Sleep did not come easily.
The waystation's upper floor had been converted into a makeshift barracks—twenty cots lined up in neat rows with barely enough space to walk between them, the floorboards creaking with every movement. The wounded occupied most of the beds, their bodies twisted in uncomfortable positions dictated by injuries rather than rest. Healers moved quietly between them through the night like ghosts in gray robes, checking bandages for seepage, administering pain-dulling tinctures that smelled of bitter herbs, monitoring for the telltale heat of fever that could turn a survivable wound into a death sentence.
The air was thick with the smell of blood, antiseptic herbs, sweat, and something else—the lingering psychic weight of trauma, of people who'd looked death in the face and barely survived.
Adrian lay on his cot near the back corner, hands folded behind his head, eyes open and fixed on the ceiling beams above. The wood was old, darkened by years of smoke and time, covered in the carved names and initials of travelers who'd passed through before—some of whom probably never made it to their destinations. Around him, the sounds of restless sleep filled the darkness: groans of pain when someone shifted wrong, whispered fragments of nightmares, the occasional sharp cry as someone relived the battle in their dreams, only to wake gasping and confused.
Brann was one of the loudest, his sleep punctuated by sudden jerks and muffled curses. The shoulder relocation had been agony, and the pain tincture had only dulled it, not erased it. Every few minutes he'd shift, hit a bad angle, and grunt in his sleep.
Finn slept more quietly, but Adrian could tell from his breathing that it wasn't deep rest—the shallow, uneven pattern of someone whose body was exhausted but whose mind refused to shut down.
Adrian couldn't sleep at all. Not with Voss's words echoing in his mind like a death knell: Whatever you are, figure out how to control that power better. Because next time you slip up, I might not be the only one who notices. Not with the weight of exposure pressing on his chest like a physical thing, making each breath feel deliberate, conscious.
He'd survived three hundred years in the demon courts through careful control, through never revealing more than necessary, through understanding when to show strength and when to hide it. And one moment—one instant of necessity—had nearly unraveled everything.
"Adrian?" Edric's voice came from the cot beside him, barely more than a whisper carried on breath. "You awake?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately. He could pretend sleep, ignore the question, avoid the conversation that was inevitably coming. But Edric knew. They'd been roommates for three months, shared a space barely large enough for four people, learned each other's patterns and habits. Edric could probably tell from his breathing, from the tension in his body, that he was conscious.
Lying would be pointless.
"Yes," Adrian said quietly, his voice equally soft to avoid waking others.
A pause. Then, carefully, almost reluctantly: "What are you?"
The question hung in the darkness between them like smoke, visible in its absence. Not accusatory like Voss's had been. Not fearful like some of the other squires' stares. Just... asking. Needing to understand. The tone of a friend seeking truth, not an enemy seeking weakness.
"I'm Adrian Blackthorn," he said, keeping his voice flat, neutral. "That's all that matters."
"That's not an answer." Edric's voice carried a note of frustration, of hurt even. "Adrian, I've known since the beginning. Since that very first day."
Adrian's body tensed slightly. "What do you mean?"
"The goblins," Edric said quietly. "When they attacked my father's caravan on the road to Arathor. You moved like... like nothing I'd ever seen. No hesitation. No fear. Just precision. You cut through them like they were nothing—four, five goblins in seconds." He paused, and his voice dropped even lower. "And I saw your blade glow red. Crimson, like blood on fire. I thought maybe I'd imagined it, that it was just the actual blood, or a trick of the light, or my mind playing tricks because I was terrified."
Adrian said nothing, his jaw tight.
"But I didn't imagine it," Edric continued, his voice stronger now despite remaining quiet. "Because today I saw it again. When you stopped that troll's strike. Just for a second, but it was there—that same crimson flame. It's real, isn't it? That's your true sword spirit."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and loaded.
"I've been carrying that knowledge for three months," Edric said, and there was raw emotion in his voice now. "Three months of watching you hide it, watching you pretend your spirit was white like everyone else's during training. Three months of wondering what it meant, wondering if I should say something, wondering if you were dangerous or just... different."
"And you said nothing," Adrian observed quietly.
"Because you saved my life!" Edric's whisper was fierce. "Because every time I watched you, every patrol we went on, every drill we did together, you proved you weren't a threat. You protected people. You helped Finn when he struggled. You pulled Brann back when he was about to do something stupid. You were a good person, Adrian, whatever else you might be."
Adrian felt something twist in his chest—an emotion he'd almost forgotten how to name. Gratitude, perhaps. Or guilt.
"But today," Edric continued, "today you had to reveal it to everyone. To Voss. To the whole squad. And now I'm not the only one who knows, and I'm worried about what that means. For you. For us."
Before Adrian could respond, another voice cut through the darkness—Finn's, from the cot on Adrian's other side.
"I've suspected for a while too," Finn said quietly, apparently having been awake and listening the entire time. "Not about the crimson flame specifically—I never saw that until today. But the way you move, the decisions you make, the way you fight... you've had training far beyond what any border keep could provide. Real combat experience, not just drills and sparring."
Adrian closed his eyes briefly. Both of them. Tag-teaming him in the darkness.
"Three months ago on that road," Edric said softly, "you told me your name and that you were heading to the trials. That's all I knew. And I've been your friend anyway, even with all the secrets. But Adrian—" his voice grew more insistent "—after today, after what you did for us, don't you think we've earned at least some truth? We're already involved. We saw what you can do. Voss saw it. Half the squad saw it. The secret's already out—the only question is whether we understand it or whether we just fear it."
Adrian stared at the ceiling beams, wrestling with the decision. How much could he say? How much could he reveal without endangering everything? Without making them complicit in secrets that could get them killed?
