They stood at the edge of the training field, just beyond the treeline, watching the brothers from afar.
Towan was practicing alone again—kick after kick under the waterfall. Elliot sat a few meters away, half-buried in a stack of old scrolls and books, lips moving silently as he read.
Lytharos broke the silence first.
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he said quietly. “But sooner or later… I’m going to run out of things to teach them.”
There was no shame in his voice. Just honesty.
Eryndar didn’t respond right away.
His arms were crossed. His gaze unmoving.
“They’re both gems,” he said finally. “Just not the same kind.”
Lytharos smiled faintly. “You always did talk like a blacksmith.”
Eryndar didn’t argue.
“Understanding your enemy,” he continued, “that’s a different kind of strength. Most people charge in swinging. Elliot’s trying to see the shape of the storm before it hits.”
He glanced toward the waterfall, where Towan was still moving, again and again.
“And Towan… he trains like he’s trying to outrun something.”
Lytharos nodded, then added softly:
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“They’ve both been through more than most soldiers twice their age. But their ways of coping… couldn’t be more different.”
“Towan trains.”
“Elliot reads.”
Eryndar’s jaw clenched, just slightly.
“They’re not avoiding the pain. They’re just afraid that if they stop moving… it’ll catch up to them.”
A pause.
Then:
“It always does.”
Neither of them said anything after that.
They just watched.
The sun hadn’t risen yet.
Only the faintest light crept over the trees, casting long shadows across the dojo grounds.
Towan stood outside, bag slung over his shoulder, staring at the old wood of the dojo door like it was the edge of a cliff.
Eryndar waited nearby, silent as ever. Patient.
He knew what this moment meant — he’d seen it before.
The door creaked open behind him.
Elliot stepped out, still half-dressed in his sleep robes, hair a mess, book clutched under one arm like a shield.
Neither spoke right away.
I should say something, Towan thought.
Something cool. Something comforting. But nothing feels right.
He looked at his brother.
Elliot looked back, eyes tired — and trying very hard not to be red.
“You really leaving?” Elliot asked softly.
Towan nodded.
“Yeah. Eryndar’s not exactly the ‘let’s hang around’ type.”
A weak smile.
“Besides… you’d yell at me if I turned this down.”
Elliot let out a small exhale — half laugh, half sigh.
“True.”
They stood there for a second too long. Neither one moved.
“Take this,” Elliot said, reaching into his sleeve. He handed Towan a small notebook. “If you get ideas or techniques… write them down. I want to see what stupid stuff you come up with when we meet again.”
Towan took it slowly.
Flipped through the empty pages.
“Only if you promise to write down all the creepy cursed knowledge you’re digging up in here.”
Elliot nodded.
“Deal.”
Towan hesitated.
Then pulled his brother into a quick hug. Rough. Short. Unspoken.
But real.
Please be okay, Towan thought.
Please still be you when I see you next.
They broke apart, and for a moment, just stood there again.
“One year,” Elliot said.
“One year. Academy entrance. No excuses.”
“You better not be taller than me by then.”
“No promises.”
Towan smiled, and turned.
Eryndar was already walking.
Towan followed.
He didn’t look back.
But Elliot did.