CHAPTER 5:
After that day, Lhoralaine began appearing at Hexia's house regularly, watching him train with his father. She'd sit on the fence, blonde hair catching the morning sun, black eyes following every movement of his wooden sword.
Eventually, Hexia invited her to join them.
She accepted eagerly.
"You sure about this?" Jerkin asked his son quietly while Lhoralaine ran home to change into training clothes. "Teaching her means responsibility. You'll be partners in this."
"I'm sure, Dad. She needs to know how to defend herself. What happened to her... it shouldn't happen to anyone."
Jerkin studied his son's face—the determination there, the cold purpose beneath the childish features. He nodded slowly. "Alright. But we do this properly. No shortcuts. No special treatment because she's a girl. She trains like you train."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
When Lhoralaine returned, Jerkin handed her a wooden sword. "This will be your partner for the next few months. Get used to the weight. Feel how it balances. A sword is an extension of your arm—if you don't understand it, it'll betray you in combat."
Lhoralaine gripped the sword with both hands, her thin arms trembling slightly under the weight.
"Too tight," Hexia said, moving beside her. "You'll tire yourself out before the fight even starts. Here—" He adjusted her grip, his small hands guiding hers. "Firm enough to control it, loose enough to adapt. Feel the difference?"
She nodded, her face flushed with concentration.
They began with basics. Footwork. Balance. Posture. The same drills Hexia had sweated through for the past year, now repeated with Lhoralaine struggling beside him.
She fell more than he had. Complained less.
Weeks passed. Then months.
Six months of training together had transformed their relationship. Lhoralaine no longer just watched—she pushed herself to match Hexia's pace, often training past sunset even after Jerkin called them in for the night.
They ate meals together. Talked about their dreams and fears. For Hexia, it was the first real friendship he'd had since Joe and Riff in his previous life.
It was wholesome. Genuine. Untainted by the darkness of his past.
Until one day, Lhoralaine didn't show up for training.
Jerkin noticed Hexia's distraction. "Something on your mind, son?"
"Lhoralaine didn't come today. That's not like her."
"Maybe she's busy. Or sick. Give her some time."
But the next day, she didn't come either. Or the day after that.
A week passed.
Hexia tried to focus on his training, but doubt crept in. Had he pushed her too hard? Said something wrong? The familiar anxiety from his old life began to surface—the fear of losing someone because he wasn't good enough.
No. Stop. That thinking got you killed. She's probably just dealing with family matters. Don't spiral.
When Lhoralaine finally appeared, she wasn't alone.
A boy walked beside her—one of the bullies from months ago. The first one Hexia had thrown to the ground.
Hexia's hand instinctively moved toward his practice sword.
"Hexia!" Lhoralaine called out, smiling. "I hope you don't mind, but Fred here wanted to come along. He wanted to apologize to you personally."
Fred bowed deeply, tears glistening in his eyes. His brown hair fell across his face, hiding his expression.
"Hexia, I know what I did was unforgivable. I hurt Lhoralaine, and you had every right to do what you did to me. I've thought about it every day since then. I was a terrible person, and I want to change. Please, give me a chance to prove myself. Let me train with you both."
Hexia watched him carefully. Something felt off—a wrongness he couldn't quite name. The apology was too rehearsed. The tears too perfectly timed. But Lhoralaine's hopeful expression made him hesitate.
Maybe people can change. God knows I wanted someone to give me a second chance in my previous life. Maybe I should pay it forward.
"Alright. But you step out of line even once, and you're done. Understood?"
"Yes! Thank you, Hexia! I won't let you down, I promise!"
Lhoralaine beamed. "See? This is wonderful! Now we can all be friends!"
Jerkin, who'd been observing from the porch, caught Hexia's eye. His father's expression carried a warning—Be careful. Watch him.
Hexia gave a slight nod.
And so Fred joined their training sessions.
At first, Hexia watched him constantly, cataloging every movement, every word, every interaction. Fred was patient, meticulous, playing his part perfectly. He struggled in training, asked for help, showed gratitude, brought small gifts—fresh bread from his mother's bakery, carved wooden trinkets, wildflowers for Lhoralaine.
Slowly, Hexia's guard lowered.
