Alric stayed kneeling for a long time, motionless.
So still, in fact, that someone passing by might not have known he was breathing at all—not unless they looked very closely.
The warmth from her healing still lingered faintly on his side. Faint, gentle… but not the part of him that burned most.
No, the heat was centered elsewhere.
In his hair, where her fingers had slid through just moments before. That small, almost careless gesture echoed louder in his body than he wanted to admit.
He could still feel it.
Almost same as mother reverend had patted his head, but only a hundred percent more vivid this time around.
Eventually, something in him let go.
He tipped backward and collapsed into the grass, the soft green blades cushioning him like a forgotten bed. Overhead, the blue moon hung clear and cold, casting silver across the overgrown garden.
He stared up, eyes wide open.
Not thinking. Or maybe thinking too much. He couldn't tell the difference anymore.
Time passed without shape. The wind rose, whipping through the trees, bending the wildflowers with sharp gusts that made the garden feel alive and restless.
He still didn't move.
The wind wasn't strong enough to rattle him—not compared to how rattled he already was inside.
But it did annoy him.
Because the wind had stolen something.
That faint, bitter-sweet scent she'd left behind.
He had noticed it when she leaned close—a soft sandalwood warmth, layered with something darker beneath. Something sweet, but with an edge.
Like dark chocolate, he realized.
Not that he'd ever had much of it. But now that it was gone, he missed it more than he expected.
The breeze played through his hair, tugging strands across his face. He raised a hand to push it away—then stopped halfway.
Lowered it.
I have the Blood Knight Awakening tomorrow. The thought landed like a stone in still water.
He closed his eyes.
From a distance, he looked peaceful. Resting.
But if someone had looked closer—just a little closer—they might have noticed the faint pink tint still lingering on the tips of his dark ears.
Barely visible.
But unmistakably there.
The blue moon had dimmed to a faint memory, and the edge of the red sun flickered across the horizon like an ember catching on sky.
Alric opened his eyes slowly, the heat already building in the morning air. The wind had turned warmer, drier—summer stirring awake.
He blinked, eyes still heavy with sleep, the brown of them slightly dulled, rimmed red. He looked around and sat up, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Morning already," he muttered.
With a slow breath, he stood and left the garden, stepping into the light. Turning right, he walked the familiar path around the cathedral's edge to a modest spiraling tower—the one that housed his quarters.
He climbed the stone staircase and entered his room, letting the door fall shut behind him with a quiet thud.
Inside, he left the windows closed.
He lay down again.Not to sleep—just to be still.
The room was dim, the air cool. He lay there a long while, letting his thoughts drift.
Eventually, he rose, pulled a clean uniform from the cupboard, and made his way across the hall to the public washroom.
It was quiet. A few early risers. No crowds.
Alric stepped under an empty shower stall and turned the water on cold, letting it cascade over his head and shoulders. He flinched, then sighed—fully awake now.
He scrubbed his skin with coarse soap, working over the dried sweat and bruises from training.
As he lathered, something nudged at his mind.
He had slept better than he ever had.
Not in a warm bed. Not on a mattress.
On grass. In open air.
He remembered how quickly he'd dozed off last night—how he had only meant to lie down for a minute. He couldn't remember when he'd last fallen asleep like that. So fast. So deeply. So peacefully.
His ribs didn't hurt.
His limbs weren't stiff.
And the warmth—the healing warmth—still lingered in some corner of his body.
It had to be her.
The woman from the garden.
The one with green eyes like cut glass and a voice like still water.
Her magic had sunk deeper than bone.
He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to forget that feeling.
"Hey, Alric!" a voice called from behind. "Why are you scrubbing your hair like you're digging for coins?"
Alric paused mid-motion, blinking. He hadn't realized how hard he'd been working his fingers through his scalp.
He turned around slightly, smiling when he saw the speaker.
Tyler.
Same as ever. Friendly, fast-talking, and always looking for conversation.
"Hey, Tyler," Alric replied. "Just got a bit of dirt in it yesterday, that's all."
Tyler smirked. "Right. Must've fallen in a ditch or something."
Alric chuckled and turned back under the water.
Tyler had been talkative since day one, always pestering him—when Benedict wasn't around, at least. The knight-trainee had made the Third Cohort his home the past two days, and his silent presence had a way of putting even the loudest tongues to rest.
But now, alone with his thoughts again, Alric didn't stop scrubbing.
He kept going.
It was strange.
He wasn't usually this concerned with his hair. Dirt had never bothered him before. Mud was just part of life.
But now…
After last night…
He just felt like keeping it clean.
After washing up, Alric dressed in a fresh set of the green trainee uniform, the fabric still stiff from last week's folding. He slung the red cape of the Third Cohort over his shoulder and fastened the clasp at his collar.
Then he stepped outside.
The morning light had grown harsher, gold bleeding into everything. He was just approaching the courtyard when he caught sight of a familiar figure—the same head of red hair he'd seen every day for the last three.
And, as if on cue, the figure turned.
Ruby-red eyes locked onto his.
"Hey, Alric. You're late today," Benedict called out as he strolled toward him, casual as ever.
Alric slowed a step, then shrugged. "Slept in a little."
Benedict smiled. "Yeah, I bet. Must've been exhausted after yesterday's match."
He clapped a hand lightly on Alric's shoulder as they walked together, the motion easy but solid—like from someone who knew his own strength.
"Feeling ready for the blessing?" he asked. "No need to be nervous. Happens to all of us eventually."
"I'm not," Alric said, perhaps too quickly.
He wasn't lying… not entirely. But the thought of what was coming still sat heavy in his chest. Not fear, exactly. Just weight. Expectation.
He kept walking, boots clicking quietly against the stone.