The instructor's chamber was silent.
Not the quiet kind of silence that brought calm.
The heavier kind the kind that waited.
Beyond the tall window behind the desk, the sun was slowly sinking behind the towers of Falconreach Academy.
Hours earlier the sky had been clear blue.
Now it burned beneath a fading sheet of orange.
Even the wind outside seemed subdued.
Inside the chamber, two figures stood before the instructor's desk.
Neither spoke.
Neither moved.
The silence stretched long enough to grow uncomfortable.
Then a voice broke it.
"I heard."
The man spoke slowly.
He was not old, but there was a weight in his gaze that made it feel otherwise.
"What happened on the training field today."
Neither of the two answered.
They remained standing where they were.
Still.
For several moments the instructor simply watched them.
His gaze moved from one to the other, measuring, studying.
Then he spoke again.
"So it is true."
His tone remained calm.
"Two of the strongest trainees in this academy fought each other… until blood was drawn."
The words were quiet.
Yet they settled heavily in the room.
"Did either of you stop to consider," he continued, "what that does to the reputation of Falconreach?"
Silence answered him once more.
Then one of them spoke.
"It was a duel."
The voice was deep and controlled.
Its owner stood straight, hands clasped behind his back, as though the tension in the room meant nothing to him.
The instructor nodded once.
"Yes."
His voice lowered slightly.
"That is what the report claims."
His gaze shifted.
Now it rested on Eylra.
"But reports," he continued slowly, "rarely tell the full story."
The last rays of evening stretched across the stone floor between them.
"So tell me," he said quietly.
"What actually happened out there?"
"First," the instructor said, his gaze shifting toward him.
"Varric. Speak."
Varric did not move.
Of course he wouldn't, Eylra thought.
Varric rarely looked unsettled even now.
"We disagreed on what defines a true warrior, Mr. Drake," Varric said calmly.
"Cael chose steel to settle the matter."
Mr. Drake watched him for a long moment.
"So this was philosophy?" he asked.
His voice remained level, though the displeasure beneath it was clear.
"A debate over who is right… and who is wrong?"
Varric said nothing.
He won't explain, Eylra realized.
He'll let the silence speak for him.
Mr. Drake exhaled slowly before turning his gaze toward her.
"And you," he said.
"Eylra."
"Speak."
Eylra lifted her head.
Her posture remained straight, but she could feel the weight of the room pressing against her thoughts.
Choose your words carefully.
"When I reached the training field," she said, "Varric and Cael were already fighting."
Her voice remained steady.
"Cael had already been injured. I believed it necessary to intervene."
For a moment she remembered the sight of blood on Cael's sleeve.
Too much pride. Too much anger.
"Varric told me it was not my fight."
She paused.
"But once blood had been drawn, it was no longer a duel."
Mr. Drake leaned back slowly in his chair.
His eyes moved between them as if weighing something far beyond the duel itself.
"What happened today," he said,
"is an insult to kaeric thorn … and to the Falconreach Training Center."
Eylra remained silent.
This was never just about the duel, she thought.
"This place exists so that nobles, royals, and those without either name or bloodline can train together."
Mr. Drake rose from his chair.
"We build discipline here."
"Skill."
"Cooperation."
His gaze hardened.
"But today I saw none of it."
The silence deepened.
"I expected better," he continued quietly.
"From you, Varric."
"And from Cael."
Varric lowered his gaze.
Eylra watched him briefly.
No reaction. Not even now.
"Punishment will be given," Mr. Drake said firmly.
"To both of them."
Eylra felt a small tension settle in her chest.
That was inevitable.
"I will speak with Cael personally," Drake continued.
"He will have the chance to explain his actions."
Then he added,
"But the consequences will remain."
For several seconds the room remained still.
Then Eylra spoke.
"I know what happened was wrong, Mr. Drake."
Her voice stayed calm.
"And I understand the damage it could do to Falvonreach's reputation."
