Elias let his legs carry him far. Far from Victor, from his calm, unrelenting gaze, from the constant demands of that cursed sword.
When his lungs could take no more, he stopped, finding himself at the edge of a riverbank shimmering in the light of the setting sun. He settled onto a moss-covered rock, staring at the dark water slipping by, listening to the soft rush of the current. The quiet of evening settled around him, but his mind twisted with anger and frustration, each memory of the argument with Victor as sharp as broken glass.
He picked up a small stone and tossed it into the water, watching as it disappeared into the current. The crunch of footsteps on gravel sounded behind him, and he tensed, expecting Victor. But when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw a slim figure wrapped in a dark coat, her presence softening the scene.
It was Emilia Crane, Victor's wife. She stepped into the golden light, her gaze steady and kind. Without a word, she sank onto the grass beside him, her eyes drifting to the river as if she too found something in its depths.
After a moment, she spoke, her voice as gentle as the breeze. "Had a fight with Victor?"
Elias didn't respond, fists clenched around another stone. But she didn't press, letting the silence stretch, as if trusting the river to carry their unspoken thoughts.
Finally, he sighed, releasing the stone. "He makes it impossible," he muttered. "It's like… nothing I do is ever good enough. I'm sure he hates training me."
Emi gave a soft laugh, her expression knowing. "After twenty-five years of marriage, I can say Victor isn't the easiest to understand," she admitted. "He expects a lot—not because he's cold-hearted, but because he sees what people are capable of. That's why I fell in love with him. He made me believe I was capable of things I'd never dreamed of." She smiled a little. "In his own way."
Elias shot her a look, part skeptical, part curious. "If that's his idea of encouragement, he has a funny way of showing it."
She chuckled, meeting his gaze. "Victor trained himself through discipline, patience, and correction. For him, pointing out weaknesses isn't a critique—it's a compliment. It means he thinks you're strong enough to handle it, strong enough to improve."
Her words chipped away at Elias's anger, and he looked down, the tension loosening from his shoulders. Emi's gaze softened as she leaned closer, her tone quieter, almost conspiratorial.
"He doesn't teach just anyone. I've watched him turn away more students than I can count. But he chose you, Elias. And he chose you for more than your strength. He saw something worth teaching."
Elias's mouth tightened as he struggled to process her words. The irritation felt less real now, fading into something he couldn't quite name.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, voice barely audible.
"Because my children like you," she said, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. "And because Victor won't say it himself—but he wants you to succeed, Elias. He believes you can."
They sat in silence, her words filling the space between them. For the first time, the river's constant flow felt steadying, grounding.
A rustle of leaves broke the moment, and Elias turned to see a familiar face emerging from the shadows. Dan's gaze scanned the scene, a faint smile touching his lips as he looked from Emi to Elias.
"Thought I recognized a certain sprinting silhouette," he said, his tone light with humor. "Am I late to the party?"
Elias glanced between Emi and Dan, the last traces of anger slipping away. He nodded, allowing a small, weary smile. "No," he murmured. "You're just in time."