The training yard smelled of iron and damp stone.
Chris noticed that first.
The rain from the previous night still lingered in the grooves of the ground, darkening the packed earth and softening the dust that usually hung in the air.
Wooden practice dummies stood in orderly rows, their surfaces scarred and split from years of repeated blows.
Racks of blunted weapons lined the walls.Swords, spears, shields,each one cleaned and returned to its place with quiet care.
Chris crouched behind a low stack of crates near the outer wall, peeking through a narrow gap.
He was not supposed to be here.
That knowledge made everything more exciting.
From his hiding spot, he could see the knights assembling in the yard, their movements calm and unhurried. No shouting.
No dramatic flourishes. Armor was adjusted, straps checked, weapons tested with small, precise motions.
They look like they know exactly where their bodies end, Chris thought.
A voice spoke behind him.
"You're crouching like a thief."
Chris yelped and spun around.
Rodric Falkerona stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"I- !" Chris scrambled to his feet. "I wasn't stealing!"
Rodric raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't the accusation."
Chris swallowed. "Am I in trouble?"
Rodric studied him for a long moment. Then he glanced at the crates, at the training yard beyond, and sighed.
"Yes," he said. "But not for the reason you think."
Chris waited.
"You should have asked," Rodric continued. "Sneaking implies you knew the answer would be no."
Chris frowned. "Would it have been?"
Rodric paused.
"…Probably," he admitted.
Chris's shoulders sagged.
"But," Rodric added, "you're here now."
Chris's eyes widened.
Rodric stepped aside. "Come on. Stay where I can see you."
Chris followed him into the open yard, heart pounding.
The knights noticed immediately.
Conversations stilled. Movements slowed. A few glanced at Rodric for confirmation.
Rodric nodded once.
Training resumed.
Chris stood near the edge of the yard, hands clenched at his sides, trying very hard not to get in the way. He watched as pairs of knights squared off, their practice swords meeting with controlled force.
Rodric's voice cut through the air.
"Again," he said. "Slower."
The knights adjusted immediately, movements deliberate, almost graceful.
"Power without control," Rodric continued, pacing between them, "is not strength. It's noise."
He stopped beside one knight and tapped their sword lightly with his own. "You're rushing. Why?"
The knight hesitated. "To end the exchange quickly."
Rodric shook his head. "You're not here to end anything. You're here to understand it."
Chris leaned forward slightly, eyes shining.
Rodric caught the movement and glanced at him. "What do you think?"
Chris froze. "Me?"
"Yes."
Chris swallowed. "Um… I think… they look like they're dancing."
A few knights smiled.
Rodric did not.
Instead, he considered the answer seriously.
"That's not wrong," he said. "But it's incomplete."
He turned back to the knights. "They're not dancing with each other. They're dancing with their own limits."
Chris mulled that over.
___
Rodric watched the boy from the corner of his eye.
Chris stood stiffly, trying to make himself small, failing utterly. His red-and-white hair caught the sunlight in distracting ways, and his eyes followed every movement with sharp interest.
He watches like his father, Rodric thought.
That worried him more than it should have.
"Pair up," Rodric ordered.
The knights obeyed. One pair stepped forward both experienced, both steady.
Rodric drew his own sword.
Even blunted, it carried weight.
"Watch closely," he said, loud enough for all to hear. "This is not about winning."
He faced the first knight.
Their blades met with a dull ring.
Rodric moved.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just right.
Each step placed with intention. Each strike answered, not forced. He guided the exchange, correcting the knight's posture with subtle pressure, redirecting momentum rather than meeting it head-on.
Chris felt his breath catch.That's… different, he thought.
Rodric disarmed the knight with a single twist of his wrist and stblinked.ack.
"Again," he said. "And breathe this time."
The knight nodded, flushed but respectful.
Rodric glanced at Chris. "What did you notice?"
Chris hesitated, then said, "You weren't angry."
Rodric blinked."…Explain."
Chris gestured awkwardly.
