The sun climbed slowly above the Sapphire Isles.
In the far courtyard, behind the rose walls and the trimmed hedge maze, a boy moved through sword forms—alone.
Livar.
Four years old when he began.
Five years old now.
And better with a blade than most of the guards he ignored.
He trained in silence.
No instructors. No lessons.
Only stillness.
Only movement.
Only perfection.
His grip was steady.
His steps exact.
His eyes unreadable.
Liora trained nearby.
Not with him. Never with him.
She trained with guards, with teachers, with effort and sweat.
She glanced at him often.
He never looked back.
One day, as her blade missed again and she stumbled—
He caught it with his wooden sword from ten paces away.
He hadn't been watching. But somehow, he was always aware.
"You're good," she said, panting.
He didn't answer.
Later that week, as they passed in the practice yard, she called out:
"Do you want to train with me today?"
He paused.
Turned slightly.
"It's fine," he said simply.
"You train your way. I'll train mine."
He walked off.
She didn't follow.
She trained in the sun.
He trained in the shadows.
They both improved.
But only one of them cared why.
End of Chapter 25 – The Cold That Remained