Revan and Luna strolled quietly through the heart of the camp, moving past watch posts and rows of red-and-black tents. Though they walked side by side, Revan was always a half-step ahead—his eyes scanning the grounds, hers… occasionally drifting toward him.

  The camp wasn’t crowded—most soldiers were busy with their routines, sharpening blades, tending fires, exchanging quiet words. The air smelled faintly of smoke and warm iron.

  Luna hesitated before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “I heard… you’re not an Etherean.”

  Revan’s steps slowed. He let out a long breath before glancing back at her with a small, easy smile.

  “Yep.”

  He kept walking. Luna followed, biting her lip slightly, unsure if she’d said too much.

  She rubbed the back of her neck, nerves flickering across her features.

  “But that doesn’t mean I can’t fight,” Revan added after a moment, almost casually.

  “Thank you.”

  His brow arched slightly. “Hmm?”

  “I never really got to thank you,” Luna said, her voice softer now. “For trying to protect me.”

  When Revan turned, he found her cheeks tinged with color, her gaze lowered. She was fidgeting—tracing circles with her fingertip across her palm, glancing up at him only in quick, shy moments.

  There was something fragile and sincere in it.

  Revan gave a light laugh. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, I was the host, right? It's only fair I make sure my guest is safe and… somewhat alive.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I mean it.”

  He blinked, a little taken aback. “I really didn’t do much. It was that Oliver guy who saved us.”

  Luna stepped past him, turning to face him directly. She took a small step forward—closer.

  “Without your strength, I might not be here,” she said softly. “So… thank you.”

  Her smile was gentle, and the sunlight spilled over her face like morning light through a window. For a moment, Revan forgot to breathe. The girl in front of him—glowing in the warmth of day—looked radiant. There was something in her presence: a calm, a comfort, something quietly beautiful.

  He didn’t know what to say.

  “Oh! There’s a training field up that way,” Luna said suddenly, pointing toward a small, fenced-off clearing nearby. “Let’s go!”

  Before he could respond, she was already running ahead—light on her feet, hair catching the wind. Her laughter echoed faintly as she moved, every step full of life.

  Revan watched her go, awestruck for a beat too long.

  “What strength…?” he whispered to himself.

  Still smiling, he followed.

  The training field was simple—a rough square enclosed by wooden posts and rope, clearly built in haste for temporary drills. Off to one side stood a straw dummy dressed in mock armor, holding a wooden sword and shield.

  Luna grabbed two wooden swords propped against the fence and tossed one to Revan.

  “Teach me some swordsmanship,” she said with a grin.

  Revan caught the sword with ease but raised an eyebrow. “You can’t even move in that dress.”

  Luna looked down at herself, pouted, then squared her shoulders.

  “Then teach me how to fight anyway.”

  Revan exhaled a soft laugh, stepping into the field. “Alright. But don’t blame me if you trip over your skirt.”

  “I won’t,” she said confidently, but there was a flicker of nervousness in her eyes.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  He approached slowly, wooden sword in hand, and stood across from her. The sun filtered through the gaps in the camp’s trees, casting warm light over the practice field. For a moment, it was quiet—just the rustle of wind and the distant clang of armor from the main camp.

  “Okay,” Revan said gently. “Start with your stance.”

  Luna tried to mimic him—feet apart, sword raised—but her posture was stiff, unsure. Revan circled around her, adjusting her arms carefully.

  “Not so rigid,” he said. “You’re not a statue.”

  His hands brushed lightly over her elbows as he corrected her form. Luna’s breath caught for just a second—not from fear, but something else. Something quieter. Warmer.

  “There,” he said. “Better.”

  They faced each other now, swords raised.

  Revan tapped her blade with his. “Ready?”

  Luna nodded, determination flaring in her eyes.

  They moved slowly at first—step, swing, block. Revan guided her gently, correcting her grip, timing, footwork. Luna listened closely, focused, her brows furrowed in concentration.

  Minutes passed. Then more.

  They weren’t speaking much—but something was being said in the way they moved. In the way Luna’s laughter slipped out when she stumbled, and Revan’s quiet smile followed it. In the way their blades touched, again and again, but never with force. Just rhythm. Trust. A silent understanding.

