Elias walked beside Jamie through the manor's corridors, their footsteps the only sound. Servants pressed themselves against walls as they passed, eyes flickering between the lord's son and the hunter's daughter who had not spoken in weeks.
He had been training with Eddie Gable for most of the afternoon. His shoulders ached. His hands remembered the weight of the practice sword. And for some reason, he kept talking.
"You know," Elias said, his voice lighter than it had been in days, "swordsmanship is genuinely a pain in the butt."
Jamie did not respond.
"I mean it. The four orthodox styles alone have something like twenty forms between them. And to get to the next stage, you have to master the form you're on. Not just learn it—master it. Completely."
He glanced at her. She was watching the floor.
"The Stellar Aegis style has five known forms. Five. Ugh, whats the point of learning something I'll probably never use. Then theres the Stillsword..."
She walked in silence.
"Still, I think that I'll be able to face you in combat, with you being a huntress and all ." He let the words hang. "What do you think? Do think I cant do it?"
No answer.
He nudged her with his elbow.
"Come on, don't be like that."
She still said nothing.
"So," he continued, undeterred, "I propose a bet. Whoever becomes the strongest between us—"
Elias paused and folded his arms, rubbing his chin.
"What will the winner get anyway?"
"Bragging rights? I don't know. We'll figure it out."
Jamie said nothing. But she didn't say no.
They reached her door. She pushed it open and walked inside.
The room was like a tomb.
The blinds were drawn tight, sealing out whatever light remained. No candles burned. No lamps were lit. The darkness was thick, almost suffocating, and the air smelled of dust and silence and something stale.
Trays of food lay scattered on the floor near the door. Porridge. Bread. Stew. All barely touched. Some looked days old.
Elias stood in the doorway, his expression shifting.
He did not like this.
He did not like that his friend was not eating.
But she didn't look like she'd lost weight. Her face was the same. Her frame was the same. She looked—normal. Except for the dark circles carved deep beneath her eyes and her emotionless face.
She turned away from him, reaching for the hem of her tunic. Without a word she took of her clothes and moved toward the bathroom.
He stood there for a moment, then stepped out and flagged down a passing maid.
"The trays in there need to be cleared. And bring fresh food. Something warm."
The maid nodded quickly. "Yes, young master. "
"The porridge is fine. I'll handle it from there."
She bowed and hurried away with the trays of old food.
Elias pushed the door open again and stepped inside.
The room was still dark. He crossed to the window and pulled the curtains open, letting the last light of dusk filter through. It wasn't much—the sun had already set, leaving only bruised purple and deep blue bleeding across the horizon—but it was something.
He didn't need the light.
But the room needed air.
He raised his hand.
Manipulating parameters, he managed to filter out all other gasses leaving a small bubble of oxygen. He made another. And another , setting them alight with a flicker of Flow. The flames caught—small, warm, steady. Soon a dozen tiny flames drifted through the room like fireflies, carried by the breeze from the window, swirling in lazy circles. He was careful not to let them near the curtains, the bedding,.
The light caught something on the bed.
Roric's axe.
It lay across the blankets, its blade gleaming dully in the shifting firelight. Elias' expression hardened. She kept it beside her always. The maid returned carrying a tray of fresh food.
"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes young master so please, make due with this porridge for now."
"Oh, ok, thank you." Elias said taking the tray from her.
"I'll handle take it from here, you can go."
The maid bowed and left. Elias put the tray on the bedside table then turned his attention back towards the weapon on the bed. He moved toward it, reaching out when the bathroom door flew open and Jamie lunged across the room, still dripping, and snatched the axe from the bed before his fingers could close around it. She rolled over and crouched t on the floor, clutching it to her chest, breathing hard.
Elias stood akimbo and stared at her.
She stared back.
Water dripped from her hair onto the floor. Her shoulders were tense, her knuckles white around the axe's haft. Her expression was pure, stubborn defiance.
Elias raised one hand to wipe his face and sighed.
"You need to clean yourself properly before you come out of the bath."
