-PoV: Reina Asheville-
The corridor outside Kel von Rosenfeld's quarters was silent.
No guards. No attendants. Only the pale wash of lantern-glow against the winterstone walls and the faint whisper of wind slipping through distant cracks—like a breath exhaled by something old within the manor.
Reina Asheville stood there for a moment after the door had closed behind her.
She did not immediately move.
Her eyes rested upon the polished floor, watching the shadows stretch beneath the lantern's warm dimness.
Her breathing was calm.
Her pulse… not as calm.
She clasped her hands behind her back, posture still precise from the discipline ingrained over years. The knuckles of her left hand, bruised from her final duel, throbbed faintly beneath the glove.
"Walk beside me. For two years. Without crest."
Kel's voice replayed in her mind. Quiet. Even.
"As companions."
His eyes—grey, clear, like moonlight that had forgotten warmth—had not wavered.
She lifted her gaze.
No one stood in the corridor.
Not even Samuel.
The world had gone quiet.
Perhaps in respect.
Perhaps because what had been asked did not belong to the realm of spoken things.
She turned and began to walk.
Return to the Trainee Quarters
Snow lingered against the window storefronts, scattering pale reflections across the hallway as she passed.
Reina walked neither fast nor slow.
Each step measured, heel touching stone with hardly a sound.
She passed two other trainees. They lowered their heads respectfully. She acknowledged with a slight movement of her eyes. Nothing more.
First place.
They would whisper tonight.
Some in admiration. Some in envy.
None in understanding.
She reached her door and entered the small chamber assigned to low-ranking knights-in-training.
She did not light more than a single candle.
She did not sit immediately.
She stood, back toward the window, hands folded before her.
Then, slowly, as the candlelight caught her face, something in her eyes softened—not fully, not visibly to others.
But enough.
Memory of a Fallen House
She closed her eyes.
The scent of cold earth.
Her father's final moments.
Not as seen—but as heard.
"Reina… do not bow your head."
She had watched the door close on his life at ten years old.
Watched her uncle seize House Asheville.
Watched her name removed from inheritance records.
For a year she walked alone through three territories.
Hunger. Silence. Cold.
And then the Rosenfeld gates.
She had not asked for sanctuary.
Only asked—
"Will you allow me to train my sword here?"
They allowed.
She bled.
She endured.
She did not seek praise.
She expected nothing.
Her reflection in the torchlit glass now stared back.
A fifteen-year-old girl.
Not remarkable.
Not enchanting.
But her eyes…
They belonged to someone who had already buried a life.
Then anew… began to walk.
Kel's Eyes
Grey.
Unblinking.
Blank.
But not empty.
She frowned faintly.
Most nobles who spoke with indifference hid arrogance.
Kel had spoken with indifference born of inevitability.
Not "I am above you."
But "I am already somewhere you cannot follow unless you choose."
And when he said "walk beside me", he did not offer protection.
He offered exposure to the same darkness.
Like someone already half a step into the grave, asking:
"Will you step in, too?"
Her heartbeat steadied.
He is cursed.
He may not live two years.
He does not conceal that. He walks forward regardless.
Her gaze hardened.
So did I.
Decision
Reina walked to the low table near the candle.
She removed her gloves.
Her hands were small.
Calloused.
She sat.
Slowly.
Folded her hands upon her lap.
Looked into the single flickering flame.
Then spoke to the silence:
"I will go."
Not as a confession.
As a decree.
She rose and began preparing immediately.
Not visibly excited.
Calm.
Purposeful.
She opened the small wooden trunk beneath her bed.
Inside: a folded scarf, plain, pale lavender—her mother's.
A small whetstone wrapped in cloth.
The broken ring her father once wore—its seal removed, its metal reshaped into a barely discernible loop.
She touched it once.
He asked two years.
She closed the chest.
Even if he lives one…
Her reflection in the darkened window watched her gather her training cloak.
Even if he lives none…
She tied her hair tighter.
Her face remained composed.
Her eyes firm.
"I do not follow."
She extinguished the candle.
Darkness embraced the room.
Only starlight remained.
"I walk."
Later—Before Dawn
As the last embers of night struggled against approaching morning, Reina awoke without needing to force herself.
She had slept only an hour.
It was enough.
She stood, dressed simply in trainee uniform, gathered her things, then headed to Kel's quarters.
Before the world woke.
Before hesitation was possible.
She reached the door.
She did not knock loudly.
Just once.
A measured sound.
"Come in."
His voice—calm, unchanged.
She opened the door.
Kel stood by the window, cloak draped over a simple travel outfit.
He turned.
Their eyes met.
She bowed, minimal.
Then rose.
And spoke clearly.
"Lord Kel," she said.
"If it is to walk beside you…"
A pause.
Then, like steel settling into a sheath:
"I will walk until steps are no longer possible."
Kel's expression did not shift.
Not entirely.
But his eyes changed.
Slightly.
Acknowledgment.
Not gratitude.
Not approval.
Acceptance.
"Then," Kel said softly, "we begin."
She bowed once.
Not out of submission.
As acknowledgment between warriors.
Then left to prepare for departure.
No further words needed.
The corridor felt different now.
Not lighter.
Only certain.
Reina Asheville walked with calm steps toward her future.
Not as someone chosen.
As someone who had chosen.
Even shadows, she thought,
decide where to fall.