"When Father fights, it feels heavy. Like the air changes. When you fought just now, it felt… calm."
Rodric stared at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
"That," he said quietly, "is because your father fights to end things."
"And you don't?" Chris asked.
"I fight," Rodric replied, "to make sure others don't have to."
Chris thought that sounded very important.
A sudden shout echoed from the far side of the yard.
"Commander!"
Rodric turned.
One of the outer guards jogged in, helmet tucked under his arm, breath quickened but controlled.
"There's been a disturbance near the lower road," the guard reported. "Likely a low-rank beast. No casualties."
Rodric nodded. "Handled?"
"Yes. Patrol redirected it away from the farms."
"Good." Rodric turned back to the yard. "Resume."
The knights did.
Chris stared at the guard. "That's it?"
The guard glanced at him and smiled faintly. "That's it."
Chris frowned. "But what if someone got hurt?"
Rodric answered without looking at him.
"Then we would go."
"And fight?" Chris asked.
Rodric finally met his eyes.
"And protect," he corrected.
As the training wound down, Chris felt something settle inside him.
This was power but not the kind he'd imagined.
No shouting victories. No dramatic clashes. Just people who trained every day so others could live quietly.
Rodric walked him back toward the palace.
"You shouldn't sneak again," Rodric said.
Chris nodded. "I know."
Rodric glanced at him. "You're curious."
"Yes."
"That's not a flaw," Rodric said, echoing Master Havel's words. "But curiosity requires patience."
Chris thought about the knights. About his father in the audience hall. About his mother in the hospital.
"I think," he said slowly, "being strong means waiting."
Rodric stopped walking.
He looked down at the boy, expression unreadable.
"…You're going to be troublesome," he said.
Chris smiled, proud.
As they parted ways, Chris looked back once more at the training yard.
The knights had returned to their routines. The dummies stood silent. The ground bore the marks of effort, not destruction.
Chris felt safe.
___
Chris had decided,very reasonably, that if knights trained every day, and if Rodric said strength meant patience, then trying to train a little should not be a problem.
Just a little.
He stood alone in the smaller practice yard behind the palace, the one used for drills and warmups rather than full formations.
The morning sun had climbed higher now, warming the stone beneath his boots. A wooden practice sword lay on the ground in front of him, its surface smoothed by years of hands far larger than his own.
Chris picked it up.
It was heavier than he expected.
Not unbearably so, but enough that his wrist dipped slightly when he lifted it. He adjusted his grip, mimicking what he'd seen : thumb aligned, fingers tight, stance widened.
He raised the sword.
It wobbled.
Chris frowned and raised it again, higher this time.
"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Slow."
He swung.
The blade cut through the air and stopped halfway, pulled down by its own weight. Chris staggered forward a step, barely catching himself before falling flat on his face.
He stared at the ground, breathing hard.
"That didn't count," he said.
He tried again.
This time, he focused on his feet first. Spread them wider. Bend the knees slightly, like Rodric always said. He lifted the sword more carefully and swung in a controlled arc.
The blade veered off line.
Chris corrected mid-swing,too late.
The sudden shift pulled his balance away completely. His foot slipped on the damp stone, and he went down hard, landing on his side with a sharp thud that knocked the air from his lungs.
He lay there, stunned.
The sky above him was very blue.
"…Ow," he said weakly.
"Chris."
The voice was calm. Too calm.
He turned his head and saw Alfred standing at the edge of the yard, hands folded behind his back, expression unreadable.
Chris sat up slowly. "I wasn't-"
"I know," Alfred said. "You were trying."
That somehow felt worse.
Alfred approached and stopped a few steps away, eyes flicking to the sword on the ground, to Chris's scraped palm, to the way his shoulders were tense even while sitting.
"How long?" Alfred asked.
Chris hesitated. "Not long."
Alfred waited.
"…Three swings," Chris admitted.
Alfred nodded. "That explains the bruise."