But punishment alone won't solve it, she thought.
She hesitated briefly.
"But the matter could still be contained."
Mr. Drake looked at her.
"Contained?"
"If the incident remains within the academy," she said carefully,
"time may allow it to fade."
Mr. Drake shook his head slowly.
"If this leaves these walls," he said,
"it will not fade."
His eyes sharpened.
"And by now, every candidate in this academy has already heard of it."
Eylra felt a quiet frustration stir in her mind.
Of course they have.
News traveled faster than discipline in places like this.
Finally Drake gestured toward the door.
"For now," he said,
"you are dismissed."
His voice hardened slightly.
"I will speak with Cael next."
Eylra inclined her head slightly.
The chamber doors closed behind them with a dull echo.
For several steps neither of them spoke.
The corridor stretched long and quiet, lit only by narrow windows where the last light of evening bled across the stone floor.
Eylra could still feel the weight of Drake's words pressing on her mind.
Punishment will be given.
That had been inevitable.
But punishment was not what troubled her.
It was what might follow.
"Do you know," she said at last, her voice breaking the silence,
"how difficult it is for someone without noble blood to train here?"
Varric did not stop walking.
"I know."
His answer was simple.
"So what?"
Eylra stopped.
The sharp sound of her boots against the stone echoed faintly through the corridor.
So what.
The words irritated her more than she expected.
"What you did today," she said, "makes things harder for every local candidate who comes after you."
Varric slowed.
Then he turned slightly, studying her as if weighing something unspoken.
"I did what I believed was right."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
"And cael ," he added calmly, "are just as responsible."
Eylra frowned.
Responsible?
She had stopped the fight.
She had prevented something worse.
Yet the certainty in his tone made her hesitate for a moment.
"Mr. Drake will make sure it does not happen again," she said.
Varric's expression barely changed.
"Do you really believe that?"
Eylra looked at him sharply.
"What are you trying to say?"
Varric took a slow breath.
"To you it may look like a disagreement over philosophy."
He stepped closer.
"But today was the perfect moment to reveal something."
Eylra narrowed her eyes.
"Reveal what?"
For a brief moment Varric did not answer.
His gaze moved past her, toward the distant end of the corridor.
"The truth of this place."
The words lingered in the quiet air.
Eylra felt a small knot tighten in her chest.
Truth?
"What truth?" she asked.
Varric looked back at her.
"If you are as perceptive as people say," he replied quietly,
"you will understand eventually."
He turned and began to walk away.
Eylra watched him for a moment.
He is hiding something.
That much was obvious.
But what exactly he meant… she could not yet see.
After several steps Varric stopped.
"One more thing."
Eylra raised her head slightly.
"You do not need to protect Cael."
His voice remained calm.
"No one here can truly harm him."
For a brief moment irritation flashed through her mind.
Protect him?
She had not stepped in for Cael.
Not entirely.
"And you?" she asked.
Varric glanced back over his shoulder.
"I have never needed protection."
Then he continued walking.
His footsteps slowly faded down the corridor.
Eylra remained standing where she was.
Outside the tall windows, the last light had disappeared behind the towers of Falconreah Academy.
Night was settling over the academy.
And Varric's words lingered in her mind like an unfinished question.
The truth of this place.
The mess hall was full, but the noise inside it did not feel careless.
It moved in layers low conversations folding over one another, the muted scrape of wood against stone, the occasional rise of laughter that faded too quickly to be genuine. It was the sound of people pretending the day had ended like any other.
Eylra stepped through the wide entrance without hesitation.
Her posture remained composed, her movements measured, but her eyes did not rest. They moved constantly, passing over faces, pausing just long enough to register expressions before moving on. Conversations shifted as she passed not stopping, not openly acknowledging her but bending, subtly, as if her presence had weight.
News had already spread.
Not in full.
But enough.
She could see it in the way some avoided looking at her entirely… and others looked a moment too long.