He walked to the wardrobe and pulled it open. Inside were clothes provided by his mother—simple things, practical, meant to be comfortable. He found a morning coat, too large for her, but it would do.
He brought it over and held it out. She made no move to get up so he lowered it and stretched out his right hand.
"Give it here."
Jamie's grip tightened on the axe.
"Tch."
He reached down and took it from her.
She yelped, surging forward to grab it back. He smacked her hand away—a light tap, nothing more—and draped the coat over her shoulders, covering her completely.
"You are a lady. You should make it a point to cover yourself. You can't just be moving around naked. So what if this is your room."
She made an indignant sound.
He ignored it.
He dragged her to the bed and pushed her down onto it. She landed with a grunt, the coat pooling around her. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and returned, standing beside her, and began drying her hair.
Her shoulders were rigid with outrage.
"Oh, you're angry huh? Good. And remeber that next time I'll smack you harder."
He worked methodically, squeezing water from the indigo strands, not speaking. When the towel was damp and her hair was merely wet instead of soaked, he tossed it aside and came to stand in front of her.
She looked up at him with narrowed eyes.
He folded his arms.
"You haven't been eating."
Her gaze didn't waver.
"I've been giving you space to collect yourself. But now you're just being stubborn, so, I'ma take the proactive approach until my Jamie comes back and not,"
He waved his hands in a scanning motion.
" This pigheaded brat. I'm giving you two options."
He raised his right hand as if offering her something.
"First, you act like a good girl and eat the food I brought."
He raised his left.
"Or. I force it down your throat. And before you think of resisting—it's porridge. It'll be very easy to make you drink. Remember when I said we would test which of us would become stronger? This could be our first trial depending on your decision."
He crossed his folded his arms again and leaned forward slightly.
"I noticed you've been circulating your energy to sustain yourself. We can do that for a while, but not forever. Your movements are getting sluggish. You think I didn't notice?" His tone was gentler, concerned.
She noticed it and her eyes flickered. Just slightly.
"So," he said, his voice becoming stern again.
"What's it going to be?"
They stared at each other.
The flames drifted lazily between them, casting shifting shadows across her face. Her eyes were narrowed and his jaw was set. She looked like she wanted to throw him out the window.
He stared back as if daring her to try.
Her lip twitched.
Once. Twice.
Then she sighed, leaning back on her hands, her shoulders finally dropping.
Elias allowed himself a small smile.
"Better."
He retrieved the tray of porridge the maid had left and settled onto the bed beside her. The bowl was still warm, steam rising from its surface. He scooped up a spoonful and raised it toward her mouth.
She faced away. Elias tilted his head and gave her a side eye.
'Why is she so difficult?'
But then he noticed something. She was watching the flames.
They drifted through the room like tiny suns, catching on her face, on the axe, on the coat draped over her shoulders. He held the spoon for a moment, then lowered it, deciding to change his approach.
He caused a cluster of flames to spiral together. They merged, reshaped, reformed—into the silhouette of a woman in a flowing dress, her arms raised as if mid-dance. The light shifted. The figure turned, its edges soft, almost alive as it began to move in a rythmic motion .
Jamie's eyes followed it with that familiar emotion.
'Curiousity...'
"I can do more than just illuminate a room with them, all according to calculation," Elias said, his voice casual.
"Do they look cool?"
She glanced at him briefly and turned her head away.
He sighed.
The image of the woman drew closer and gently touched Jamie's face turning her head back to face Elias before deconstructing back into sparks.
"If you eat, I'll use tell you a story."
Nothing.
"A good one."
Still nothing.
"This time, I'll use these fireflies to create images, really awesome ones too. How does that sound?"
Her eyes flickered , just for a moment. He caught it.
He raised the spoon again.
She looked at it. Looked at him. Looked at the fireflies which were now dancing gently above them in a slow spiral.
Then she opened her mouth.
Elias fed her the porridge. It was a small victory, but it was a victory.
The flames continued their slow dance as the evening deepened into night, and for the first time in a long while, the silence between them was not heavy.