Night had fallen, enveloping the Ravenshield household in a shroud of silence and slumber. Yet, amidst the hushed stillness, one figure remained awake: Eveloria.
Within the training field, the clash of wooden weapons reverberated through the air, as if the very night itself was engaged in a secret duel. Eveloria's body seemed to move with a mind of its own, driven by an insatiable determination.
She concentrated fiercely on the precise motions of her limbs—each swing, each thrust, each step. Her muscles burned with exertion, her breath escaping in a series of rapid pants. Lightheadedness flirted at the edges of her consciousness. A quiet growl escaped her lips, bearing witness to her frustration over her perceived lack of progress.
With a final strike upon the hapless training dummy, Eveloria unleashed her frustrations. Slumping upon the grassy lawn, she found herself utterly exhausted. Wiping a glistening bead of sweat from her forehead, she released a heavy sigh, leaning back upon her palms for support.
Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps roused Eveloria from her weariness. Her gaze turned to the side, and there she beheld Ambrose drawing near. An audible sigh escaped her lips as she averted her eyes, yet curiosity compelled her to steal a glance at the training dummy Ambrose had so attentively observed moments before. Only then did he venture closer to her, his intent clear.
Kneeling before her, he gazed into her eyes and questioned, "Why do you persist, even in the face of adversity?" Eveloria's irritation was evident, interrupted during her late-night training session, and caught off guard that he approached her first. Her silence spoke volumes.
"It's pitiful to watch," he murmured softly, almost imperceptibly, as he began to rise, ready to depart. Unexpectedly, she spoke, her voice filled with determination. "I do it because I need to improve," she declared while picking up the wooden sword and standing tall.
Ambrose came to a halt, turning to fix his gaze upon her. Their eyes locked, and he could see the fire in hers.
"If I'm that pitiful to watch , I suggest you avert your gaze," Eveloria responded, her voice calm but resolute. She tightened her grip on the wooden sword's hilt and turned to confront the training dummy.
He turned around, reaching for a wooden sword and remarked, "Well, I came here to train too, but I lack a sparring partner." Eveloria glanced at him for a moment before retorting, "Are you trying to mock me? Why suddenly intrude upon my affairs? What is it you truly wish to discuss?" Her eyes brimmed with anger at this point.
Ambrose's eyes widened as he gazed at her, mesmerized by her lack of emotional concealment. He pondered silently to himself, analyzing Eveloria's every expression. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before reluctantly shifting downward to the ground. However, after a brief pause, he couldn't resist looking back up at her, his countenance now reflecting inner turmoil.
"I must admit to my curiosity. Are you striving so diligently merely to gain our father's recognition?" The sudden question caught Eveloria off guard, prompting her to start laughing in a strained, almost parched manner. Her laughter gradually escalated in volume, echoing through the air.
Ambrose's thoughts raced as he observed her, noting the dry and faintly bitter quality of her laughter, yet recognizing its authenticity. Eventually, her amusement subsided, but her gaze remained fixed on the ground. In a tone of indifference, she replied, "Who informed you of such intentions? Could it be your sister?" She briefly glanced up at him, only to quickly divert her eyes once more.
' She's not as dumb as I thought she was.' He thought as his eyebrows rose in shock and his mouth formed into a small frown. Before he could speak, Eveloria's mind wandered back to the discussion she had with her father earlier that afternoon. She remembered the firmness in his voice and the unwavering determination in his eyes as he spoke.
"I have already sent word to Lord Thornblade. You will get married to him," her father had said," Eveloria recalled. She clenched her fists, feeling the frustration welling up inside her.
"But father, I thought I made it clear that I needed time to think about this," Eveloria had retorted, her voice tinged with defiance.
Her father's response had been dismissive and cold. "Your opinion doesn't matter, just do as I say. It's for your own benefit. Lord Thornblade is a good man; he will take care of you."
***
"Listen, I couldn't care less about whatever this family has to offer," she sneered, turning to face him. A cold smile danced upon her lips, adding to her icy demeanor.
Ambrose nodded and cautiously approached her, a wooden sword held tightly in his hands. "I'd suggest gripping the hilt firmly. It's easier to swing when you're accustomed to the weight. Plus, it'll prevent the hilt from snapping in two and safeguard your palm during combat with another person."
Eveloria stared at him, a blank expression on her face. "What?" she asked, completely taken aback.
"I'll be your sparring partner every night," he added with determination. "And we shall commence our lessons right now."
She paused, surprised by Ambrose's sudden initiative. He had rarely uttered a word or come near her since the day he was born. Her eyes widened slightly as she thought, 'This is unexpected.' Nevertheless, she nodded in agreement to his proposal.
"As long as I acquire some valuable skills, I couldn't care less about who I train with."
Incessantly, Eveloria kept plummeting to the ground, each impact becoming more painful than the last. The realization struck her: Ambrose possessed an unexpected strength, surpassing her previous estimations. Despite his lack of mastery in the blade essence technique, he proved a formidable adversary.
