The morning sun spilled over the golden fields of Suntails Hollow as Lucas swung a wooden sword in slow, deliberate arcs. His stance wavered slightly, his brow furrowed in concentration as he adjusted his footing to match the diagrams in the old, frayed book propped open on a stump nearby.
"Are you fencing or preparing to milk a goat?" Dorian called, leaning lazily against a fence with a lute slung over his shoulder.
Lucas pointed the sword at him dramatically. "Mock me all you want, Lightning Fingers, but someday I'll be defending this village while you're busy telling songs about it."
"Not songs." Dorian straightened, pretending to take offense. "Epic ballads, sir knight. Ballads that will make your sword look shinier than it actually is."
Ryssa, seated nearby with her tail flicking idly, smirked. "And maybe someday, your 'shining sword' will be more than a stick, Lucas."
"Oh, ha-ha," Lucas retorted, brushing dust off his practice weapon. "Come on, then! If you're all such experts, take up a sword and show me what you've got!"
Dorian tossed his lute aside and grabbed a spare stick. "Challenge accepted."
With exaggerated flair, Dorian strutted into position, twirling the stick clumsily before lunging at Lucas. "En garde!"
The two clashed noisily, their movements exaggerated as they traded wild swings and shouted exaggerated battle cries. Ryssa rolled her eyes, but a grin tugged at her lips as the two spun and stumbled like actors in a poorly rehearsed play.
Bogo ambled over just as Lucas landed a soft tap on Dorian's shoulder. "Victory! The knight prevails!"
"Never," Dorian said dramatically, falling to his knees. "My dream lives on, but my body—oh, the tragedy!"
"Very convincing," Bogo remarked dryly, clapping sarcastically. "Now, can we move this somewhere that doesn't block the path to the fields?"
Lucas grinned as he held out a hand to help Dorian up. "Fine, but only if you spar with me next time."
"Not a chance," Bogo replied with a smirk.
A few days later, Ryssa stood in her grandfather's study, her hands resting lightly on the edge of his desk. Elder Vaerin sat across from her, his golden eyes studying her with quiet curiosity.
"You've been asking more questions about the Emberfall lineage lately," Vaerin said finally, leaning back. "What's changed, my ember?"
Ryssa hesitated, her tail twitching as she considered her words. "Nothing's changed. Or maybe everything has. I just... I think I want to know what I'm capable of, that's all."
Vaerin's expression softened, his stern lines giving way to a rare, warm smile. "Then let us begin."
For an hour every few days, Ryssa practiced her family's pyromancy under Vaerin's watchful eye. Though her flames wavered at first, her confidence burned brighter with each lesson.
One evening after practice, Ryssa returned to the group with soot-stained hands and an uncharacteristic spring in her step. Lucas raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Don't tell me you've been setting traps for dragons."
"Just training," she replied simply, though her smile gave her away.
Dorian leaned closer, his green eyes sparkling. "Whatever you're doing, it suits you. Keep it up, Ryssa."
Meanwhile, Bogo's absence from their usual outings became a regular occurrence. Whenever someone asked what he was up to, he'd flash a grin and deflect with the same answer: "It's a surprise, guys. You'll see soon enough."
The vague response gnawed at Lucas, who pestered him endlessly. "What kind of surprise takes this long? Are you building a second Suntails Hollow?"
"You'll find out," Bogo said with a mysterious smile.
Ryssa leaned against a tree, arms crossed, her tail swishing thoughtfully. "If this is one of your carving projects, you'd better be making something impressive."
"Trust me," Bogo replied, "you'll like it. But you have to wait."
"Well, we're awful at waiting," Dorian chimed in, sitting cross-legged nearby with his lute. "But I suppose for a surprise, we'll make an exception."
Though curiosity burned, Bogo's infectious enthusiasm eased their concerns. Whatever he was working on, his excitement made it clear that it was something he loved.
Between their chores and their individual pursuits, the group grew closer with each passing day. Whether they were sparring with Lucas, cheering on Ryssa's flame experiments, or teasing Bogo about his mysterious project, they found strength in each other.
One afternoon, after a particularly exhausting day of training, they gathered beneath the oak tree. Lucas sprawled out on the grass, holding his practice sword aloft like a knight receiving a medal.
"Admit it," he said, grinning at the group. "You're all thrilled to have the great Sir Lucas watching over the Hollow."
"Thrilled," Ryssa deadpanned, her tail flicking lazily.
"Well," Dorian said with mock seriousness, "once I write your epic ballad, maybe we'll believe it. Until then, you're just Lucas—the guy with a stick."
They burst into laughter, their voices blending with the rustling leaves overhead. For a moment, the world felt small but complete, their dreams as bright and boundless as the sky above them.