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“Scared?” Uros winked.

“No, but you might blow the fluff off your chin.”

Uros charged toward him, flailing his arms so helplessly Roy almost chuckled. A tireless fire of youth burned in Uros’ strikes, yet his eagerness betrayed him with every move. He went for cheap shots, throwing strikes that were easy to block or evade. His blades were uncoordinated—when his left hand struck, the right one flailed behind.

After a few minutes, Roy rotated his wrists, testing the range of motion. He stepped back and, with a deep breath, he swung the swords. Forced to block the attack, Uros crossed his blades.

“Ever played the piano?” Roy gritted, keeping the weapons locked.

“What? No,” Uros groaned, his forearms straining.

“You should.” With a half-turn and his knees creaking in protest, Roy broke off the stance. As they circled, he spat out the dust from his lips and continued, “It will teach you to fight.”

“The piano?” Uros scoffed.

“Yes,” Roy whispered, his eyes darting to the trails Uros’ feet left in the sand. “You need your hands to work together. Not in symmetry, but in coordination. You can’t just use your dominant hand and expect the other to join when necessary.”

A flicker of hesitation crossed Uros’ expression. He slowed down, rotating the training blades slowly. “Show me?”

Roy gripped the handles and nodded. His muscles tensed, echoing the endless training that had begun in elementary school and lasted through the Pyrite War. When he struck, Uros managed to block for a moment, but his right hand lagged. Roy flicked his wrist, knocking the weapon from Uros’ left hand.

He didn’t have much time left to prove his point. His muscles ached, protesting against the strain. He lurched forward, barely evaded Uros’ remaining blade, and hooked his ankles, felling his opponent into the soft sand.

Uros’ back hit the ground. He yelped, and Roy froze.

“You okay?” Roy asked, his shadow shifting across Uros’ torso.

“Yeah.” Uros grinned, his long blue hair fanned out on the ground, grains of sand clinging to the dampness. He accepted Roy’s offered hand and hoisted himself back to his feet, his purple eyes glowing. “That was amazing. You’re way better than any mentor I’ve ever had!”

“I don’t know about that.” Roy rubbed his forehead, dislodging a few sweat-dampened curls. “I’m sure they were more capable than me. I’m just telling you what I know. Or knew, back in the day.”

“And you’re also not making me sit in front of a blackboard and draw the foot strategies with chalk,” Uros grumbled.

The gate to the training grounds opened with a loud creak. Two servants pushed it apart, and Cal slipped in as soon as he could squeeze through. The purple jacket hugged his body tight; the black trousers gathered red dust around the hems as he walked.

“Go get changed,” he rasped, fingers clutching the black frogging across his chest. “Both of you. The ship from Eiden is approaching the atmosphere.”

They stood on the landing platform, dozens of heads turned upward, watching the ship land onto the dock. Roy dipped two fingers under his collar and tugged to relieve the pressure. The engines coughed blue-tinted flames one last time before falling silent.

Cal’s warm palm found Roy’s. From the stiffness of his posture, Roy wasn’t sure if he was soothing himself or Roy. Uros shifted beside them, with Aria sitting on his hip, as she had insisted on seeing better from the height.

The runway glowed green once the ship landed. Servants unrolled a crimson carpet all the way to the hatch. When Eiden’s former royal couple emerged from the ship, Cal flinched hard.

While Roy was no fashion expert, he suspected the beige, itchy-looking jumpsuits weren’t the Queen and King’s usual attire. Golden light of Graxis’ sun fell upon their ashen skin. Cal’s mum looked around, squinting into the distance.

“Sister!” Aunt Ormi wheezed, pressing her palms to her mouth. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Cal’s mum said with a hint of impatience. “Didn’t you invite any journalists?”

“Oh. N-no, I figured you’d prefer your peace—” Aunt Ormi stuttered as the couple pushed past her, nodding toward Xallan.

The Vraan answered with a tilt of their head, angling their silver skull toward Roy. His voice slithered into Roy’s mind, gentle like a breeze.

“There’s heartbreak in the air. Protect your man, Roy.”

“Caelestian.” The Queen of Eiden’s smile was about as warm as the ocean’s waves. “They told us you all perished. How delightful to see it wasn’t true.”

“Mum—Your Majesty,” Cal mumbled, taking a half-bow.