Gritting her teeth, Eveloria felt the throbbing ache in her head intensify. The wooden sword slipped through her grasp, her fingers barely registering its presence. Frustration mixed with annoyance as she failed, for the fourth time in succession, to strike Ambrose without first crashing onto the unforgiving ground.
Ambrose appeared unruffled, as if their spars were nothing out of the ordinary. Not a single practice blow had connected with him. Exhaustion gradually consumed Eveloria, her energy waning with each passing minute. The harsh truth loomed before her: she was losing. Humiliation and frustration intertwined, threatening to unravel her resolve.
All she yearned for was the solace of her bed or, better yet, to escape the torment altogether and find eternal rest beneath the earth's embrace.
"We should take a break here, for now," Ambrose calmly stated, his voice carrying a hint of tranquility. Eveloria glanced up at him, surprised by his composed demeanor. It didn't appear as if fatigue had overcome him. Despite his slightly bloodshot eyes, they still gleamed with alertness, a testament to his remarkable stamina. Even his posture exuded perfection, with his legs straightened and his stance unwavering.
Feeling the weight of exhaustion and soreness coursing through her body, Eveloria collapsed onto the ground, letting her tired limbs rest. The bruises she had gained during their training were beginning to make themselves known, throbbing with each heartbeat. As she gazed at Ambrose, he simply settled down beside her.
"You truly excel at swordsmanship," she admitted, a note of admiration lacing her words. "Perhaps one day, you can teach me the ways of a real sword instead of these wooden sticks."
A warm smile graced Ambrose's lips as he replied, "I'm sure we'll get to that eventually." He retrieved his water skin and extended it towards Eveloria. "Here, drink some water."
Shaking her head, she declined his offer. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." But as soon as the words left her lips, a sharp pang of pain shot through her body, causing her to wince. The movement still proved to be quite painful. Eveloria's vision grew slightly hazy, and she leaned back, resting her head on the soft grass. With her eyes closed, she sought solace in the tranquility of the moment.
She blinked her eyes open, breaking the comfortable silence with a question that had been nagging at her for some time. "You used to draw, didn't you?" Eveloria's voice was gentle, filled with curiosity and a touch of apprehension.
Ambrose, caught off guard by the sudden inquiry, simply nodded in response, his lips pressed together in a tight line.
Taking a deep breath, Eveloria hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to proceed or retreat. Then, summoning her courage, she continued, "I know this might be way out of line, but..." Her voice trailed off, uncertainty clinging to her words.
Ambrose's gaze remained fixed on his hands, his silence speaking volumes. His eyes, distant and clouded, hinted at memories long suppressed. There was a flicker of pain in his expression, as if the question was one he had dreaded, a dormant ache stirred.
Her voice barely above a whisper, Eveloria treaded cautiously, "Do you know why your mother burnt your drawings back then?"
Finally, breaking his silence, Ambrose's voice was soft and laden with melancholy as he asked, "How did you know that my mother did such a thing?"
Eveloria's words came out in a rush, as if she had held onto this secret for far too long. "When I saw her with your drawings after she was done punishing me, she said, 'If he learns to use a sword properly, he won't need to draw anymore,'" she explained, the bitterness of the memory lingering in her voice.
A heavy silence hung between them, as the truth became clear. Eveloria's words struck like a bolt of lightning, electrifying the atmosphere. "Your mother resorted into burning those drawings," she revealed, "because she wanted to extinguish your creative spirit, but there was something else that fueled her actions—the unwelcome presence of my image within that family portrayal you drew."
With a tremor in her voice, Eveloria continued, her longing palpable. "I wanted to confide in you, to tell you to stop, but you rarely cast your gaze in my direction." Her words carried the weight of missed opportunities and unspoken truths.
In that moment, a profound realization washed over Ambrose, like waves crashing against the shore. Ambrose tightened his grip on the wooden sword, his knuckles growing pale under the strain. As his features contorted, his once gentle countenance morphed into a tempestuous stormcloud, revealing the depth of his anger. Eveloria, watching this sudden transformation, realized with a jolt that her words had deeply wounded him.
Regret washed over her, as she acknowledged the consequences of her thoughtless remark.
"Why?" Ambrose's voice escaped his lips through gritted teeth, laden with a palpable strain that betrayed his seething anger. "Why would you utter such a preposterous statement? Do you genuinely believe that you don't belong in this family?" His tone was biting, a testament to the depth of his hurt.
Confusion clouded Eveloria's face as she looked up at him. "What?" she asked, her voice tinged with bewilderment. The intensity with which he had taken her words aback left her searching for understanding.
"Do you truly think I see you as an outsider?" Ambrose's words cut through the air, his eyes piercing hers with unwavering sincerity. Eveloria's gaze widened, her forehead wrinkling as she grappled to comprehend the magnitude of his feelings.