Chris looked down. A dull ache was already forming along his side.
"I thought," Chris said quietly, "that if I practiced a little, it would make sense."
Alfred crouched beside him, slow and deliberate. "And did it?"
Chris shook his head.
Alfred picked up the wooden sword and tested its weight with one hand. It barely moved him.
"This tool," Alfred said, "was made for bodies that have finished growing. You are still negotiating with yours."
Chris frowned. "So I just need to get stronger."
Alfred studied him carefully. "Eventually."
Chris latched onto the word. "Eventually means yes."
Alfred did not smile.
"It means not now," he corrected.
Chris's throat tightened. "Rodric lets me watch."
"Watching is not the same as doing."
"But Father fights," Chris insisted. "And Mother uses magic. And Rodric-"
"And you," Alfred interrupted gently, "are ten."
The words landed softly.
But they landed.
Chris looked away, embarrassed heat rising to his face. "I don't want to be useless."
Alfred's gaze sharpened.
"Useless?" he repeated.
Chris swallowed. "If something happens… I won't be able to help."
Alfred was quiet for a long moment.
Then he said, "Do you know what most people do when something happens?"
Chris shrugged.
"They survive," Alfred said. "And that is not a small thing."
Chris kicked at the stone with his heel. "It doesn't feel like enough."
Alfred nodded once. "It rarely does."
He reached out and helped Chris to his feet. Chris winced slightly but didn't complain.
"You want to be strong," Alfred said. "Why?"
Chris hesitated.
The answer that came out was smaller than he expected.
"So people don't have to stand in front of me anymore."
Alfred's hand tightened briefly on his shoulder.
"That," he said quietly, "is an honest reason."
Chris looked up. "Is it wrong?"
"No," Alfred replied. "But it is dangerous."
"Why?"
"Because it makes you rush," Alfred said. "And rushing gets people hurt."
Chris thought of the sword pulling him off balance. Of the ground rushing up to meet him.
"…I fell," he said.
"Yes."
Alfred guided him toward the bench at the edge of the yard. Chris sat, shoulders slumped, staring at his scraped hands.
"I'm bad at it," he said.
"You are new at it," Alfred corrected. "Those are not the same."
Chris sniffed. "Rodric makes it look easy."
Alfred allowed a faint smile. "Rodric has been training longer than you've been alive."
"Oh."
"That is usually how time works."
Chris huffed a laugh.
Footsteps approached.
Rodric entered the yard, helmet tucked under his arm, gaze immediately finding Chris.
He took in the scene in a single glance,the sword, the bench, the posture.
"Ah," Rodric said. "You skipped a few steps."
Chris braced himself. "I'm sorry."
Rodric waved it off. "For trying? No."
He crouched in front of Chris, bringing himself level.
"Did you get hurt?"
"A little."
Rodric nodded. "Good."
Chris blinked. "Good?"
"Means you'll remember," Rodric said. "Pain is a teacher. A harsh one, but honest."
Chris looked down. "I wanted to be like you."
Rodric's expression softened.
"You don't," he said gently. "You want to be ready. Those are different."
Chris frowned. "What's the difference?"
Rodric glanced at Alfred, then back at Chris.
"Readiness," he said, "comes from learning where you stop."
Chris absorbed that slowly.
"So… where do I stop?"
Rodric smiled, small and genuine. "Right here."
He tapped Chris lightly on the chest.
"For now."
Chris let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"…Okay," he said.
Rodric stood. "When the time comes, you'll train properly. With a body ready to listen. With teachers who won't let you fall alone."
Chris looked up. "Promise?"
Rodric met his gaze. "Promise."
As they walked back toward the palace, Chris glanced once more at the training yard.
The wooden sword still lay where he'd dropped it.
He didn't feel angry at it anymore.
Just… patient.
And for the first time, Chris understood something important:
Wanting strength was easy.
Learning when to wait for it was not.
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[A/N :- please make sure to drop some powerstones and comment about your thoughts on this chapter !]