The duel had not stayed contained.
It never would have.
Her gaze swept across the hall again.
No sign of them.
Not at the far tables. Not near the pillars. Not among the smaller clusters near the walls.
A flicker of irritation rose quick, controlled, but real.
They should have been here.
Or at least one of them.
Without breaking her pace, she shifted direction and approached a table near the center where Nivel sat among a small group. Their conversation quieted not abruptly, but enough to mark the change.
"Nivel."
Her voice did not rise, yet it carried easily.
He looked up at once. There was no delay in his reaction, but there was something restrained in it a tightness around the edges, as if he had already anticipated this question.
"Have you seen Thessa or Mireya?"
For a brief moment, Nivel did not answer.
Instead, his eyes flicked sideways toward the others at the table. A silent exchange passed between them quick, almost invisible. Heads moved in small, negative gestures.
Then he looked back at her.
"No," he said, a faint, controlled smile touching his expression. "Not since the training ground."
Eylra held his gaze a moment longer than necessary.
Not because she doubted the answer.
Because she was measuring it.
Then she gave a small nod.
"If you see them," she said, "tell them I'm looking for them."
"Of course."
The response came quickly from someone else at the table this time, a little too eager, a little too ready.
Eylra acknowledged it with the slightest incline of her head.
Nothing more.
No gratitude. No further words.
She turned away.
Behind her, the conversation resumed but not as it had been before.
Lower.
More careful.
By the time she stepped out of the hall, the shift in atmosphere was immediate.
The warmth, the noise, the illusion of normalcy all of it fell away.
Outside, the air carried a quiet that felt sharper, more honest.
The last light of evening had thinned into a fading line along the horizon. Above it, the sky deepened into a colder shade, where the first hints of night had begun to settle. The Frostvale towers stood against it like dark silhouettes, their banners moving restlessly in the rising wind.
Eylra slowed.
Then stopped.
Not because she was uncertain.
Because she needed to think.
Her expression changed not dramatically, not in any way most would notice but the control in it shifted, tightening at the edges.
Today had not gone as planned.
The outcome had been contained.
But containment was not control.
And in places like Frostvale, perception carried more weight than truth.
She had stepped in to prevent escalation.
But in doing so
she had made a choice visible.
And visible choices were the most dangerous kind.
Her jaw tightened, just slightly.
Then
she felt it.
Not a sound.
Not movement.
Just presence.
Behind her.
Eylra turned sharply.
"You?"
The word slipped out before she could temper it entirely.
Varric stood a few paces away, as if he had been there long enough to observe, but not long enough to announce himself. One brow lifted slightly, his expression touched with something between mild irritation and quiet amusement.
"Strange," he said. "I was about to say the same."
Eylra narrowed her eyes, studying him.
"I thought you were headed somewhere else."
"I don't remember sharing my plans," he replied evenly.
A pause.
Then, more pointed
"Or were you expecting someone?"
The question did not sound like one.
Eylra did not answer immediately.
"I was just "
"Relax," he cut in, dismissive. "I don't care."
A faint beat.
"I doubt anyone does."
The words were flat.
Not defensive.
Not sharp.
Just… detached.
That made them harder to place.
Eylra held his gaze a moment longer, then shifted slightly.
"Then why are you still here?" she asked.
Varric gave a small, almost indifferent shrug.
"Passing through."
And just like that, he moved.
No hesitation. No need to extend the conversation.
He stepped past her, close enough that the shift of air followed him, but without so much as a glance in her direction.
Eylra moved aside instinctively.
Watched him go.
There was no urgency in his steps.
No visible weight from what had happened earlier.
And yet
something about that felt deliberate.
As if nothing had ended.
Only shifted.
The wind carried a faint dampness now, brushing lightly against her skin. Night had settled deeper, though not completely. The horizon still held a thin line of fading light, where the sky met the land in a blurred, uncertain edge.
