As the training began, Florã stood in the middle of the practice ground, her hands on her hips, watching the villagers grip their wooden sticks awkwardly. To her horror, they were swinging the sticks wildly, pretending they were swords, with absolutely no form or purpose.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "What... are you all doing?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.
One of the villagers stopped mid-swing, his stick wobbling in his hand. "Uh, practicing... sword fighting?" he said hesitantly.
Florã's eyes narrowed. "That's not sword fighting. That's... flailing! Do you think bandits will stop attacking you because you're waving sticks at them like you're chasing chickens?!"
The villagers shuffled nervously, some looking at their sticks in shame. Florã sighed, grabbing one of their sticks and stepping forward.
"First off," she said, holding the stick firmly, "this is not a sword. It's a stick. But if you treat it like one, you'll at least learn something. Grip it properly—firm but not tight. Imagine the weight of a real blade."
She demonstrated a slow, deliberate movement, slicing the stick through the air with precision. "Control your swing. It's not about speed or power; it's about technique. No more of this—" She waved the stick around dramatically, mocking their earlier attempts.
Some villagers chuckled nervously, and she allowed herself a faint smirk. "Good. Now pay attention. Feet shoulder-width apart. Balance is everything." She moved among them, correcting their stances. "And for heaven's sake, stop pretending you're knights from a tavern tale. Stick to the basics!"
The villagers hesitated at first, but under Florã's sharp gaze, they began to mimic her movements. Their swings were clumsy, but at least they weren't flailing anymore. Florã nodded in approval.
"Better," she said. "Remember, practice like this until it becomes second nature. Soon, you'll wield swords for real. But for now, stop embarrassing yourselves with all that wild stick swinging!"
Florã deliberately chose her mocking tone, her words sharp and laced with challenge, because she understood a simple truth about human nature: people learn faster when their pride is on the line and their beliefs are questioned. She wasn't just instructing them; she was stirring their egos, lighting a fire within them to prove her wrong.
Her gaze was calculating, her voice carrying a mixture of derision and intent. Every jab and exaggerated critique was a carefully aimed arrow, designed to pierce their self-doubt and awaken their determination. Florã knew that beneath their initial embarrassment, the sting of her words would ignite a desire to do better—not for her, but for themselves.
In her mind, this wasn't cruelty. It was strategy.
Lorian approached Florã with a gentle smile, carrying a cup of water and a towel. He handed them to her, his voice calm but firm. "Here, take this. You've been working hard all day."
Florã accepted the offerings with a grateful nod, using the towel to swipe away the sweat on her brow. "Thank you, Lorian. You're always so helpful to me."
He shrugged, his expression softening. "It's my village too. I was born here, and my mother is still here. I can't just stand by."
Florã paused, her curiosity piqued. "Your mother? I don't think I've ever seen her."
Lorian let out a small, bitter chuckle, his eyes lowering. "That's because she's asleep. She... won't wake up."
The weight of his words hit Florã like a sudden blow. She froze, staring at him as realization dawned. "Oh, Lorian... I—I didn't know," she stammered, her voice trembling. Without thinking, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him in a heartfelt hug. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it like that. If I'd known, I'd never have asked—"
But Lorian pushed her back gently, his face turning away to hide his pain. "Florén, you're so cringe. Get off me. You're sweating all over—ugh, eww!"
Florã blinked, stunned for a moment, before a faint, sad smile touched her lips. She could see through his act, the way he tried to mask his grief behind humor. "You don't need to act so tough," she said softly. "At least, not in front of me."
"Stop with the cringe," Lorian replied, his voice sharper than he intended. He turned abruptly, muttering, "Let's go."
Florã watched him walk away, her heart heavy with the understanding of his pain. She wanted to say more, to comfort him somehow, but she knew she couldn't force it. She had lost her family too and knew all too well that some wounds were too deep for words to reach.
Letting out a quiet sigh, she gathered herself. "I'll go take a bath," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
With that, she turned to face the villagers, who were still practicing under the fading light. She raised her voice, her tone steady and encouraging. "The sun has already set! Let's call it a day. All of you have done so much, and I can see how you're improving, little by little. Have a great night, and don't push yourselves too hard."
The villagers nodded, murmuring their thanks as they began to disperse. Florã watched them go, her heart warming slightly at their determination. But the weight of her earlier conversation with Lorian lingered.
She returned to her small hut, the quiet night wrapping around her like a blanket. As she closed the door, she let out a weary sigh, the day's events swirling in her mind. In the solitude of her space, she allowed herself a moment of vulnerability, her thoughts heavy with both her grief and Lorian's.
As Florã sat alone in her small hut, she realized with a sigh, "There's no way I can take a proper bath here. This place is too cramped." The thought made her grimace; she desperately needed to wash off the grime of the day. Resolving to find a solution, she decided to ask the village head where the villagers usually bathed.
Making her way to the village head's house, she knocked lightly on the door. The elderly man opened it, his face lighting up in recognition. "Ah, Florén! What brings you here at this hour?"
