Ah, piss on me luck. That one was wide.


    I set me feet firm, steadyin’ the bowstring, the twang o’ the arrow still hummin’ in me fingers. The shaft thunked against a crystal tree—way off the mark, nowhere near the target I’d carved in the trunk across the clearin’. Shite. That’d be an ugly shot in a real fight. I clicked me tongue, rollin’ me shoulders as I reached for another arrow.


    “Right, ye wee bastard,” I muttered to the bow, givin’ it a good glare, “this time, straight an’ true.”


    I pulled the string back again, feelin’ the tension in me arms. Held it, breath steady. Released.


    This one hit better, right near the center o’ the knot in the wood. Not perfect, but good enough t’ kill a man.


    I let out a breath, glancin’ around the Crystal Clearin’.


    The whole place shimmered, bathed in an eerie light. The trees were like glass, their trunks smooth an’ faintly glowin’, their leaves swayin’ with a sound like wind chimes. The ground was firm, dark soil, broken by patches o’ moss an’ ferns. A fair place, aye, but strange if ye weren’t used to it. A relic o’ the old magics, or so they said.


    I set me bow down an’ stretched, flexin’ me wings a bit. Been at this a while now, and me muscles were burnin’. Had t’ switch it up.


    I reached for me battleaxe.


    Now, this—this was me real weapon.


    The haft fit in me hands like an old friend, the weight o’ the steel comfortin’. It had seen fights, this axe, felt the heat o’ battle an’ tasted blood. Not just any tool, no—it was a warrior’s weapon. An’ by the gods, I’d be a warrior worth it.


    I set meself in a stance, gripped the haft tight, an’ swung.


    The blade whistled through the air, bitin’ deep into a stump I’d set for practice. The thunk rang out in the stillness, wood splinterin’ under the force o’ the strike. I pulled the axe free, adjustin’ me grip, feelin’ the balance.


    Again.


    The next swing was cleaner, more controlled, the kind that’d take a bastard’s head off in one go. Then another.


    I kept at it, shiftin’ between me weapons. A few more shots with the bow. A couple throws with me handaxes, some better than others—one got lost in the ferns, but I found it easy enough. Then back t’ the battleaxe, workin’ through swings, footwork, breathin’.


    All o’ it was messy. Sloppy in places, clumsy in others. But I weren’t soft. I were strong. An’ strength could make up fer a bit o’ roughness.


    Still, it weren’t enough.


    I knew that better than anyone.


    I swung again, puttin’ all me weight into it, an’ me breath came heavy as the axe bit into the stump.


    Weren’t enough then. Weren’t enough when he needed me.


    I pressed me lips together, jaw tight. I didn’t stop, didn’t let the thought sink too deep.


    Me hands tightened round the haft o’ the axe.


    Not this time.


    Never again.


    I set me stance an’ raised the blade. Time t’ keep goin’.


    The clearing weren’t a place fer the likes o’ me.


    Aye, it was on the edge o’ town, close enough that folk could wander up if they felt like it, but it was mostly the druids an’ magic folk that came ‘ere. Meditatin’, chantin’, whatever it was they did. The crystals hummed with some kind o’ energy, old an’ deep, an’ those that knew how t’ tap into it could do all sorts o’ fancy tricks. Not me, though.


    I were just here t’ train.


    Stretched out me arms, feelin’ the ache settlin’ in, then cracked me neck. Felt good t’ move, t’ keep pushin’ meself. I rolled me shoulders, takin’ up me two handaxes. Time t’ get back to it.


    Twin blades, light an’ deadly. A man could do a lot o’ damage with these if he knew how t’ use ‘em right. I weren’t quite there yet, but I was gettin’ close.


    I sank into me stance an’ let the axes fly.


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    The first one spun clean through the air, stickin’ deep into the same stump I’d been hackin’ at before. The second—


    “Y’know, I don’t think the druids’ll like it much if you start chopping up their sacred trees.”


    I blinked, just barely stoppin’ meself from lettin’ go o’ the next throw. Me grip tightened round the haft, and I turned me head.


    There he was, standin’ just outside the clearin’, leanin’ against a tree like he belonged ‘ere.


    Leoparin.


    His sharp eyes were on me, watchin’ with that usual mix o’ interest an’ quiet amusement, like he’d caught some inside joke that no one else knew. He weren’t smirkin’, not quite, but I could see the ghost o’ it in the corner o’ his mouth. His golden hair caught the dappled light, but it was his eyes that always stood out—one bright, one darker, both takin’ in far more than they let on.


    “Ye again,” I huffed, shakin’ me head an’ pullin’ me axe out o’ the stump. “Thought ye’d be sneakin’ about somewhere, fillin’ yer pockets with things that ain’t yers.”


    Leoparin made a face, feigned offense. “I take great care in what I steal, thank you.”


    I snorted. “Aye, an’ that makes it all better, does it?”


    He shrugged, steppin’ further into the clearin’. He walked light, quiet—like a man who didn’t like bein’ heard unless he wanted t’ be. Probably outta habit.


    “Wouldn’t dream of taking anything from this place, though,” he went on, glancin’ around. “Crystals like these are worth more than gold in the right circles, but I imagine the ones who guard them would turn me inside out if I so much as laid a hand on one.”


    I let out a low chuckle. “Aye, an’ I’d pay t’ see that, lad.”