"Some truths are dangerous," Adrian said finally. "Not because they're evil, but because knowing them puts a target on your back. The less you know, the safer you are."
"That's my choice to make," Edric countered. "Not yours."
"He's right," Finn added. "We're already involved, Adrian. We were there. We fought beside you. The question isn't whether we're in danger—we already are, just by association. The question is whether we face that danger blind or informed."
Adrian let the silence stretch, considering. They had a point. Edric had kept his secret for three months without being asked, without demanding answers. That kind of loyalty was rare. And they'd both proven themselves in combat today—shown courage, adaptability, the ability to think under pressure.
Maybe... maybe they deserved something.
"I can't tell you everything," he said carefully, choosing each word with precision. "Not because I don't trust you, but because some things... some things are better left unknown. At least for now. For your safety as much as mine."
"Then tell us something," Edric pressed. "Anything. Just... don't shut us out completely. We're your friends, Adrian. Or at least, I thought we were."
Friends. The word settled heavy in Adrian's chest. He'd had allies in his past life, servants, subordinates, even a few he might have called companions. But friends? That was something different. Something he'd lost when he died and was reborn.
He let the silence stretch, considering. Then: "My training wasn't normal. It was... extreme. Designed to push past human limits through methods most people wouldn't survive. The things I can do—the speed, the strength, even the... color of my spirit—they're the result of techniques my family developed over generations of fighting on the border."
It was truth, as far as it went. Just not the whole truth. Not the three hundred years of warfare, not the demon prince reborn in human flesh. But enough to give them something, some explanation that might satisfy without revealing everything.
"Border techniques," Finn said thoughtfully. "That makes sense, actually. If your family has been fighting demons for generations, they'd develop methods the rest of the kingdom doesn't know. Survival would demand innovation."
"And the crimson flame?" Edric asked carefully. "What does it mean? Sword spirits are supposed to start white and develop color as they grow. But yours is already red. Deep red, like... like blood or fire."
That was the dangerous question. The one that could lead directly to truths he couldn't share.
"I don't fully understand it myself," Adrian lied carefully. "My family's technique produces different results. Maybe the color comes from that. Maybe it's just how our bloodline manifests power. The important thing is that it's not evil, not demonic. Just... different."
He could feel them both processing this, weighing it against what they'd seen, trying to decide if they believed him.
"Okay," Edric said finally, settling back onto his cot with a wince. "Okay. I won't push for more. But Adrian—" his voice grew serious "—promise me something. Promise that whatever secrets you're keeping, they're not going to hurt us. That you're still on our side. That we can trust you."
"I promise," Adrian said immediately, and meant it. "I'm not your enemy. I never will be. Everything I've done, every secret I keep, is to protect myself and those around me. Not to harm you."
"Good enough for me," Edric said. After a moment, he added quietly: "Thank you. For saving us today. Even if it cost you more than you wanted to reveal."
"Someone had to," Adrian said simply. "I couldn't watch you all die."
Finn spoke up again, his voice thoughtful and tactical. "Voss is going to watch you now. Closely. And if she talks to the other instructors, if word gets back to the senior knights or the academies about a squire with unusual abilities..."
"I know," Adrian said. "I'll have to be more careful."
"Maybe don't be too careful," Finn suggested. "If you suddenly can't do the things you've been doing consistently for three months, that'll look just as suspicious. Better to be consistently exceptional than to suddenly become average. Just... maybe don't stop any more trolls with one hand."
It was good tactical advice, the kind of practical thinking that made Finn valuable beyond his combat skills. Adrian nodded, even though Finn probably couldn't see it in the darkness. "Noted."
Silence fell again, but this time it felt different. Not the heavy, loaded silence of unspoken accusations and hidden fears, but something more comfortable. Not complete trust, perhaps—that would take time to rebuild fully—but acceptance. Understanding, even if incomplete.
Edric had kept his secret for three months. He'd chosen friendship over fear. That meant something.
"Get some sleep," Finn said finally. "We march at dawn, and tomorrow's going to be long. Questions will come, from Voss and probably others. You'll need to be sharp."
"I'll try," Edric mumbled, already half-asleep despite his earlier insistence on conversation, exhaustion and pain finally claiming him.
Adrian closed his eyes, though he still didn't expect sleep to come easily. But somehow, the weight on his chest felt slightly lighter. The exposure had happened. The questions had been asked and partially answered. And his friends—yes, he supposed they truly were friends—hadn't abandoned him. They'd seen his power, witnessed his secret, and chosen to stand with him anyway.
Edric had carried the knowledge of his crimson flame for three months without betraying him. That kind of loyalty was rare, precious even.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't completely safe. The secrets he still kept were enormous, dangerous, world-shattering if revealed. But it was something. A foundation, perhaps, on which real trust could eventually be built.
Outside, the night watch called the hour. Inside, the wounded slept restlessly, their dreams haunted by goblins and trolls and near-death. And Adrian Blackthorn, demon prince reborn as a human squire, lay in the darkness and wondered how many more secrets he could keep before the weight of them crushed everything he was trying to build.
Tomorrow they would return to Arathor. Tomorrow, real complications would begin—Voss's report, possible investigations, questions from senior knights about the squire who fought like something more than human.
But tonight, in this moment, he had two friends who knew he was different and chose to stand with him anyway. Edric, who'd seen his crimson flame on the very first day and kept silent. Finn, who'd analyzed and suspected but never exposed him.
Perhaps that was enough. Perhaps that was more than he deserved.
Perhaps friendship, fragile and incomplete as it was, could be its own kind of strength.