The King's Guard

Chapter 12

The next morning arrived with the same pale grey light without the sound of any trumpet or bell. The sound of boots on stone and the usual murmur of the Academy waking took the centre stage. Kael didn’t sleep much. His body was tired, but his mind had settled. There wasn’t anything left to overthink.

He was in the yard before the sun fully cleared the ridge. The stone flagstones were still damp with morning dew, their cold surface biting faintly through his boots. Darius was already there, seated on a low bench near the weapons rack with a tin mug of cappuccino cradled in his calloused hands. Steam curled upwards, soft tendrils vanishing into the chill air.

He didn’t speak as Kael approached. He just sat watching the steam drift, the weight of thought thick in his silence.

Kael didn’t interrupt it. He stood nearby, shifting his weight slowly from heel to toe, feeling the sting of cool air on his neck, waiting.

Reyna arrived not long after. Her braid was tighter than usual, slicked back like it had been redone twice. She adjusted her gloves with small, precise tugs, not bothering to look up. The tension in her jaw said more than words would’ve. Jared came last, trailing a half-beat behind the others. He was whistling lightly without tune as though the early hour were a minor inconvenience, not a discipline.

Darius stood without a word, setting the mug down on the bench. His shoulders rolled back with a crack of bone.

“Warm-up,” he said flatly. “Then form drills.”

They obeyed without any further explanation.

Fifteen minutes of stretches. Fluid transitions into footwork. Runs across the courtyard in sharp bursts, the air whistling past their ears. Then staff drills: straight-line repetitions, measured angles, deliberate pace. The dirt underfoot shifted from cold and compact to soft and kicking under their movements.

Kael’s arms began to ache by the third cycle. His focus stayed sharp: trained, for once on motion.

Then Darius raised a hand.

“Today we spar.”

He let the words sit there for a moment.

“No pretense. No choreographed pacing. You fight until I end it.”

He turned, tossing Reyna a short-bladed staff. It made a soft whump as she caught it in one hand. Kael and Jared received similar ones: simple, and stripped-down. Nothing else but solid, balanced wood.

“First pair: Kael versus Jared.”

Kael stepped into the ring, his movements slow but purposeful. Jared gave a light, and theatrical shrug before sauntering to his mark. He stretched his arms overhead with an exaggerated yawn, then bounced on the balls of his feet like a boxer before the bell.

Darius’s voice cut through the still air.

“No ability use. Control over power starts with knowing when not to call it.”

Kael gave a single nod, his jaw tight. His fingers curled around the staff like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Jared grinned, lopsided and easy. “Try to keep up.”

The smirk didn’t reach his eyes.

Darius lowered his hand. “Begin.”

Jared moved first with a quick and almost playful manner, landing a forward sweep angled at Kael’s midsection. It was light, barely more than a test. Kael stepped back, turning his wrist slightly to deflect the blow.

The second strike came sharper. A high feint, then a pivot into a low thrust aimed at Kael’s knee. Kael caught it only just in time, as his footing shifted awkwardly, one boot scraping back in the dirt.

Jared pressed with a third strike, angled and faster, coming off a tight spin.

Kael blocked it, but there was a clumsy jerk in his arm.

Jared wasn’t trying to land a clean blow. He was studying Kael: pressing angles, shifting rhythm, checking balance.

The opening came.

Kael saw it.

A hitch in Jared’s back leg. An unconscious twitch in the elbow. A telegraphed movement, if only just.

Kael moved in… or rather meant to.

But the moment he stepped, his heel slid barely half an inch. The ground had given slightly, and he hadn’t felt it fast enough.

He recovered, but not fast enough.

Jared’s staff cracked across his shoulder cleanly and sharply, then with a smooth spin knocked Kael’s weapon free. It hit the ground with a dull thud.

Darius didn’t flinch.

“Again.”

They reset in silence.

Kael didn’t speak. He adjusted his grip and stepped forward once more. Jared had stopped smiling.

This time, Kael blocked the first three strikes cleanly. The rhythm was sharper, and more reactive. His shoulders stayed square, his feet grounded.

Jared narrowed his eyes.

The grin was gone. His next attack changed pace entirely: more aggressive, tighter arcs. Kael met him each time, staff clashing with a series of solid, clean cracks.

Then…

It happened again.

Kael blinked.

The world tilted by only a fraction. Like something in his perception had slipped off-centre. A faint pulse at the edge of vision, like the tremble before a Temporal Rift. Not a full one, but just the scent of it.

His breath caught.

In that breath, Jared struck low.

Kael’s knee buckled under the hit. His back slammed into the dirt. The sky above spun in slow motion. It looked pale, flat, and unremarkable.

Darius raised a hand. “Stop.”

Kael stayed down for a second. His chest rose, his eyes still on the blank sky.

The sensation was gone now.

He stood without fuss, and picked up the staff. Grit clung to his palms.

Jared didn’t gloat. He just nodded once, almost respectfully, and stepped back.

