Her body, still small and slight, moved with unusual agility. Earth magic rooted her, gave her balance and grace. Where she lacked strength, she found precision. She could sense vibrations through the floor, anticipate her opponent’s steps. Yuan, to his credit, never treated her like a child. He struck with the flat of his blade, blocked without hesitation, taught her to disarm and defend like an assassin in the skin of a girl.

“You’re quick,” he said one day after she nearly swept his leg.

“I’m small,” she replied.

“You’re lethal,” he corrected, eyes narrowing. “You just don’t realize it yet.”

For most, the words would chill. But Aelira only smiled. Somehow, she liked when he didn’t lie to her.

Yuan never praised her, never patted her head, never softened his tone—but he was there. Always there.

When she woke screaming from nightmares, he sat outside her door.

When her magic flared in fear, he’d stand in the threshold and wait until she calmed herself.

When she cried—quietly, curled in the corner after another dream about Kaeyla—he never said a word. But she would sometimes find her training schedule lightened the next day. Or a new book about stars and the outside world placed beside her plate.

He never admitted it, but she knew.

And with each passing season, Yuan grew—taller, broader, quieter still. His silver hair darkened slightly at the roots. His face sharpened into that of a young man, no longer a boy, but one who had already lived as if in service to war.

Aelira noticed the change more than he ever let on. Sometimes, she’d sneak glances at him while pretending to meditate. The way he cleaned his blade. The way his coat draped over his shoulder. The faint scar beneath his collarbone she once spotted while he was changing his tunic.

To her, he became everything.

A brother.

A wall.

A quiet sky she could rest beneath.

He didn’t smile often—but when he did, when something she said managed to pull even a flicker of warmth from him, it was enough to brighten the stone walls around her.

But even then, the sword remained. Always beside him. Always ready.

And she never forgot what he’d said the first day they met.

“To kill you, if I must.”

She tried not to think about it. But some nights, when her heart grew too heavy, she would stare at his silhouette outside her door and wonder—

Would he really?

Even now?

Suddenly—tap.

A sharp poke from the flat edge of a training sword landed squarely on her shoulder.

She blinked and turned. Yuan stood beside her, his silver hair catching the light like frost under the sun. His expression unreadable, as always.

“You’re drifting again,” he said flatly. “Training’s not over.”

Aelira stared at him, her voice quiet and hollow.

“Yuan… will you really kill me one day?”

For a moment, his face stiffened. A flicker—barely visible—passed through his gaze.

“If you turn into the monster you once were… yes.”

Aelira smiled, the kind that held no warmth—only a resigned softness.

“That’s good,” she whispered. “I want it to be you.”

Yuan’s shoulders tensed, the words cutting deeper than he expected. He shouldn’t feel anything. He wasn’t supposed to. And yet…

He sighed and, without a word, stepped closer. His hand reached out—hesitant, deliberate—and gently patted her head. The motion startled her.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured. “You’ll be alright. I’ll stop you before you ever become something you can’t live with.”

Aelira’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at him, then slowly reached up and held his hand against her hair. Just for a moment. Just to prove he was real. The only piece of reality that didn’t vanish when she blinked.

“But even if I’m alive,” she said quietly, “does it matter? I’m a prisoner here. Vaelen will never let me leave.”

Yuan sat down beside her, eyes on the pale stones beneath their feet.

“It’s too early to say that.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small folded parchment. He handed it to her.

“I found this on my last mission,” he said. “It’s a spell. Not for battle… not for destruction. Your mother used to cast it—Queen Elowen. She used it to create her favorite flower fields.”

Aelira unfolded the paper, her eyes scanning the soft curves of the runes. Something about it felt familiar. Her heart fluttered.

Her face lit up. “Really?”

He gave a soft, almost-smile, eyes turning away. “Try it. I’ll watch.”

Without hesitation, Aelira rose and stepped into the center of the sparring yard. The ground was dry, lifeless, worn from months of blows and footfalls.

She inhaled, channeling her magic—not the brimming, volatile kind that sparked when she was angry or scared—but a softer stream. One she had been afraid to trust. She whispered the words, her hand glowing faint green.

And then…

Bloom.

Tiny sprouts curled up through the cracks in the earth. Green vines uncoiled like ribbons. Small pink flowers opened in bursts, trailing across the stones, wrapping around the rails, climbing toward the empty sky above.

Yuan stood still, watching with rare wonder as the cold yard transformed.

Aelira laughed, her eyes glowing with joy for the first time in months. She turned and, without thinking, leapt forward and wrapped her arms around him.

“Thank you, Yuan! This is beautiful!”

Caught off guard, he froze in her embrace. Then, awkwardly, his arms moved up—hovering—before resting lightly around her.

“…You’re welcome,” he murmured, barely audible.

And for the first time, the walls of her prison didn’t feel so suffocating.