Doyle worked at the stove, preparing for tomorrow meals. The smell of food surrounded us, warm and far too appealing, while we sat and waited.

  “Mate,” Rob said at last, unable to stand it any longer, “you are seriously not going to tell us, are you?”

  Doyle did not look back. He stirred the pot with steady patience, as if the question had not been asked.

  “Sean,” Rob pleaded, turning to me.

  I smiled.

  “Doyle?” Amelia tried this time, softer.

  He finally turned, spoon still in hand, throwing a little muffin at Amelia in the other. “C’mon children, leave it be.” Amelia caught the muffin and inhaled it. “It’s a surprise.” One corner of his mouth twitched.

  I dipped my head, eyes fixed on the table, fighting the urge to smile.

  Rob wasn’t finished. He jabbed a finger toward the vials. “Okay. Now, explain how he got those. And whatever is going on with that pocket pouch thing.”

  A grin slipped out before I could stop it.

  Doyle shot me a warning look, then stepped in before Rob could press harder. “Sean has already been told off for his little shopping trip.”

  “Trip? When?” Rob asked. “Where?”

  “Do not ask,” Doyle said firmly. “There is no need for another lecture.”

  Amelia’s gaze slid to me, sharp and assessing. “You didn’t.”

  I met her eyes. “I did.”

  “He shouldn’t have,” Doyle added at once. “And you will not again.”

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I know.”

  Amelia’s lips curved, something like respect flickering there.

  Rob looked between the three of us. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly.

  “Nothing,” Doyle echoed, sharper.

  Amelia snorted.

  Rob let out a long sigh. “Whatever, mate.” He lifted one of the vials with care. “Still. Thanks for this.”

  I watched the glass catch the light as he turned it in his fingers.

  A sudden bang echoed down the hall, sharp enough to make us all flinch. The sound carried through the house, followed by the unmistakable slam of the front door.

  Doyle closed his eyes and sighed. “Brent’s home.”

  I blinked. “How can you tell?”

  “No one else is that rude,” Doyle muttered.

  Like clockwork, Brent’s head appeared around the doorway. “Well hello there. What’s cooking?”

  Brent was smeared with blood, grime, and dirt. His hair clung in dark strands, his clothes heavy with sweat and dust. Even so, his grin broke through it all, bright and unapologetic. “Evening,” he said. “Any chance I could trouble you for a bath before dinner?”

  Doyle pinched the bridge of his wide nose, visibly wrestling his patience into place.

  Rob leaned back, sniffed, and recoiled. “Mate, you reek.”

  Brent’s grin only widened.

  “Fine,” Doyle said at last, already turning away. “You know where it is. Do not touch anything on the way.”

  Brent clomped down the hall, leaving faint smears of something unpleasant on the floor. Doyle followed immediately, muttering under his breath as he went, already reaching for cleaning cloths.

  “Poor guy,” I said quietly.

  Amelia nodded. Rob let out a short chuckle.

  Doyle cared about this place. You could feel it in every surface, every polished corner he guarded with a well-armed mop. Brent crashing through like a walking disaster was clearly a test of patience.

  Even so, Doyle was just as fierce when it came to the kids. I’d seen it myself. The way he moved for Rob just a moment ago without hesitation said more than words ever could. Another thought crept in, unwelcome. There must have been a lot of kids like Brent after the war.

  I glanced at Amelia. She was about my age. Fifteen years ago, fit too neatly to ignore.

  Rob was the exception. His family came from far away. Australia. Maybe that distance was the reason for his carefree attitude.

  The house settled again, as we waited for the others to come back down. They asked me one more time about my little idea, but I didn’t budge.

  “So,” Brent said when he returned, towelling his hair dry, “Jerald reckons I’ve got to help you whelps.” Clean clothes did a lot for him. The blood was gone. The smell of steel and sweat too. Without armour or weapons hanging off him, he looked almost ordinary. Almost.

  Rob straightened at once. “Help us with what?”

  Brent grinned. “I’m going to bully the three of you for a bit downstairs.”

  Rob’s face lit up. “Seriously?”

  I glanced at Amelia. She tilted her head, uncertain.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Brent said. He reached into his pocket and drew out a small vial. “Got this for you.”

  Rob’s eyes widened. “That’s…”

  “For you,” Brent said, dropping it gently into Rob’s good hand. “It’ll speed up the healing.”

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  Rob stared at it, careful not to squeeze. “This is expensive.”

