feel disappointment. He looked at his hands, a slow, fierce smile spreading across his face in the moonlight.
He had felt it. However briefly, he had held it.
He fell to his knees, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of progress.
He sat back on his heels, breathing heavily, and laughed a quiet, breathless laugh to the empty sky.
It was real. It was possible.
He lived in that feeling. The first spark had been lit.
Days passed, and Ash trained harder, the memory of the spark driving him.
In the yard, he sparred with Sven, dodging the veteran's axe, his movements sharper despite his sore ribs.
His tunic clung to him, sweat-soaked, boots kicking up dust. He tried for the spark each night, alone under the moons, but it stayed weak, flickering out too fast.
Blackthorn's words—It's breath—echoed, but failure gnawed at him, making every miss hurt more.
One afternoon, Elis found him sitting alone by the longhouse, staring at his hands, frustration etched on his face.
Her dress rustled as she sat beside him, her presence calm, steady. "Still chasing that spark?" she asked, her voice light but kind.
Ash sighed, rubbing his neck. "Yeah. It's there, but… it slips away. Feels like I'm so close, then nothing."
She tilted her head, her braid falling over her shoulder. "You're not nothing, Ash. You got it once. You'll get it again. It's not about forcing it, right? That's what Blackthorn said."
He looked at her, surprised she knew. "You heard about that?"
She grinned, a little playful. "Word gets around. But seriously, you're pushing too hard. Let it come, like he said. You're already stronger than you were."
Ash leaned back, her words easing the knot in his chest. "Thanks, Elis. It's just… I need to find them, I need to be able to help them, I need to be strong, ."
Her expression softened, her hand resting near his on the crate, not touching but close.
"You're not alone in this, Ash. I'm here. Blackthorn's here, even if he's a grump about it."
Ash laughed, the sound lighter than he expected. "Yeah, he's not big on warm fuzzies, is he?"
"No, that's not blackthorn," she said, laughing too, her eyes bright. "But he sees something in you. So do I. You'll get there, just take things easy."
Their laughter faded, leaving a quiet warmth.
Ash felt their bond deepen, her kindness like a tether keeping him steady.
That night, under the twin moons, Ash stood in the dirt circle again, his tunic damp, boots heavy.
Noah and Kelvin's festival cheers filled his mind, their laughter bright.
He breathed deep, Blackthorn's words guiding him. In. Out. He let the pressure slip away, his mind clearing.
A warmth grew in his gut, stronger now.
A white spark danced across his fingers, brighter, lasting a few heartbeats before fading.
He grinned, fierce and quiet, to the empty sky. "I'm almost there, Nice." he whispered, the spark's promise burning in him.