Valmira had grown. 

Not merely in height—though she stood a fraction taller than I remembered—but in presence. 

The restless sharpness that once flashed too quickly in her eyes had settled into something steadier and measured. Her movements carried less impatience and more intent.

Her hair was longer now. It fell past her shoulders in silken strands that caught the fading light. There was refinement there, and care. 

That’s when I felt it. It was subtle, controlled, but it was there. 

A core, awakened. 

For a moment, I said nothing. 

I gave Rendal a nod. He returned it. 

I stepped forward and crouched in front of Valmira. 

“Princess, you’ve grown.” I put a hand on her head, patting it lightly. 

She giggled, a smug expression forming on her face. 

She lifted her chin slightly beneath my hand. “You only noticed now?”

“I noticed immediately,” I replied. “I simply chose not to comment.”

“That sounds like something you would say to avoid admitting you were surprised.”

“I do not get surprised.”

Her brows rose. “You blinked.”

“I was assessing.”

She crossed her arms, smugness deepening. “You blinked twice.”

Rendal cleared his throat quietly from behind us. “Twice, Commander.”

I did not turn. “I will remember that.”

Valmira laughed, not the restrained, courtly kind. A real one.

It echoed lightly in the hall.

“You used to scold me for standing like that,” she said, adjusting her stance unconsciously. 

“Shoulders back. Chin level. ‘A princess does not fold into herself.’”

“And you would argue,” I replied.

“Because you were strict.”

“I was correct.”

She tilted her head. “You’re still strict.” 

“Someone must be.”

She stepped back slightly, then placed her hands on her hips. “Very well then, Commander. Since you are here to observe… observe properly.”

She straightened fully. Her core was steady, the arcis within it flowed cleanly.

There was no tremor. No fluctuation.

Impressive.

I rose slowly.

“You circulate evenly,” I said. “No strain along the outer channels.”

Her smug expression softened into pride. “I worked for it.”

“I can see that.”

My head snapped toward their backyard, the arcis flow there was…intense

I walked over, ready for anything.

I wasn't ready for what awaited me.

Amilia Vael stood licjed in combat with her son.

And somehow...the boy was holding his ground.

Amilia’s blade came down in a clean diagonal arc—precise, unforgiving.

Kairon met it.

The crack of wood striking wood rang sharply across the yard.

The force drove him back half a step—his heel digging into the earth—but he did not collapse under it. His knees bent, absorbing the impact instead of locking against it.

He adjusted.

Amilia pivoted smoothly, her follow-up strike flowing low toward his flank. It was a movement meant to punish hesitation.

Kairon didn’t hesitate.

He twisted at the waist, the wooden blade sliding along hers, redirecting the force just enough for it to graze past his side instead of cleaving through his guard.

My breath stilled.

He shouldn’t be able to do that.

Not against her.

Amilia increased her pace.

This was no longer indulgent instruction.

Her footwork sharpened, her arcis flaring brighter around her limbs. The air shifted under the pressure of it.

Kairon’s jaw tightened.

He stepped in instead of back.

Instead of retreating from the surge, he entered it.

His blade struck once, twice, forcing her to adjust her stance rather than dictate it.

For three exchanges—three clean, undeniable exchanges—he held ground against Amilia Vael.

My fingers curled slowly at my side.

That was not raw talent, but refinement.

The boy’s shoulders were loose, not rigid. His gaze did not follow her blade; it tracked her hips, her weight shifts, the subtle tension before movement.

He was reading her.

Learning and growing mid-fight.

It was as if he had fought on the battlefield before, as if he had experience with the sword.

A final clash sent them apart.

Dust lifted around their feet.

Kairon’s chest rose and fell steadily. Not gasping. Not rattled. But focused.

Amilia lowered her blade first.

A small smile touched her lips.

“Well done,” she said.

Kairon exhaled slowly, wiping sweat from his brow.

“I slipped on the third exchange.”

“You corrected before it mattered.”

My voice left me before I realised it. “…He corrected mid-pressure.”

Both of them turned.

Kairon’s eyes met mine.

There was no arrogance there.

My gaze did not leave him.

“How long,” I asked quietly, “has he been training like this?”

Amilia’s expression shifted into a small smirk. “Every day.”

Valmira stepped beside me. “He doesn’t miss.”

I watched the boy again.