  “I was told to deliver it with strict instructions,” Brent said. “You shut up and drink it.”

  Rob laughed, breathless. “From who?”

  Brent’s smirk deepened. “Can’t say.”

  Amelia leaned closer, her voice barely a breath against my ear. “Probably Jerald.”

  Rob did not wait for confirmation. He uncorked the vial and tipped it back in one smooth motion.

  “Oh,” Rob said, blinking. “That… tingles.”

  “What is that?” I murmured to Amelia, keeping my voice low.

  She did not take her eyes off Rob. “A healing elixir.”

  “I figured that much.”

  Her gaze snapped to me. “No. You don’t. That’s an imperial elixir. It’s super expensive.”

  I frowned. “Then why use it on a broken wrist?”

  “So, it heals clean,” she said. “No weakness. No lasting damage.” Her eyes flicked to Rob’s hand. “Especially his sword hand.”

  Understanding clicked. “Ah.”

  Rob flexed his fingers, surprise softening his face as the pain let go. When the vial emptied and the magic settled, he tested his wrist again. Slow. Careful. No wince this time. Relief showed.

  Brent watched in silence, arms folded, taking it all in. “Alright,” he said at last, his gaze moving between the three of us. “You ready?”

  “When’s dinner?” Amelia asked.

  “You’ve got time,” Doyle replied without looking up.

  Amelia scowled, hunger written plainly across her face.

  Rob pushed himself to his feet. The change in him was striking. Minutes ago, he had been pale and shaking. Now he stood steady, shoulders squared, flexing his fingers as if rediscovering them. He still held the foundation elixir I’d given him, turning the empty vial in his hand with something close to awe. I could not help grinning. He looked like a kid who had just been let loose in a sweet shop.

  “Let’s go,” Rob said.

  Brent’s eyes lingered on him. “Favour the other grip for now,” he added.

  “Yeah, yeah. Let’s do this.”

  I shook off the lingering thoughts and followed Brent downstairs. As he moved, the runes set into the stones flared brighter in his presence than they ever had for any of us. The glow welcomed him, steady in a golden glow.

  What kind of power does he have? I wondered. Enough to kill. Enough to make a medallion.

  I pushed the thought aside, though it didn’t go quietly. Brent was all easy smiles and loose confidence. Cheerful did not mean harmless. If anything, it meant I needed to stay sharp.

  I would ask him. Just not yet.

  The training hall opened up around us, wide and bare. Brent’s eyes slid to the corner and caught on the ruined wooden construct slumped there in pieces.

  “Who did that?” he asked.

  Rob laughed. “Seanny boy. First try, too.”

  “That was an accident,” I said quickly. It had been. Mostly. At least I hoped it had.

  Brent huffed a short laugh. “Try not to do that to me.” He crossed the room and pulled a bundle of wooden weapons from the rack, laying them out across a table.

  His eyes flicked to the sword at my hip. “You can leave that over there.”

  I shook my head, my hand resting on the familiar weight at my side. “I’d rather keep it on me. Helps with my balance.”

  He gave me a sceptical look, then shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just don’t draw it. This is about forcing whatever blessings you could be hiding into the open.”

  Rob lifted the elixir, turning it in his fingers. “Should we use these?”

  “Not today,” Brent said. “Save that for when you are fighting a troll or something.”

  I glanced at Amelia. “What about the ones Doyle gave you?”

  “Used them in the mines. When we thought we’d lost you.” Her voice tightened for a moment. “We were surrounded.”

  “They helped,” Rob added. “A lot. We both felt a blessing shift.”

  I nodded. “Then keep these for when it really matters.”

  Brent grunted approval. “Good. For now, we start simple. One on one. I want to see where each of you stands.”

  Rob was already bouncing on his heels, gripping a wooden sword in both hands. Brent stepped in, plucked it from his grasp, and pressed a dagger into his left hand.

  “Like I said,” Brent told him. “Favour the non-dominant hand today.”

  Rob grinned. “Then I’m first.”

  I stared at him. Not long ago he had been pale and shaking, barely able to stand. Now he looked eager. Either he was reckless, blessed, or just wired differently. Possibly all three.

  Amelia rolled her eyes and moved to the side, settling near a stack of books. She picked one up and opened it, though she angled herself so she could watch every move.

  I sat beside her, settling in, and waited to see how this would end.

  Brent sifted through the rack of wooden weapons, testing a few with a casual lift. He stopped at a long, thick bo-staff and gave it an easy spin. The air hummed once as it cut through.