Eylra lifted her gaze not toward the stars, but toward that line.
The place where things changed.
Where one state became another.
The moon hung low there.
Unnaturally low.
As if it had only just begun its rise.
She watched it for a moment.
Then exhaled.
And moved.
This time, her steps were quicker.
More certain.
The camp came into view gradually lantern light flickering against canvas, shadows stretching unevenly across the ground.
As she approached, her pace slowed again.
Not hesitation.
Calculation.
Her mind was already moving ahead of her measuring what needed to be said, what needed to remain unsaid.
What could be controlled.
And what could not.
She stopped outside the tent.
Drew a slow breath.
Then lifted the flap.
Inside, the light was dim, steady, contained.
Varric stood near the table, his attention fixed on his wrist as he attempted to secure a bandage. The cloth was uneven, loosely wrapped, already slipping where it should have held.
Eylra watched him for a moment.
Long enough to understand.
Not long enough to be unnoticed.
"Cael isn't here."
His voice came without him looking up.
Eylra stepped inside fully.
"I didn't ask yet."
Now he glanced at her brief, assessing before returning to his task.
"He's not here," he repeated.
Her gaze dropped to his hands.
To the careless way the cloth sat against the wound.
A small crease formed between her brows.
She stepped closer.
"You tie bandages like that?"
A pause.
Then, without waiting
she reached forward and pulled the cloth free.
Varric's hand stilled for a fraction of a second.
"I know what I'm doing," he said, his tone flattening slightly. "This isn't the first time."
Eylra didn't look at him.
"That's obvious."
Her voice remained calm.
Too calm.
She picked up a clean strip of cloth, her movements precise, efficient.
"Which makes it worse."
The words settled between them as her fingers worked steady, controlled tightening the bandage properly this time.
Varric interrupted her, his voice low but edged with restrained irritation. "You don't need to do that… and if Cael sees this, he'll just start another fight." It sounded like justification, but beneath it was something sharper an attempt to dismiss the moment before it settled into something he didn't want to acknowledge.
Eylra didn't stop.
Her hands moved with steady precision as she cleaned the wound, her focus unbroken. A faint smile touched her lips not warm, but observant.
"Are you afraid of Cael?" she asked.
The question was light.
The intent was not.
Varric's gaze snapped toward her immediately, annoyance flickering across his face. "What kind of nonsense is that?" he said, irritation slipping through his tone. "I'm not afraid of him. I just want to rest."
Eylra heard the words.
She weighed what he chose not to say.
"It's not strength to be careless," she replied calmly, continuing her work without pause. "Even a small cut can become a problem if it's not treated properly."
For a moment, Varric said nothing. His eyes lingered on her hands, on the deliberate way she worked, before he exhaled quietly.
"These things sound good when you say them," he said, almost dismissively. "But what difference do they really make?"
Eylra didn't look up.
"They keep you alive."
A brief silence followed before she added, "You're a skilled swordsman. You know better than most how dangerous steel can be."
"I know exactly what it can do," Varric replied. His voice lowered, not louder but heavier. "I can sense every danger around me. I know what can harm me… and what cannot."
That made her pause.
Eylra lifted her gaze, studying him now instead of the wound.
"You speak as if you've already seen every hardship there is," she said, a trace of annoyance slipping into her voice.
Varric held her gaze.
""Everyone has to endure struggles," he said quietly. "But when you have people beside you, it becomes easier. Not everyone gets that."
There was something in his voice now rough, unpolished, carrying weight without asking for sympathy.
"For someone like an orphan," he continued, looking directly at her, "it's even harder. In a world full of masks… people like commoners and nobles don't understand that difference."
The word lingered.
Orphan.
Eylra's grip on the bandage loosened slightly.
Until now, she had seen him as someone who rose from a lower rank an outsider who forced his way upward through sheer ability. But this… this was different. Coming from nothing was not the same as coming from less. Where he stood now was not just difficult to reach
For someone like him, it was almost impossible.