The yard felt smaller than it had moments ago. The air heavier. Kairon was still young, too young. He was still unformed. But the foundation was wrong.

 It was too solid and too early.

I stepped fully into the yard. 

Gravel shifted beneath my boots. Neither of them resumed their stance. 

Amilia rested the wooden blade against her shoulder, calm as ever. Kairon stood straight, though the faint sheen of sweat traced along his temple and jaw. His breathing was steady and controlled with intention. 

I stopped a few paces from him. 

“You fight as if correction is expected,” I said.

Kairon blinked once. “Well…it usually is.” 

Amilia just gave a quiet hum of agreement. 

“How long has he trained with a blade?” I asked, keeping my tone even. 

“Formally?” Amilia replied. “Two years.”

Too short. 

“And before that?” 

She met my eyes. “Eidra control, core stability, and learning basic spells.” 

Kairon nodded along. 

“You grew this much in just two years?” I asked Kairon. 

“Yep.” He shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal to him. 

My eye twitched. 

“Two years does not explain how you got so good,” I replied. “Your footwork adapts before the error fully forms.” 

Kairon glanced at his hands briefly, then back at me. “Is that bad?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” I exhaled a long sigh.

Silence lingered for a breath.

“How old are you now?” I asked. 

“Five.” 

Five?! 

My jaw tightened imperceptibly. 

“At five,” I said slowly, “most haven’t developed a fully stable core.” 

“I know.” There was no pride in his voice. Only fact…and it was making me annoyed. 

Amilia watched the exchange with measured interest, her arms now folded loosely. 

Behind me, Rendal and Valmira were chasing some butterflies…I get Valmira chasing them, but Rendal?

Kairon shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on the wooden blade. 

I hummed before asking, “Have you sparred outside this household?” 

“Nope.” He was being a little too nonchalant. 

“Why?” 

“'Cause Mom doesn’t allow it.” 

“That’s…understandable.” 

He nodded.

My gaze followed Valmira as I observed her. 

“What about her?” I pointed at Valmira while looking at Amilia from the corner of my eye. “I don’t remember her core being this stable.” 

Amilia hummed. “You’re right.”

Her eyes drifted toward Valmira, who was currently in a life-or-death battle against a cluster of extremely unthreatening butterflies.

“She saw me training Kairon once,” Amilia continued, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “And ever since then, she decided she, too, required ‘elite warrior instruction.’”

A pause.

“Of course she did that.” I watched as Valmira dramatically lunged and nearly tripped over a flower bed. A faint smile tugged at my lips.

“She’s circling it wrong,” Kairon muttered beside me.

I glanced down at him. “The butterfly?”

“Yes.” He squinted as if evaluating a battlefield. “It keeps baiting her left.”

Valmira spun suddenly and pointed at him. “Stop giving it advice!”

“I’m not!” he protested. “It doesn’t even understand me!”

“You don’t know that,” she shot back. “It’s evasive.”

“It’s a butterfly!”

“It’s disciplined!!”

Rendal made a thoughtful noise. “It has maintained altitude quite well.”

Valmira nodded firmly. “See?!”

Kairon looked personally offended. “You almost fell while chasing it.”

“I adjusted!” Valmira frowned.

“You windmilled.”

“That was momentum control.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then looked at me as if seeking reinforcement.

I offered none.

Valmira placed her hands on her hips. “If it were an enemy, I would have already won.”

“If it were an enemy,” Kairon said, unable to help himself, “it wouldn’t politely hover in front of you.”

She gasped. “You think it is polite?”

“It’s literally waiting for you.”

“That is called confidence.”

“It’s called being a butterfly.”

She marched toward him, wooden blade still in hand. “Fine. You try.”

Kairon blinked. “What?”

“You fight it.”

“I don’t fight butterflies.”

“Why?”

“…Because they’re small.”

“That is size discrimination.”

I felt something dangerously close to laughter attempt to surface.

Kairon’s face flushed faintly. “That’s not—I just mean—they’re not threatening!!"

Valmira leaned in. “You don’t know that.”

He hesitated.

She seized victory instantly.

“Exactly.”

Amilia covered her mouth.

Kairon huffed, then looked back at the butterfly, which had now settled calmly on a nearby shrub as if exhausted by the debate.

“…It’s not even moving anymore.”

Valmira lowered her voice. “It is recovering.”

“From what?”

“From me.”

He stared at her for a long second. And then, to my mild surprise, his lips twitched.

