Valir gave a slight nod toward the entrance of the building.

"Come with me."

He did not say it like an order, but there was a natural certainty in his tone, the kind that made people follow him without a second thought.

Lyra followed him hesitantly. As they approached the entrance, the two knights standing guard straightened almost at the same time, snapping to attention. They cast her a brief sideways glance, then looked forward again.

Valir returned the gesture with a small movement of his head and continued without stopping.

The inside of the building was even more imposing than the outside.

The space opened before her like a great hall, with high walls of white stone and dark wooden panels. The floor was laid with square tiles in light and dark shades, forming geometric patterns. In the center, the emblem of the knights was carved into the floor, a symbol that seemed to watch every movement in the room in silence. Decorative shields and pairs of crossed swords hung at intervals, as if reminding anyone who passed through exactly what this place was.

The Headquarters of the Knights.

Light fell from the large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the flames of their candles flickering softly. The wooden ceiling, full of beams and geometric designs, gave the hall a sense of old, steady strength. As if it had stood there for centuries.

Valir's boots echoed steadily against the floor.

Lyra tried not to look around too much, like a lost tourist. This was exactly how she had seen it in the game.

Or rather, no.

It was larger.

More alive.

More real.

They passed by a few knights speaking in low voices. All of them gave Valir a brief look, then turned their attention to the unfamiliar young woman.

Their curiosity was obvious, but no one asked anything.

Valir climbed the large wooden staircase that led to the upper floor. His steps were steady, heavy but calm, and the old wooden corridor echoed faintly beneath each one.

Lyra followed a few steps behind him, almost unconsciously keeping a small distance. That was when she realized something.

Up close, he was much taller than she had imagined. His broad shoulders filled almost the entire width of the staircase ahead of her. His dark cloak followed the movement of his steps, flowing slowly behind him and revealing, every now and then, the metal details of his armor.

The upper corridor was quieter. The doors to the rooms stretched along the wooden hallway, all of them similar to one another.

Valir stopped in front of one of them.

"Here."

He opened the door and took a small step to the side, letting her enter first.

The room was simple, but bright. A large window allowed light to stream in through pale blue curtains that moved lightly in the breeze. There was a wooden bed, a small desk with ink and parchment, an armchair near the window, and a wardrobe at the edge of the wall.

Nothing luxurious.

But it was clean, tidy, and quiet.

Lyra slowly turned toward him.

"This is... much more than I expected."

"It is only a guest room," Valir said. "Knights who travel often stay here."

He remained in the doorway for a moment, watching her.

"Alfry, the girl you met this morning, knows you'll be staying here. We spoke earlier."

Lyra nodded.

So it had been arranged before she had even agreed.

She had been right.

It was not an offer made purely out of kindness.

It was supervision.

Valir made as if to leave, but before closing the door, he turned slightly back toward her.

"If you need anything," he said calmly, "my office is downstairs."

Lyra felt her heart tighten almost imperceptibly.

"Thank you, sir."

For a moment, his gaze remained on her.

Then he smiled faintly, that almost invisible smile.

"Valir is enough."

And with that, he gently closed the door behind him.

Lyra sat on the bed and slowly released the breath she had been holding.

If this was a dream, she was not waking up.

If it was a hallucination, it was incredibly stable.

If it was reality?

Her mind still could not accept it.

From the corridor, she could hear footsteps, voices...

Everyday life continued.

She stood and approached the window.

Windstadt stretched out beneath her.

Breathing.

The windmills turned slowly on the horizon, the city flags waved in the wind, and the streets below the walls were full of life.

Everything seemed... normal.

But the calm did not last long.

She heard voices.

They were not calm.

She frowned.

Something was happening.

She opened the door to the room and stepped into the corridor. The voices were clearer now, coming from below. She hurried down the stairs and went outside.

There was commotion in the courtyard.

Two young knights were holding a third between them, trying to guide him out of the training grounds. His face was pale, his teeth clenched from the pain. His leg was bleeding badly.

His trousers had been torn deep at the thigh, and blood had begun running quickly down the fabric.

"Put him down!" someone shouted sharply in the courtyard.

"Someone call Alina from the cathedral! Quickly!" yelled one of the boys holding him.

Lyra did not think for even a second.

Her body moved automatically.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she was already kneeling beside the injured knight.

"Down. Now. Lay him flat," she said, her voice firm and decisive.

The two knights obeyed almost by instinct.

Lyra carefully opened the torn fabric around his thigh, and her stomach tightened. The wound was deep. Blood was flowing fast, much faster than she wanted.

"I need clean cloth!" she said sharply, steadily.

She pressed both hands above the wound.

Hard.

One of the knights stared at her in confusion.

"Who are you?"

"Now!"

The word came out so sharp that no one dared ask again.

Her hands moved mechanically.

It was her training.

Her routine.

The memory of her body.

Warm blood ran beneath her fingers. The young man did not look older than eighteen. He was trying to hold back tears from the pain. Judging by his uniform, he was a recruit.

She searched with her eyes for clean cloth, for anything that could serve as a temporary bandage. She had no tools. Nothing.

Only her hands, pressure, and time running out.

Lyra took a quick breath. She removed her fabric vest, folded it quickly, and pressed it over the wound with both hands.

It was thick enough to hold back some of the blood until they brought something that could actually help. The young man jerked from the pain.

"I know. I know, it hurts," she said, without easing the pressure.

"What's your name?"

The young man tried to answer, but his voice came out broken. His eyelids were heavy.

"Look at me," she said more firmly. "Don't close your eyes. What's your name?"

"Karl..." he whispered.

"Good, Karl. You're going to look at me. You're not sleeping now. Everything is going to be all right."

Her voice had changed.

She was no longer a lost traveler.

She was the emergency doctor again.

