Knight stirred.
The first thing he noticed was the silence—soft, warm, and unfamiliar. Then came the stiffness, dull and heavy, weighing down every limb. His breath caught as he blinked up at a wooden ceiling—low, with sunbeams cutting through the slats. Not the guild. Not the field. A bed, somewhere safe.
He turned his head with effort. A chair sat beside him.
Amber was in it.
Her head rested on her arms, tucked in close to the edge of the mattress. She was asleep, breathing slowly, her white-and-red hair a tangled curtain over one shoulder. Her cloak was draped across his legs like a blanket, and her staff stood leaned in the corner like a loyal guard.
Knight stared.
The pain hadn't left, but it had faded enough to let him think. Strange how his body hurt less than his pride. He remembered the bear, the blood, the moment everything went white.
Then—nothing.
Amber stirred, as if sensing his gaze. Her eyes blinked open, unfocused, then sharpened into its normal self.
"You're awake," she said, while catching her breath. "Finally."
Knight shifted slightly. The pain was still there, deep in his torso and right arm, but manageable. He winced. "How long…?"
"Half a day," she said quietly, brushing a hand through her hair. "You passed out in the forest. We thought—" Her voice caught. "Titus carried you back himself."
Knight blinked. "He did?"
Amber gave a small nod. "You were out cold. Took a hit straight to the ribs. We were worried it punctured something. But Darryl got you out of there fast, and Titus found a healer in town." She hesitated. "They said you'll recover… just not to move too much for a few days."
He let the silence stretch. A dim breeze fluttered the curtains. Then he turned his gaze to her again.
"…You waited here?"
Amber's face flushed faintly. "Miriam and I took turns. She went to get food." She looked away. "You didn't have anyone else."
Knight closed his eyes for a moment. That fact didn't sting like it used to—it was just quietly true.
"Thanks," he said, voice low.
Amber's gaze returned to him. There was something soft and searching in her expression.
"…You really don't think before you throw yourself into things, do you?"
Knight managed a dry exhale that might've been a laugh. "Apparently not."
Amber shook her head but didn't press the matter. Instead, she reached over to a small tray and held up a cup of water. "Can you sit up?"
He tried—and immediately regretted it.
"Alright, alright," Amber muttered, setting the cup down and helping him lean up instead. Her fingers were gentle but steady, her warmth somehow grounding. "Drink slowly."
He did. The water tasted better than it had any right to.
Footsteps padded outside the door, and a second later, Miriam entered, carrying a paper bag filled with pastries. "He's alive!" she called with mock triumph. "The gloomy knight rises!"
Knight gave her a weary glare, but Miriam just grinned.
"Seriously, though," she added more softly, setting the bag down, "don't scare us like that. One bear mauls you and you just give up?"
Amber rolled her eyes. "Miriam."
"What? He needs motivation."
Knight actually huffed through his nose. "Think I found plenty already."
Miriam smirked. "Good. Because Titus said the moment you're walking again, training's going to be twice as intense."
"Why does that sound like a punishment?"
"Because it is," she said cheerfully, tossing him a small wrapped pastry. "Eat that. You look like a skeleton under all that armor."
Knight raised an eyebrow. "I'm not wearing it."
"Exactly my point."
Amber covered a laugh with her hand. The sound tugged something in Knight's chest—a strange mix of comfort and ache.
Knight spent most of the afternoon half-sitting, half-laying in the bed. The pain lingered, but so did the calm. For once, his thoughts weren't spinning around guilt or fear or failure. They were just… quiet.
It wasn't peace, not really. But it was close enough to pretend.
Titus stopped by in the evening. He didn't stay long—just crossed his arms, gave Knight a look that was both stern and approving, and said, "You took a hit like a damn fool. Good. You'll learn something from it."
Knight gave a slow nod.
Titus added, "Don't think this means you get a break. When you can stand, you train. We'll work on footwork and control. No more lunging like a berserker." Then, turning to leave, he paused and glanced at Amber. "Keep an eye on him. Don't let him get soft."
Amber smiled faintly. "I won't."
Knight stood again. Slowly. Carefully. But he stood.
And Titus was true to his word.
The training was brutal.
Each day, after light chores or short walks to regain strength, Knight was put through grueling footwork drills, defensive patterns, grip correction, weight-shift exercises, breathing techniques. No more swinging wildly or relying on brute force—Titus wanted discipline.
"No wasted movement," he barked, circling Knight as the boy panted in the training yard. "Your strength means nothing if your balance sucks."
Knight gritted his teeth and reset his stance again.
They drilled over and over—sweat matting his shirt, bruises forming, muscles screaming. Miriam watched sometimes from the side, chewing on skewers of roasted meat and calling out exaggerated coaching advice. Amber brought water, quiet encouragements, and sometimes just a calm presence when he needed it most.
But Titus never let up.
"Again," he'd growl. "You're not fighting goblins anymore. Real monsters don't give you second chances."
Knight never complained. He just kept moving.
And slowly—he started to feel it.
The clumsiness in his steps faded. His body remembered how to shift, how to pivot, how to wait instead of rush. Titus taught him how to read opponents, how to recognize openings, how to retreat with dignity instead of panic.
"You've got potential," Titus said one evening as the sun dipped low and Knight collapsed on the dirt. "But if you keep fighting like a man trying to die, you'll waste it."
Knight stared up at the orange sky, breathing hard.
"I'm trying not to anymore," he said.
Titus gave him a long look. Then, with a grunt of approval, he tossed a towel at him and walked off.