    He rolled his eyes. “Mm. I’m sure you would.”


    He stopped near the center o’ the clearin’, peerin’ at the trees, the crystals, all of it. Weren’t just lookin’, though. Nah, Leoparin didn’t just look at things—he studied ‘em, picked ‘em apart in his mind, put ‘em back together before he even blinked. Always watchin’, always learnin’.


    A good skill fer a thief, I supposed.


    Still, I didn’t like it much when he turned that look on people. On me.


    I swung one o’ me axes again, mostly t’ break the silence. “So what brings ye here, then? Ain’t like ye t’ come wanderin’ about a place like this, unless ye got somethin’ in mind.”


    Leoparin’s gaze flicked back t’ me. He hesitated a moment, then—just barely—winced.


    Narrowed me eyes. “Havin’ a headache, are ye?”


    He sighed through his nose, pressin’ his fingers against his temple like he could push the pain away. “Something like that.”


    “…Happens a lot?”


    Another pause. Too long fer me likin’.


    “No more than usual,” he said lightly, but I weren’t buyin’ it.


    He blinked, an’ I swore fer a moment there was somethin’—somethin’—in his eyes. A shimmer, almost, like he weren’t just seein’ what was in front o’ him, but somethin’ beyond it. The air around him felt different, just fer a breath. Then it was gone, like it’d never been there at all.


    I frowned. “Lad, ye feelin’ alright?”


    He exhaled, straightenin’ up like nothin’ happened. “I’ll live.”


    Didn’t like that answer.


    Didn’t like a lot o’ things about him, really. How he walked so light, how he spoke so smooth, how he lied so easily. But he was me friend, in a strange way. An’ whatever was goin’ on in that sharp head o’ his, it weren’t just somethin’ he could shake off.


    Still, weren’t much I could do if he weren’t gonna talk about it.


    I shook me head, spinnin’ me axe in me hand. “Right. Well, if ye start collapsin’ or seein’ spirits or whatever the hell it is yer doin’, try not t’ land on the weapons, aye? I’d hate t’ have t’ pull an arrow outta yer arse.”


    Leoparin huffed a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”


    Aye. An’ I’d keep an eye on him.


    Leoparin sat himself down on one o’ the flatter rocks near the edge o’ the clearin’, stretchin’ out like he hadn’t a care in the world. He had that look about him—like a cat in the sun, just lazin’ about but still listenin’ to every sound around ‘im.


    I let out a long breath, shakin’ the sweat off me arms before sittin’ meself down cross-legged in front o’ one o’ the bigger crystal formations. Up close, they shimmered in the soft light, faint magic hummin’ through ‘em like the deep, slow breathin’ of somethin’ old an’ vast.


    Weren’t sure if I liked ‘em or not.


    Still, I didn’t come ‘ere fer the crystals.


    I pulled me bag onto me lap, loosin’ the straps an’ diggin’ through ‘til I found what I was lookin’ for. A leather-bound scroll case, well-worn an’ a bit scuffed from travel. I flicked open the latch, pullin’ out one o’ the parchment rolls inside.


    Me quill came next, though it gave me a bit o’ trouble. Damn thing always got stuck in the case, an’ I had t’ wrestle it free with a bit more effort than I liked. Finally, I pulled it loose, lettin’ out a satisfied huff before settin’ the parchment flat against me knee.


    Dipped the quill into me inkpot—careful, careful, the thing was near empty—an’ started scribblin’.


    Sketches, notes, whatever came t’ mind.


    A rough outline o’ some o’ the critters I’d seen on the way here. A few small fairy folk, the kind that flitted about in the deep woods but never let ye get close. One o’ the bigger beasts, a great elk with silver antlers I’d spotted from a distance. Details on their movements, their sounds, anything that seemed important.


    An’ then, without even thinkin’ much on it, I started drawin’ somethin’ else.


    A sword. A shield.


    A man.


    He stood tall, strong, like he always did in me mind’s eye. A warrior’s stance, ready fer battle, but there was warmth in the set o’ his shoulders, a kindness in the way he held ‘imself.


    I swallowed hard, lettin’ the quill pause.


    Wasn’t like I needed the drawin’ t’ remember him. I could see ‘im clear as day even now. Could hear his voice, steady an’ sure, tellin’ me t’ watch me footin’, t’ stay quick, t’ fight hard. Could hear the way he laughed after a battle, the way he made even the darkest days feel like they’d pass.


    An’ I could hear the scream.


    The roar o’ somethin’ terrible. The crash o’ waves, the feel o’ salt an’ blood in the air.


    Me grip tightened on the quill, ink smearin’ a bit on the parchment.


    Leoparin’s voice cut through the quiet.


    “You should be careful with your ink.”


    I blinked, glancin’ up. He weren’t lookin’ at me, but I could tell he’d been watchin’. Always watchin’. His expression was unreadable, his gaze flickin’ to the smudged ink, then back to the crystals.


    I let out a slow breath, shakin’ me head an’ fixin’ up what I could on the page. “Aye. I know.”


    He didn’t ask about the drawin’.


    Didn’t have to.


    I rolled up the parchment, slidin’ it back into the case. The wind shifted through the clearin’, hummin’ against the crystals, an’ I let meself sit there fer a while, just listenin’.


    Someday, I’d prove it.


    Someday, I’d make it right.