Florã cleared her throat, feeling slightly awkward. "I was wondering... where do people in this village bathe? I mean, there's no proper bathroom in the hut I'm staying in."
The village head chuckled knowingly. "Ah, yes, it's simple here. There's a lake just behind the village. It's quiet, and the water's fresh. Maybe you've seen it?"
Florã's brows furrowed. "The one that's... all open?"
The old man nodded. "Yes, but don't worry. Nobody goes there in the middle of the night. You'll have the place to yourself."
Florã hesitated, her thoughts immediately drifting to Lorian. She knew he sometimes went to the lake at night, likely to clear his mind. If I don't tell him beforehand, there might be... an awkward situation, she thought. With a reluctant sigh, she decided to inform him.
Arriving at Lorian's door, she knocked firmly. After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing a slightly disheveled Lorian. He blinked in surprise, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. "Well, this is rare. Florén, at my door? What's the occasion?"
Florã shifted uncomfortably, brushing her damp hair back. "I, uh... I'm going to take a bath," she said, her tone matter-of-fact.
Lorian raised an eyebrow, then burst out laughing. "Okay? And what do you want me to do about that? Scrub your back?"
Florã rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushing. "No, idiot. There's no bathroom here, so I have to use the lake behind the village."
Realization dawned on Lorian, and his grin widened. "Ohhh, I see. You're worried I'll be there? Relax, we're all dudes here. Nothing to be shy about, right?" He waggled his eyebrows, clearly enjoying her discomfort.
Florã stiffened, her mind racing for an excuse. I can't let him suspect anything about my real identity, she thought. "I'm not shy," she retorted quickly, "but as royalty, I'm not accustomed to bathing in the open like... commoners."
Lorian snorted, crossing his arms. "Mr. Royalty, huh? Fine, fine. Go take your royal bath. Just don't stink up the lake while you're at it."
Florã shot him a glare, her lips twitching in annoyance. "Eww, now you're the one being cringe."
Lorian laughed, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Go on, Your Highness. The lake awaits. But seriously, no one's gonna bother you. Enjoy your bath."
Florã turned on her heel, muttering under her breath as she walked away. She couldn't shake the feeling of his laughter trailing after her, but at least she'd avoided suspicion—for now.
As Florã made her way toward the lake, the cool night air wrapped around her like a quiet whisper, the village now silent under the moon's watchful gaze. She clutched a small bundle of clothes tightly in her hands, her mind racing with a mix of irritation and amusement at her earlier exchange with Lorian.
"That idiot," she muttered to herself. "Why does he always have to make everything into a joke?" But beneath her annoyance, she couldn't deny that his teasing helped lighten the heaviness she'd felt earlier.
The trees around the lake swayed gently in the breeze as she approached. The water sparkled under the moonlight, its surface rippling softly like liquid silver. Florã hesitated at the edge, glancing around to make sure she was truly alone. Satisfied, she exhaled and began to unbutton her tunic, her movements quick and deliberate.
As she stepped into the cool water, a shiver ran up her spine, but the sensation was refreshing. She submerged herself, letting the day's sweat and grime wash away. The stillness of the night allowed her mind to wander, and she found herself thinking about Lorian again.
"He's hurting so much, but he'd rather mask it with jokes and laughter," she thought, her chest tightening. "I know what that feels like. Pretending to be strong when everything inside you feels broken."
Florã tilted her head back, staring at the stars. They glittered brightly, as if trying to offer her some kind of comfort. "Maybe I should try harder to be there for him," she mused. "He deserves someone who understands."
A sudden rustling in the bushes snapped her out of her thoughts. Her heart jumped, and she immediately ducked lower into the water, scanning the shoreline.
"Lorian, if that's you, I swear—" she started, her voice sharp.
But instead of laughter or a witty retort, there was silence. Then, a soft, tentative voice called out. "Florén? Is that you?"
Florã's eyes narrowed. "Village head?" she asked cautiously.
The old man stepped into view, carrying a lantern. "Oh, don't mind me," he said with a chuckle. "I was just passing by to check on the livestock. Didn't mean to startle you."
Florã sighed in relief, her cheeks warming slightly. "It's fine. Just... don't linger, alright?"
The village head nodded understandingly. "Of course. Enjoy the water, lad. And thank you again for helping us today. The villagers are starting to believe they can truly protect themselves."
As he walked away, Florã's tension eased, and she let herself relax in the water again. The lake, now perfectly still, seemed to reflect her thoughts—calm on the surface but hiding ripples of emotion beneath.
After finishing her bath, she dried herself off and slipped into fresh clothes. As she made her way back to the hut, the chill in the air seemed less biting.
When she passed Lorian's home, she hesitated for a moment, her hand twitching as if she wanted to knock again. But she shook her head, deciding against it. "He needs time," she thought. "We both do."
Inside her hut, Florã lay down on the simple cot, staring at the wooden ceiling. Her mind wandered back to the villagers' progress, Lorian's hidden pain, and her own tangled emotions.
"One step at a time," she murmured to herself, closing her eyes. "Tomorrow's another day." And with that, she drifted off into an uneasy but much-needed sleep.