The camp lay hushed in the aftermath of battle.
Not the gentle quiet of sleep, but the suffocating kind that followed blood soaking into dirt and flames dying against their will. The air still smelled faintly of scorched fur and iron. Somewhere in the dark, an insect chirped—and then stopped.
Ronan sat near the campfire, one knee drawn up, the other extended just enough to avoid pulling at his chest. The flames crackled low, warmth licking at his skin. Every small shift sent a sharp reminder through his ribs.
He hissed under his breath and went still.
The bandages beneath his clothes were already damp again. Healing magic had closed the wound, but it hadn't undone the damage beneath—burnt muscle, strained channels, a core that felt scraped raw, like someone had dragged sand across it.
Across the fire, Kael stood at the edge of the light, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the dark beyond the clearing. The shadows swallowed half his face.
Ronan exhaled slowly.
"Kael."
He lowered his head—not in submission, not in drama. Just enough.
"I rushed in back there," Ronan said. His voice was steady, but it tightened at the edges. "I didn't give you time to decide. I acted first—and forced everyone else to follow."
Kael didn't answer.
A pulse of pain flared in Ronan's chest. His fingers dug into his knee as the firelight caught the brief clench of his jaw.
"That was wrong," Ronan continued. "You're the leader. I overstepped."
Kael's eyes shifted—not to Ronan's face, but to his posture. The slight hunch of his shoulders. The way his breathing never fully settled.
"You nearly got yourself killed," Kael said at last.
Ronan let out a quiet, humourless breath. "Yeah. That part too."
Kael stepped closer to the fire, boots crunching softly over grit. "You weren't wrong about the timing. Or the plan. But if that fight had dragged on even a little longer—"
"I know." Ronan's fingers tightened. "I felt it. My core was already empty when I stepped in front of Sylphie."
That earned him a sharp look.
"You didn't hesitate."
Ronan didn't lift his gaze. "I couldn't."
The fire popped, sparks lifting briefly before dying in the night.
Kael dragged a hand through his hair. "You're reckless."
Ronan nodded once. "Sometimes."
Silence settled again.
"But," Kael said quietly, "you didn't act like someone chasing glory. You acted like someone trying to end the fight before it cost us more."
Ronan finally looked up.
The tension didn't vanish—but it loosened, settling into something steadier.
The night deepened around the camp, danger retreating just far enough to breathe—but not far enough to forget. The fire burned low at the centre of the clearing, steady and watchful. Beyond its glow, the forest listened.
Ronan and Kael sat near the flames now. At a glance, Ronan looked calm—almost relaxed—but the illusion cracked if you watched longer than a few breaths. His movements were too controlled. His breathing is too deliberate.
Sylphie noticed. She nudged another stick into the fire. The flames flared, heat rippling outward.
Ronan sucked in a sharp, involuntary breath—then smoothed it away a heartbeat later.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You should stop pretending it doesn't hurt," she said lightly.
Ronan blinked. Then exhaled. "Was it that obvious?"
"Terrible," she replied. "You're terrible at pretending."
He chuckled—and paid for it, jaw tightening just a fraction too long.
Sylphie didn't call it out. She let the silence stretch, easy and familiar.
Her gaze drifted—not to his face, but to the slight forward lean of his shoulders. To the way his eyes kept flicking beyond the firelight, alert even now.
Earlier, when the Flame Hound had lunged—
"He hadn't shouted. He hadn't paused. He'd moved."
The memory tightened something in her chest.
She'd seen that before.
Not often. And never by accident.
"Samantha had fought the same way. Not reckless. Not emotional. Just absolute. The instant someone was in danger, the world narrowed—and everything else became expendable. Including herself."
Sylphie looked at Ronan again.
Different presence. Different weight.
Same instinct.
"…Thank you," she said quietly.
Ronan turned his head. "For what?"
"For stepping in."
The words hung between them.
"I know you didn't do it for praise," Sylphie continued. "But that doesn't mean it didn't matter."
Ronan looked back at the fire. "I saw it move."
That was all.
Of course, she thought. That's what protectors said when they didn't want credit.
"You could've dodged," she said gently.
Ronan did not say anything.
Kael, crouched near the fire, stared into the embers. "What you did today," he said slowly.
Ronan raised an eyebrow.
"It was battlefield control," Kael continued. "Positioning. Timing. Knowing exactly how long the fight could last before it turned ugly. Except the leader Flame Hound—" He clicked his tongue. "That part was reckless."
Sylphie stayed quiet.
"I can lead," Kael said. "But when every mistake has a face attached to it, I hesitate."
Ronan didn't argue.
"You don't," Kael said. "You calculate how much damage you can afford—and spend it."
The fire snapped, sparks spiralling upward.
"That's not something to admire," Ronan said.
"Maybe not," Kael replied. "But it's something we need."
He straightened. "From now on, you handle combat strategy. Engagement order. When we push. When we pull back."
Ronan considered it, then nodded. "Final call stays with you?"
"It does."
"Then it's fine by me."
Kael exhaled, some tension leaving his shoulders. "You know how the academy distributes skills, right?"
Ronan nodded. "Three floors. Ground floor—low-tier, free. First floor—mid-tier. Second floor—high-tier. You trade monster materials or rare herbs for anything above basic."
"Exactly," Kael said. "I want high-tier skills for the team. But the cost is steep."
Ronan grinned. "Good thing I have opinions."
Kael leaned forward. "Let's hear them."
"First—you. A high-tier illusion skill. It fits your style. Second—two skills for Sylphie. One's an all-boosting skill—physical, magical, agility, awareness, defence, endurance. I forgot the exact name. We'll find it."
Sylphie blinked. "Two?"
"And the second," Ronan continued, "Droplet of Life. High-tier healing. Giant sunflower. One drop of dew that pulls people back from death's edge."
Kael frowned. "Sylphie's still Adept Six. She can't use that yet."
"Not yet," Ronan said. "But she's close to Master. Until then, she should refine vine control. By the time she qualifies, she'll have the foundation to use it properly."
Kael studied Sylphie—then nodded. "You're right."
Sylphie looked away quickly, lips pressing together.
They spoke a while longer before Kael stood. "Get some rest. Both of you."
Ronan yawned, wincing halfway through. "Yeah. Good night, Kael. Sylphie."
"Good night, Ronan."