  And when Luna finally managed to land a soft tap on his shoulder, she gasped in surprise, eyes wide with victory.

  “I did it!”

  Revan blinked, mock shocked. “I have been defeated.”

  She laughed—genuinely—and he smiled back.

  In that moment, the world beyond the training field melted away. There were no royal duties. No titles. No armies. Just two kids, standing in the golden afternoon, learning how to fight—and perhaps, unknowingly, learning what it meant to stand by someone.

  “Ooh! What about that glowing energy thing you do?” Luna asked eagerly, her eyes wide with curiosity.

  “You mean the Etherea coating?” Revan replied, amused.

  “Yeah, that!” she said, bouncing slightly on her feet.

  “It’s not that hard,” Revan explained. “You just… feel the Etherea inside you. Let it flow—imagine it spreading through your whole body, like a second skin.”

  “Okay, I’ll try.”

  Luna took a stance, her wooden sword held steady in front of her. She closed her eyes and focused.

  A moment later, a soft glow began to shimmer across her body—white-silver Etherea flaring to life in a delicate pulse.

  She opened her eyes and gasped. “I did it!”

  Revan grinned. “You’ve got talent. With a bit more training, you can learn to shift the coating—to concentrate it where you need it most.”

  He raised his left arm, letting the Etherea wrap tightly around it. Then, like water moving through a channel, the energy shifted down to his legs, before returning smoothly to his hand.

  “Or,” he added, lifting his sword, “you can use it to enhance your attack.”

  The glow of Etherea crept along his arm and into his blade. Then, with a swift flick, he slashed through the air.

  A crescent-shaped arc of Etherea shot forward, slicing across the straw dummy in a clean diagonal line, leaving a glowing cut through the mock armor.

  “Now you try,” he said, releasing the energy from his arm.

  Luna raised her sword, channeling the Etherea into it. The glow wasn’t as sharp or vivid as Revan’s—but when she swung, a smaller arc burst forth, striking the dummy with a satisfying thud.

  The second slash met Revan’s at the center, forming an "X" across the dummy’s chest.

  Luna beamed with pride. Her face lit up, not with magic—but with the joy of growth, of doing something she hadn’t known she could.

  She stepped forward, lowering her sword, the Etherea coating around her body flickering out gently.

  “Thank you… for teaching me,” she said, quieter now.

  Revan looked at her, his voice soft. “I’d do it again.”

  Their eyes met, and something passed between them—something too young to name, but old enough to feel.

  “It’s getting dark,” Revan said, glancing toward the horizon where the sun was melting into gold and crimson. The quiet moment between them faded gently, like the last light of day. “We should head back to the tent.”

  He walked over to Luna, took the wooden sword from her hands, and returned it to the rack near the fence. The warmth of her grip lingered on the hilt, but Revan said nothing.

  They made their way back along the dirt path that ran beside the grand tent, the ground crunching softly beneath their steps.

  Then they saw it.

  Just outside the tent, Dorian knelt before King Volcaz—his posture rigid, formal. Behind him, flanked by ten armed soldiers, Lord Cervarin sat down on his knees. Heavy metal cuffs bound both wrists, and silver chains coiled tightly around his bruised, battered body like vines of judgment. His face was bloodied, swollen from a savage beating.

  The camp had grown darker now, twilight slipping into night. All around them, soldiers moved to light torches—small blooms of fire flickering to life, casting long shadows against the tents.

  Without thinking, Revan reached for Luna’s hand and pulled her down beside him behind a stack of crates. She let out a small gasp, startled—but didn’t pull away. Her gaze flicked down to his hand holding hers—steady, warm, and… comforting. A faint blush touched her cheeks.

  They crouched there together in silence, watching, hidden in the flickering gloom.

  Dorian rose to his feet and stepped aside, giving the king a clear view of the prisoner.

  Volcaz stood like a mountain, unshaken and unforgiving.

  “Where is the parchment?” the king demanded, his voice low but carrying like rolling thunder.

  Lord Cervarin lifted his head, blood crusting along his jawline. Even through the pain, he managed a cruel smile.

  “I knew it,” he rasped, his voice laced with dark amusement. “This isn’t about the stolen Ether Stones, is it?”