  “This’ll do.”

  They faced each other. Rob was more than a head shorter, lighter by a fair margin, but the look in his eyes matched Brent’s all the same. Eager. Focused.

  Something flickered around Rob. Not light exactly, but a tightening in the air, like a held breath. Then he was moving. The wooden dagger snapped forward, fast enough to blur, driven by his left hand with a speed that made my stomach drop.

  The staff met it with a solid crack that echoed through the hall.

  Brent’s response looked almost lazy. A small turn of the wrist. A half step. No flash. No surge. Just perfect timing. The impact slid Rob’s blade aside, and in the same motion Brent stepped inside his guard and nudged Rob’s heel with his own.

  Rob stumbled back a pace, caught himself, and came again. For a heartbeat his dominant hand twitched, instinct pulling him the wrong way, but he forced his focus back to the left hand and pressed on.

  The exchange tightened. Rob grew faster, surer, adjusting on the fly. Each strike came cleaner than the last. He was still nowhere near his full strength, but even like this he moved far quicker than I could.

  Brent blocked every blow with the same measured ease. No strain. No rush. The staff was always where it needed to be.

  I glanced sideways and saw Amelia hadn’t turned a page in a long while. The book lay open in her hands, forgotten. Her eyes tracked every movement, unblinking.

  I understood why.

  This was not sparring.

  This was a lesson.

  The exchange was hard to follow and impossible to ignore. Wood cracked against wood in sharp bursts, the air snapping with each near miss. My pulse kept pace without my permission.

  After a few more strikes, Rob’s speed faltered. It was subtle, but the injury caught up with him. Brent stepped in again, clipped Rob’s balance just enough, and Rob rolled aside. His dagger skidded across the floor and came to rest well out of reach.

  “Good,” Brent said. “Good adaptation. And that feint was well done.”

  Feint? I realised I had missed it entirely.

  Rob grinned, chest heaving.

  “Take a breather,” Brent added. “Amelia, you’re up.”

  Rob nodded and dropped into the chair Amelia had just vacated.

  She crossed the room and hauled over a basket of stones. The weight made her shoulders tense, but she managed it, dragging it into the centre of the space before tipping the contents onto the floor. Rocks clattered and rolled, spreading unevenly.

  Brent studied the pile, then her. “We’ll have to work on that. The trials won’t let you stroll in with a basket of ammunition.”

  “I know,” she said, irritation flashing across her face. Not at him. At herself.

  “How close are you?” he asked.

  “Very,” she said. “I think.”

  He nodded once. “That’ll do for now. Ready?”

  She nodded and murmured a few words under her breath.

  Brent surged forward.

  A stone snapped up from the floor, cutting across his path. He knocked it aside with the staff, choosing redirection over force. The rock spun away.

  Amelia spoke again.

  The same stone reversed in midair and slammed back toward him.

  Brent’s eyebrows rose a fraction.

  I leaned forward, breath caught, as the lesson shifted gears.

  Brent saw it just in time. He snapped the staff around and knocked the stone aside again, this time with more force, sending it arcing back toward Amelia.

  She caught it with a sharp breath and a stumble.

  Brent didn’t wait. He closed the distance in two long strides and swept the staff low, aiming to take her legs out from under her. Amelia spoke a single word, quick and strained. A stone rose beneath her heel and stopped the fall. Another slammed into her back as she overbalanced, knocking the air from her lungs, but it kept her upright. A second stone surged under her feet and shoved her sideways, carrying her out of the path of the follow-up strike.

  She grunted, pain flashing across her face.

  Brent hesitated for half a heartbeat, checking if he had pushed too far.

  Amelia spoke. Another word. Another breath dragged from deep in her chest. Two stones ripped free from the floor and shot toward him.

  He deflected the first. Then the second. Clean. Efficient.

  The third came from his blind side.

  It slipped past his guard, low and fast, aimed straight at his chest.

  Brent caught it midair.

  The stone cracked in his grip.

  Rob let out a low whistle. “Jeez.”

  Brent smiled, genuine this time. “Good tactic. Great control.” His eyes swept over Amelia, already noting the tremor in her hands. “But your stamina needs work.”

  He was right. Amelia’s shoulders were slumped, her breathing shallow, sweat darkening her collar.

  “Very close,” Brent said. “Rest for a moment and catch your breath.”

  Then his eyes shifted to me. “It’s your turn, Sean.”