“You missed three times,” he said.

“I was measuring distance.”

“You were chasing.”

“I was testing agility.”

“You ran into a bush.”

“The bush moved.”

“How can a bush move?”

"It can!"

"I'm sure it can't."

She lifted her chin, a pout forming on her face. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of what?”

“I have a flying opponent. While you only fight wood. Hah!”

Kairon glanced at his practice blade, then back at her. “…Wood doesn’t run.”

“Exactly.”

I finally allowed myself a quiet breath of amusement.

Valmira gave the butterfly one last dramatic look before turning back to Kairon. “Very well. I will spare it.”

“You couldn’t catch it.”

“I chose not to.”

“Sure.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You blinked earlier.”

“That’s a perfectly normal human behaviour.” 

“You blinked when Aunt Amilia was training you.”

“That was dust.”

“There was no dust.”

“There could have been.”

She smiled, triumphant. “So you admit there was potential dust.”

Kairon looked briefly betrayed by his own logic.

Rendal nodded solemnly. “A grave miscalculation.”

Valmira beamed as though she had just won a formal duel.

Kairon folded his arms, trying—and failing—to look unaffected.

“I still think you’d lose,” he muttered.

She stepped closer. “Next time.”

“Next time what?”

“I’ll train first.”

He grinned despite himself. “You already said that.”

“And I mean it more now.”

There was no hostility in it. No sharpness.

Only challenge.

And something bright beneath it.

I observed them quietly.

If this was what ‘elite warrior instruction’ produced, then the realm’s future would be… loud.

And perhaps far more entertaining than I had anticipated.

—— ✦ ——

The house had quieted by the time I withdrew to the guest chamber. 

Grayfen slept differently from the capital. There were no layered wards humming against the walls, no distant rhythm of patrol rotations. Only timber settling into itself and the low murmur of wind brushing across open fields.

I stood by the small writing desk for a moment before sitting.

His Majesty’s directive had been clear. 

Verify Princess Valmira’s condition personally. 

I unsealed the ink and drew a fresh sheet of parchment toward me. 

The quill rested briefly between my fingers before I began. 

“To His Majesty, Aelrion of the Daevery Crown, 

I have completed my personal assessment of Princess Valmira’s current state in Grayfen.”

The words formed easily at first. 

“Her core has awakened in full stability. Circulation remains consistent, and her channel integrity shows no distortion. Output is measured and controlled. There are no signs of instability or premature strain.”

That would answer the practical concern. 

But I did not stop. 

The King had not sent me across provinces for measurements alone. 

“Her discipline has matured considerably since the departure from the elven lands. The impatience once visible in her stance has tempered into focus. She listens before she reacts. She corrects herself before correction is required.” 

I paused, recalling the way she had straightened unconsciously when I mentioned posture. The way she masked pride when praised. The way relief flickered, however briefly, when she learned I would remain for the evening. 

I continued. 

“She carries herself with greater awareness of responsibility. There is no resentment in her current environment, nor any indication of isolation diminishing her spirit.”

That line mattered. 

Six months as the only elf in a human household could have been quite lonely. Instead, I had seen laughter. 

Unrestrained laughter. 

I allowed the tone of my writing to soften slightly. 

“She appears at ease. Not complacent, but comfortable. The household provides structure without suppression. Her confidence remains intact, though it is no longer driven by defiance.”

I leaned back, considering whether that overstepped the bounds of formality. 

I added one final passage, choosing the words carefully. 

"She does not stand alone here. While Grayfen lacks the grandeur of the Royal Palace, it offers steadiness. Amilia and Rendal Vael guided her. Their son, Kairon Vael, seems to be keeping her good company. She is respected here.”

That, above all, would reassure him. 

I sanded the parchment lightly and waited for the ink to settle. 

There was no need to embellish further. 

No warnings, cautions, or concerns. Valmira Daevarys was stable and happy. 

She was not fading. 

I sealed the letter with the royal crest carried for this purpose and set it aside for dispatch at first light.

For a moment, I remained seated in the dim glow of the lamp.

In my mind, I saw her again, hands on her hips, arguing about a butterfly as if it were a worthy adversary.

There had been strength in her stance.

And lightness in her laughter.

The King had asked for certainty.

That was what I would send him.

When I extinguished the lamp, the room fell into darkness.

This time, sleep came more easily.