Darius spoke, eyes still on Kael but voice carried for all of them to hear.

“Control is more important than strength. If you break in the middle of a fight, you’ve already lost.”

Kael took in his advice with a single nod.

“Next pair.”

The rest of the session followed the same pattern. Reyna and Jared sparred. Then Reyna and Kael. She was consistent, and careful. Kael held his ground, but his movements felt hesitant. He was measuring everything now. Not just her, but himself.

By the end, they were all sweating. Dust clung to their uniforms. No one spoke unless spoken to.

Darius dismissed them without ceremony. “Drills again at dusk. Don’t be late.”

Jared lingered, resting the tip of his practice blade against his shoulder as Reyna and Kael began to move off.

“Nice performance,” he said, voice flat and low. “One slip and you nearly collapsed reality again.”

Kael didn’t break stride. “It didn’t activate.”

“Mmmmm...” Jared clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. “Because you got lucky. But luck doesn’t scale, does it?”

Kael said nothing.

Reyna turned around, her voice edged but even. “Drop it.”

Jared raised both hands in mock surrender, though the smirk remained. “Just making an observation. If I’m going to be in a squad with someone whose power turns the air inside out, I’d prefer he keeps it on a leash.”

He turned and walked off, his boots scuffing dust into the air.

Reyna stood a moment longer, watching the space where Jared had been. Then she looked at Kael with an unreadable expression.

Kael exhaled, slow and measured. “He’s not wrong.”

Reyna’s gaze lingered. “Doesn’t mean he’s right either.”

There was a pause. The training yard felt oddly still now, like even the birds had stopped to listen.

“You’re holding back,” she said. Her tone was quieter now. “Not just your ability. Everything. It’s like you’re waiting for something to go wrong.”

Kael kept his eyes on the far end of the courtyard. “Because it might.”

She didn’t answer at first. Instead, she looked down at her gloves, fingers working at the strap on one wrist until the leather sat flush against her skin.

“I’m not going to tell you how to fix it,” she said. “That’s not my job. But if you don’t figure it out, Darius will. And he won’t be patient.”

She gave Kael a quick glance, turned, and walked away, her boots crunching faintly in the dirt. She didn’t look back.

Kael didn’t return to the barracks. Instead, he stayed in the training yard until the sun moved behind the west spires. He didn’t spar or stretch. He just sat on the edge of the ring, elbows on knees, staring at the ground like it held answers. The shadows grew longer, the dust cooler.

He replayed the flicker in his mind—again and again, frame by frame.

It hadn’t been full activation. He knew the difference.

But it had been close. Way too close.

Even now, the faint ache behind his eyes hadn’t fully faded.

Later that evening, the second round of drills was quieter.

No one talked as they gathered. The courtyard lanterns hadn’t yet been lit, but the dimming sky threw a blue hue across the stone. Their movements echoed softly against the walls, almost muted, as if the weight of the day had dulled everything.

Darius stood, silently waiting with his staff in hand. He didn’t ask about the earlier session or offer any comment. He motioned for them to form up and began demonstrating a new set of footwork drills: nothing complex, just sequences meant to condition reflexes and coordination. Basic formations. Standard response rhythms.

They moved in loops and mirrored lines, responding to invisible threats. Step. Pivot. Guard. Again. Again. Darius never raised his voice, but his presence filled the ring.

They drilled until the lanterns came on.

Until Kael’s arms felt like stone and Jared finally stopped cracking jokes between sets. Even Reyna, precise and sharp as always, was slower by the end. She rubbed at her wrists when Darius finally called time.

“Enough.”

Darius leaned his staff against the low stone wall and crossed his arms, looking over the three of them like a sculptor assessing a half-carved block.

“First week is always uneven,” he said. “Some of you are worse at hiding it.”

His eyes fixed on Kael.

“Whatever’s going on—handle it. I don’t accept excuses.”

Kael didn’t flinch. He gave a brief nod.

“Good.”

Darius turned and walked away without another word.

For a while, no one moved. The sounds of the courtyard slowly returned: distant voices, the creak of wood as the gates settled.

Kael remained still, his body humming with fatigue.

Reyna stepped forward, standing near but not facing him directly. She spoke without turning.

“I meant what I said earlier. I’m not interested in dragging anyone.”

Kael stood, his jaw tight.

“Then don’t.”

Reyna blinked once, like she’d just caught something behind his words, but she didn’t push it. She turned and left without another word.

Later that night, Kael found a quiet corner in the south tower. It was cold and unlit there. He sat with his back to the stone and tried to slow his breathing.

No training today had gone wrong. Not fully. But it didn’t feel like a win.

He thought of his father's letters. Of the careful way Archon had looked at him when he first arrived. The way Jared smirked at him.

He pulled out the slip of cloth from his pocket, the same one he always kept. It was a piece of his old uniform, torn during his first Rift flare. He didn’t know why he still carried it.

He sat there for a long time, not looking at anything.