That part of herself, at least, was steady.

His shoulders relaxed a little. The certainty in her voice seemed to calm him slightly. She lowered her eyes back to the wound.

She heard someone running. She did not know who. She did not care.

She did not look around.

The injured knight groaned. He was losing a lot of blood.

That was not good.

The cloth arrived quickly, along with a basket containing bottles.

"You," she said to the knight beside her. "Press here. Right here. With all your weight. Don't let go unless I tell you."

The young knight knelt and did exactly as she said.

Lyra quickly opened one of the bottles and smelled it.

Alcohol.

She did not have time to clean the wound properly. Not now.

First, she had to stop the bleeding.

She folded a clean cloth, placed it over the injury, and wrapped the bandage around his thigh, fast and tight, keeping the pressure steady.

Karl let out a muffled cry through clenched teeth.

"I know," Lyra said quietly. "But you're doing well. Stay with me."

When she finished, she did not move away immediately. She kept her fingers on the bandage, checking whether blood was still coming through.

Less.

Not little enough, but less.

Only then did she let out a breath.

The panic around her began to fade. The shouting quieted.

They were watching her.

Waiting.

That was when she realized, for the first time, how many people had gathered around.

Her technique did not look exactly like what they were used to.

It was different.

More... practical.

The realization came a little late.

She had acted in front of everyone. She had given orders to knights without hesitation or fear.

She stood calmly, wiping her hands on the remaining cloth.

And then she felt it.

Lyra slowly raised her head.

He was standing across from her. He was not speaking. He had not interfered. He was simply watching her.

Valir.

Her eyes met his. He looked at her calmly. Searchingly. Observantly. No one had stopped her.

Maybe because her voice had left no room for argument. Maybe because he, standing somewhere across from her, had not given them the order to do so.

"He'll be all right," she said calmly.

She rose slowly. The blood had not fully left her hands.

His gaze remained on her even when Alina arrived from the cathedral and took over the injured knight. When they carried the young man to a room a little farther away, Valir motioned for Lyra to follow him to his office.

She followed.

Passing through the large wooden door, she found herself in a room made for someone who carried responsibility.

The space was large and bright, with a high ceiling of dark wood and a large chandelier hanging from its center. The scent of paper and fresh ink filled the room. The walls were almost entirely covered by bookshelves packed with volumes, maps, and old records.

Large windows allowed sunlight to enter, passing through pale blue curtains and spreading a soft glow over the furniture. In front of them stood a large desk made of heavy wood, simple but imposing, with a few books, documents, and a metal navigation instrument resting on top of it.

Behind the desk, on the wall, hung the emblem of the Knights.

There was nothing unnecessary in the room. Everything was orderly, functional, as if the room itself reflected the man who used it.

She was standing in the middle of the office, looking around, when she heard his voice.

He stood beside the window near his desk.

"You said you were a traveler."

"Yes," she answered, and a brief pause followed.

For a moment, she felt as if she were standing in front of a superior again, ready to give a report for every move she had made.

"Ordinary travelers do not usually have that kind of knowledge," Valir said.

Her heart gave a small jump.

A mistake.

She had made a mistake.

Small, but real.

She should not have taken over like that.

But she could not have left that young man bleeding.

"I've... seen a lot on the road," she answered.

It was not a lie.

It simply was not the whole truth.

His gaze remained steady.

For one second, she thought he would press her. That he would ask more.

Instead, he gave a slight nod.

"Most people panic in the face of that much blood."

His voice was low, steady, as if he were pointing out something obvious.

He paused briefly.

"You knew exactly what to do."

Her heart beat faster.

His expression had changed.

There was no suspicion in it.

It was curiosity.

And something even quieter, as if he were trying to piece together parts of a picture that had not yet been revealed.

Lyra held his gaze.

This time, she did not look down.

She did not retreat.

She could not know exactly what he was thinking. She could not read the way the mind of a commander worked, a man who had spent his life observing people.

But one thing she felt clearly.

Something in his eyes told her he had already singled her out from the crowd, and he did not seem willing to let her go without learning more.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Outside, the courtyard had almost emptied. Most of the knights had returned to their duties.

"You didn't mention that you had any training."

There was no accusation in the sentence.

It was only an observation, placed calmly between them.

Lyra took a small breath.

"I didn't know it was necessary."

She kept the same steadiness in her voice, the cool tone she always used when she was on the defensive. She lifted her gaze to him.

"It's not something..." she said at last. "I just... happened to learn how to help when it was needed."

Valir watched her for another moment.

As if he were listening not only to the words, but to everything hidden between them.

"A useful skill for someone who is often on the road," he said at last.

Lyra smiled faintly.

"I suppose the road teaches you more than you expect."

That was not a lie either.

It simply explained nothing.

For a moment, his gaze stayed on her, steady and calm.

Then he gave the slightest nod.

"However you learned it, you did something important today."

She had not convinced him.

"Most people step away when they see someone injured," he continued. "You went straight to him."

Lyra lifted her shoulders slightly.

"I didn't really think about it."

"That usually means someone has done it enough times before."

The silence that followed was calm, but she felt as if every word she said could reveal more than it should.

Valir did not press her in the end.

He asked no further questions.

For a moment, his gaze dropped to her hands.

The blood had dried over her fingers, reddish against her pale skin.

"You should wash them," he said at last, calmly.

She looked down at her hands as if seeing them for the first time.

"Right..."

She turned slightly to leave the office, but before she could take a step, his voice came again behind her.

"And..."

She stopped.

When she turned, he was still watching her.

Not intensely. Simply carefully.

"Good work."

The phrase was simple. Almost indifferent. And yet, for some reason, she felt the warmth of those two words spread deep through her chest.

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Thank you for reading "Rookie of the Wind".