A place like this… for people like him… was not a goal.
It was a dream.
And perhaps that was why no one truly knew him.
Because no one tried to understand.
Or perhaps they simply chose not to.
Eylra felt no sympathy for him.
She knew better.
Varric did not need it and he would not accept it even if she offered.
Her thoughts stilled.
Then his voice cut through them.
""Whatever happened today…" he said, pulling his arm back slightly.
She looked at him again.
"After today, Cael and I are rivals."
There was no hesitation in his tone. No doubt.
Just fact.
"And rivals," he continued, his gaze steady, "don't like seeing their own standing with the other side."
The meaning settled between them.
Clear.
Unavoidable.Cael's name lingered between them like something unfinished, but Eylra did not allow it to settle.
"Whether Cael likes it or not… that is not something I can control," she said at last, her tone steady as she secured the final knot of the bandage. Her fingers moved with quiet precision before withdrawing. "I can only make him understand. And I am not here to take sides."
She lifted her gaze and met Varric's eyes directly.
"I came here to prove my worth," she continued, her voice calm but unyielding, "not to stand behind anyone… not for something as childish as choosing sides."
For a moment, Varric said nothing.
His gaze lingered on her face, as though measuring the weight behind her words, searching for something beneath them. Then, almost absently, he spoke.
"That is… strange."
Eylra frowned slightly. "What is?"
Varric tilted his head a fraction, his expression sharpening with quiet scrutiny.
"Cael's concern for you," he said. "I understand you've known each other for years. That kind of loyalty isn't surprising."
A brief pause followed.
"But stepping in like that…" his voice lowered slightly, roughened at the edges, "that is not how commoners act. Nor nobles."
His gaze darkened, just faintly.
"No one does anything without expectation," he added. "Everything has a price."
The last words carried weight more than they should have for something spoken so calmly.
Eylra did not look away.
"You're right," she said, her voice firm, almost deliberate. "There is a price."
For a heartbeat, the air between them tightened.
"And that price," she continued, "is that I stand beside him. Through whatever comes. I protect him when I must."
There was no hesitation in her tone. No uncertainty.
Only decision.
Varric watched her in silence.
Not reacting. Not interrupting.
But there was something in his eyes now not disagreement, not quite disbelief… something closer to searching. As if he was trying to find the flaw in what she had said. Or perhaps confirm that there wasn't one.
Eylra broke the moment first, gesturing lightly toward his wrist.
"Treat it properly," she said. "No matter how well you think you understand danger."
Varric glanced down at the bandage, then back at her.
For a few seconds, he simply listened as if replaying her earlier words in his mind.
"It's not that serious," he said at last, his tone quieter now. "Just a minor cut."
Eylra did not respond immediately.
She stood near the table, the unused cloth still resting beside her hand, her expression composed but her thoughts shifting beneath the surface.
Perhaps I shouldn't have said that, Varric thought.
The realization came late. And reluctantly.
"I may have said more than I should have," he admitted.
Eylra looked at him, not sharply, not with judgment just with quiet clarity.
"It's fine," she said. "Everyone speaks differently."
A slight pause.
"Just learn when to stop."
Varric exhaled faintly, something almost resembling a smile touching his lips though it did not fully reach his eyes. He turned his head slightly, glancing toward the narrow opening of the tent where the last traces of light lingered beyond the canvas.
For a brief moment, he said nothing.
Then he looked back at her.
"Thank you, Eylra."
The words were simple.
Unadorned.
But not careless.
Eylra shook her head lightly. "I only did what was necessary."
Varric studied her once more longer this time, as if committing something to memory, or perhaps letting go of it.
Then he extended his hand toward her.
A gesture of acknowledgment.
"Even so," he said quietly, "it should still be said."
There was a breath between them brief, almost imperceptible.
But his eyes remained serious.
And whatever else lingered beneath them… he chose not to show.
Author:KRIS