Foolish Soldier: Reborn With A Broken Limit.

Chapter 03: Something About That Stance

The training grounds sat in the shadow of Wall Aldric, a wide yard of packed dirt and trampled grass wedged between the garrison barracks and the eastern guard tower. It smelled of sweat and iron. Soldiers drilled in clusters. City guards sparred with wooden blades. You could feel their halos. A blacksmith's apprentice hauled a crate of practice swords toward a storage shed, his arms trembling under the weight.

Soren stood at the edge of the yard.

His legs had carried him here without permission. He had meant to go back. He had told himself to go back. But his body had other instincts, and those instincts had led him through the inner gate, past the markets, past the guild halls, and brought him here. At a training yard. Like a soldier reporting for duty.

He didn't belong here. His clothes announced it. Blue wool. Silver buckles. A few of the soldiers glanced his way, assessed him as harmless, and looked elsewhere.

He found a spot against the outer fence, half-hidden by a stack of worn out training dummies. Straw guts spilled from a tear in one of them.

From here he could watch.

A woman in guard colors fought two opponents at once. Short hair. Bandaged hands. Her halo pressed outward. steady, with the control of someone with years of training. She moved like water. Her wooden blade caught the first man across the ribs, then swept the second man's legs before he could close. Both hits landed in the space of a breath.

Soren's fingers twitched.

He knew that movement. The low pivot. The weight shift to the back foot before the strike. Doran had drilled that same sequence a thousand times, but his body had never moved like hers. His halo had never let him. His muscles remembered what his mind wanted to forget.

He clenched his fists and looked away.

"Nice boots for a training yard."

The voice came from his left. Soren turned.

A young man leaned against the fence a few feet away, watching him with the kind of lazy curiosity that wasn't lazy at all. He wore the plain tunic of a city guard, but his boots were scuffed and his jaw bore a fading bruise. His halo was a faint presence—not weak, exactly, but contained.

Soren said nothing.

The guard didn't seem to mind. "Blue wool. Silver buckles." He ticked off the observations like items on a ledger. "You're either lost or you're hiding from someone. Which is it?"

"Neither."

"Then you're watching."

"Is that a problem?"

The guard shrugged. "Not for me. But the sergeant's been eyeing you since you walked in. Another five minutes and he'll either throw you out or put a practice sword in your hand to see what you do."

Soren glanced toward the center of the yard. The sergeant. A broad man with a gray beard and a halo that pressed outward like a slow tide was indeed looking his way. His expression was unreadable. Not hostile. Not welcoming. Assessing.

"I'll leave before that happens," Soren said.

"Probably wise." The guard pushed off the fence and extended a hand. "Kael. City guard. Outer district patrol."

Soren hesitated. He knew a Kael once. A young recruit with a quick tongue. Dead now. Years ago. An expedition to find other settlements, to survey the terrain beyond the walls. The creatures hit them on the third night. Half the company didn't make it back. Kael was one of them.

"Soren."

"Soren what?"

"Vail."

Kael's eyebrows rose slightly. "Vail. The textile family."

"Yes."

"Didn't know the Vails had a third son."

"Most people don't."

Kael studied him for a moment longer. His gaze was sharp—too sharp for casual conversation. A guard's gaze. The kind that noticed things and filed them away.

"You move like someone who's trained before," Kael said.

Soren's blood went cold. "I don't know what you mean."

"When the woman in the ring took down the second man, your weight shifted. Right foot back. Left hand opened. You were mirroring her. Didn't even seem to notice you were doing it."

Soren stared at him.

Kael shrugged. "Like I said. You're watching. But you're not just watching."

Before Soren could respond, the sergeant's voice boomed across the yard.

"Vail!"

Soren turned. The sergeant was striding toward him, his expression still unreadable. The nearest soldiers paused their drills to watch.

"You're Rordan Vail's boy," the sergeant said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"Your father supplies the garrison with uniform cloth. Good quality. Fair price." The sergeant's eyes narrowed. "Doesn't quite explain why his son is standing at my fence like a stray dog."

Soren said nothing.

The sergeant waited. When no answer came, he grunted. "You want to watch, you watch from outside the fence. This is a training yard, not a theater. Clear?"

"Clear."

The sergeant turned and walked back to his recruits. Kael exhaled.

"Lucky. He's usually grumpier." Kael tilted his head toward the gate. "Come on. I'll walk you out before he changes his mind."

The street outside the training yard was quieter. Evening was settling over the inner city, the sun dipping behind Wall Aldric. Kael walked beside him without speaking, his hands in his pockets, his gait loose and easy.

At the corner, he stopped.

"Vail," he said. "One more thing."

Soren turned.

"Whatever you're hiding—" Kael's expression was unreadable, neither threat nor reassurance. "—you're not as good at it as you think."

He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked back toward the yard, his silhouette swallowed by the lengthening shadows.

Soren stood alone on the corner, his heart beating too fast, his hands still clenched at his sides.

You move like someone who's trained before.

He had been in this body for less than a day. Already someone had noticed. The mask already slipping. 

He walked back through the darkening streets, and the weight of his secret pressed against his ribs with every step.

Dinner was chicken.

Soren sat at the far end of the long table, bracketed by his brothers, and ate without tasting. His father presided at the head, discussing delivery routes with Aldric while Bran kept interrupting with observations about horse breeding that no one had asked for. His mother watched him between bites, her expression searching.

"You were out all day," she said quietly, during a lull in the men's conversation.

"I went for a walk."

"A long walk."

"I had a lot to think about."

She didn't press. That was the thing about his mother. She noticed everything and said just enough to let you know she was waiting. When he was ready. When he trusted her enough.

He wasn't ready. He didn't know if he ever would be.

After dinner, he climbed the stairs to his room. The bed was soft. The sheets were clean. The window looked out over the inner courtyard.

He lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling.

he let himself remember.

 The demon's voice. And the other one. The one that had spoken to him in the dark. The soul is the principal thing.

He closed his eyes. His halo pulsed once, faint and steady.