I remembered the camp: endless mornings when my arms ached from the sword, and my head buzzed from lessons. The first spells trembling at my fingertips like captured lightning, and nights under the stars when I dreamed of who I would become.
"Are you sure?" I asked. "It feels like I'm too small for such words."
"That you're doubting now says a lot already," Leont laughed—not mockingly, but like an older brother. "Humility, Loyn, is another quality of a knight."
"Thank you, Leont de Mortvel," I exhaled. "Your words mean a lot to me."
"You've endured hellish trainings that not everyone can handle," he listed, like a priest reciting a prayer. "Studies, sword fights, and even magic. That says a lot."
Hellish trainings. Yes, you could call them that. When they wake you at five a.m. for fencing, when your fingers bleed from an unruly pen, and your head splits from magical formulas—that really feels like one of hell's circles.
"Thank you again," I said, and my voice trembled with emotion. "You're right! I am a knight... though a very small one."
"Will you protect Mom?" Tenderness crept into Leont's voice. "The kingdom? The princess?"
Mom. At the mere mention, something tightened in my chest. Four years without her embraces, without her lullabies, without the scent of her hair smelling of vanilla and cinnamon.
"Of course!" I blurted with such force it surprised even me.
In that moment, I understood: it doesn't matter how small I am, it doesn't matter if I'm ready for this burden. There are things worth fighting for.
"What else is there to say?!" Leont clapped me on the shoulder. "I believe your words; you're a true warrior. Now go quickly to Mom and tell her how much you love her."
"Yes, sir!" I saluted with the seriousness of a little warrior.
And I ran. Ran toward home, toward Mom, toward the life awaiting a little knight with a big heart.