Chapter 6 - The Weight of Old Battles

The clang of steel rang out across the castle courtyard, each strike reverberating against stone walls warmed by the fading afternoon sun. Knights moved in tight formations, polished breastplates catching the golden light as instructors barked commands sharp enough to cut through the hum of effort. The smell of oiled leather and dust lingered, carried on the breeze.

Scarlet stood at the edge of the training field, arms loosely crossed. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes—keen and unwavering—tracked every movement with quiet precision. She studied the rhythm of footwork, the weight behind each strike, even the hesitation between feints and follow-throughs, as though reading a language invisible to anyone else.

“Are you always this intense?”

The voice pulled her from her thoughts. Axl emerged from the far archway, his boots tapping lightly over stone as he crossed the yard. His tone was casual, but his gaze lingered on her, testing her expression the way one might test the strength of a blade.

Scarlet’s lips curved faintly. “I enjoy watching them. Even without god-like strength, their discipline is impressive. Some of our own could learn from it.”

She nodded toward two squires locked in a clash. One slipped, overstepping his stance, and went down hard, his blade skittering across the dirt.

“Not sure that one’s learning much,” Axl muttered, a low chuckle slipping out.

Scarlet’s smile deepened, just slightly. “Even in failure, there’s growth. Sometimes especially then.”

They let the moment breathe in the warm afternoon air, the cadence of swords and shouted commands filling the silence between them.

“Walk with me?” Axl asked.

Scarlet gave him a glance before turning toward the castle gardens. “Alright.”

Sunlight filtered through the canopy overhead, scattering dappled patterns across the gravel path. The air here felt softer, carrying the faint perfume of magnolia blossoms and damp earth. Petals drifted lazily down in the breeze, gathering like pale snow at the path’s edges.

“That stance you used earlier in the hall…” Axl broke the silence after a while. “Precise. Balanced. That’s the kind of form you get from long hours of practice in solitude.”

Scarlet’s eyes softened but stayed ahead, distant. “You’re not wrong.”

They slowed near a bench tucked beneath a magnolia tree, its branches heavy with blooms. Scarlet brushed her fingers across the worn wood before she turned, the afternoon light catching strands of her hair in muted gold.

“It started during the massacre,” she said.

The words landed heavy, pushing the birdsong into silence.

“I was young—too young to do anything but watch. My father fought, though he never stood a chance. My mother vanished soon after. Maybe she ran. Maybe she didn’t survive. I’ll never know.” Her hand curled briefly against her arm before she steadied herself. “That’s when your uncle Raymond found me. He hid me from the hunters… and, in time, became like a father.”

Axl stayed quiet, letting the weight of her voice fill the space.

“When the war began, I joined the militia because I needed to matter. I thought if I fought hard enough, no one else would feel as helpless as I did that night.” She gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “But I was weak. Untrained. The others didn’t say it, but I saw it in their eyes—too young, too small, too stubborn for my own good.”

Axl tilted his head slightly. “You don’t seem like the type to let that stop you.”

“I didn’t. But they wouldn’t help me. Not once. So I trained alone—every day until my hands blistered, until my legs burned like fire.” Her voice softened. “And then… someone noticed. A boy. Cold. Blunt. Angry.”

Axl blinked. “…Me?”

Scarlet’s lips quirked. “You told me my stance was garbage.”

“That… does sound like me,” he admitted, rubbing at his neck.

“You said a dagger would suit me better than a longsword. That speed would win me more battles than strength since I lacked size and experience . It was harsh, but you were right. I changed everything I did after that day.” She met his gaze fully now, eyes steady. “And because of your advice, I rose to second-in-command. I proved I was more than they believed. I always wanted to thank you, but I never saw you again—until now.”

Axl frowned, struggling to recall the moment she described. He searched his memories of the war but found only fragments—faces, flashes of fire, the endless press of battle. The Fallen Form had left whole stretches of those years fogged and broken, like someone had torn pages from his mind.

Axl looked down, the years pressing on him all at once. “…I was in a bad place back then. I had lost my father.”

Scarlet didn’t interrupt.

“The hunters found us because I used my power to save someone. A village girl I thought was a friend.” His jaw tightened. “Her father—he turned us in. Alaric was already waiting. My dad… stayed behind to fight them off. Bought me time to run.” His voice dropped low. “I watched from a cliff. There was nothing I could do.”

The garden seemed to hush with him, only the leaves rustling softly overhead.

“For a long time, all I wanted was revenge. I didn’t care what it cost me, as long as they paid. So I decided I was better off alone. Fight alone. Survive alone. Until I met John.”

Scarlet tilted her head gently. “And how did that happen?”

Axl’s gaze flickered, shadowed with memory. “…That’s another story.”

They stood in silence—not awkward, but the silence of shared weight.

Axl’s eyes caught on a bush at the edge of the path. Small blue flowers bloomed there, delicate among the magnolias. He reached down, plucked one, and held it out.

“I might be a few years late,” he said, lowering himself slightly as he offered it, “but I’m sorry. For not remembering sooner. For not realizing who you were. And especially for how I treated you back then.”

Scarlet hesitated. Then, slowly, she took it, fingers brushing his. A faint smile curved her lips.

“Well… you still owe me for the way you spoke to me.” With a small laugh, she slipped the flower into her hair, tilting her head as if to show it off. “But I suppose I can forgive you.”

Axl’s lips twitched—half a smile, half a sigh.

Later, in the throne room, Axl stood before King Joseph.

“John and I will head for Azkaion,” he said. “I need to speak with my uncle. If the militia has allies still, we’ll find them. And we’ll stop Alaric before that stone is whole again.”

Joseph leaned back, studying him. “Then take Scarlet with you. The knights will be fine—and it never hurts to have another worthy ally at your back.”

Scarlet stepped forward without hesitation. “It would be an honor.”

Axl bowed slightly. “Then we’ll leave at first light.”

Joseph smirked faintly. “And Axl—try not to break into any more kitchens.”

From the side of the hall, Charlotte came skidding across the marble, her slippers echoing as she threw her arms around his waist. “You better come back soon!”

He knelt, resting a hand on her head. “I will.”

The next morning, the three of them passed through the castle gates. Dawn stretched across the horizon, painting the sky in fire. The mountains of Divine territory rose ahead, their peaks catching the light. The road stretched long and uncertain, but the air carried something different—lighter, steadier.

For the first time in years, Axl didn’t feel like he was walking into it alone.