Fred had a talent for positioning himself as necessary. When Hexia corrected Lhoralaine's form too harshly, Fred would soften the critique with encouragement. When Hexia trained alone, Fred would keep Lhoralaine company, making her laugh with stories and jokes.
Three months passed. Then six.
One afternoon, Hexia and Lhoralaine had a disagreement about training intensity. Nothing serious—just a difference of opinion about how much rest she needed between drills.
"I'm just saying that if you don't push yourself harder, you'll never improve!" Hexia's frustration leaked through despite his attempt to stay calm.
"I am pushing myself! Just because I'm not progressing as fast as you doesn't mean I'm not trying!" Lhoralaine's voice rose, hurt bleeding into anger.
"Then try harder!"
Lhoralaine's face crumpled. "Maybe you're just being too harsh."
Hexia caught himself, guilt washing through him. "I—forget it. Train however you want."
He stormed off, angry at himself more than her.
Later, Fred found him alone by the village well, staring at his reflection in the water.
"Mind if I sit?"
Hexia shrugged.
Fred sat beside him on the stone edge. "She's really upset, you know. But she's not angry at you. She's just hurt."
"I know. I shouldn't have said those things."
"You were frustrated. It happens. But she admires you so much, Hexia. She pushes herself because she wants to be like you. When you tell her she's not trying hard enough, it breaks her heart."
Hexia's guilt deepened. "I'm such an asshole."
"No. You're just someone who cares deeply and doesn't always know how to express it. Come on. Let's go apologize together."
They found Lhoralaine sitting against a tree, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her eyes were red.
Hexia knelt in front of her. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. You are trying hard—harder than I did when I first started. I just... I want you to be safe. To be strong enough to protect yourself. But that doesn't excuse how I spoke to you."
Lhoralaine looked up, tears still clinging to her lashes. "You really mean that?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
She threw her arms around him in a fierce hug. "I forgive you. And I'll try to be stronger. For both of us."
Over her shoulder, Hexia caught Fred's expression—satisfaction quickly masked by a friendly smile.
Was that...? No. I'm being paranoid. He helped resolve this.
But something nagged at him. Some instinct that refused to quiet.
The incident passed, but something had shifted. Fred had positioned himself as the emotional mediator of their group. The one who understood both sides. The glue holding them together.
And Hexia, despite his unease, was grateful for it.
Time flowed like water.
Six months became a year. The three of them trained together daily, their bond deepening with shared sweat and laughter. Fred occasionally brought his other two friends—the ones Hexia had also beaten that day—now reformed and apologetic.
Inside jokes developed. Shared meals. Nights spent talking under stars about what they'd do when they were older.
For Hexia, it felt like belonging to something larger than himself. Not just friendship with one person, but being part of a group.
He was twelve now, his body starting to show the results of years of training. Lean muscle. Quick reflexes. The wooden practice sword felt like an extension of his arm.
Lhoralaine had grown too. Taller, stronger, her blonde hair often tied back in a practical braid. She could hold her own in sparring now, though Hexia still held back to avoid hurting her.
And Fred... Fred had become indispensable. Always there with a word of encouragement, a helping hand, a solution to whatever problem arose.
Which made it harder to notice when things began to change.
It started small. Fred finding reasons to train with Lhoralaine when Hexia was busy with his mother's magic lessons. Offering to walk her home. Bringing her gifts—flowers, ribbons, small carved animals.
Hexia noticed but didn't understand the hollow feeling in his chest when he saw them laughing together.
One evening, he found them sitting under a tree after training. Too close. Fred's hand covering hers.
Hexia stopped, hidden behind a building, watching.
"Lhora, can I ask you something?" Fred's voice was soft, intimate.
"Of course."
"Do you ever think about the future? About what you want?"
"Sometimes. I want to keep training. Maybe become an adventurer. Help people."
"And do you see anyone by your side in that future?"
A pause. Heavy with meaning.
Lhoralaine blushed. "I don't know. Maybe?"
Fred took both her hands. "I do. I see you. Every time I think about my future, you're there. I know I'm not as strong as Hexia. Not as talented. But Lhora, I'd spend every day of my life trying to be worthy of being by your side."
"Fred..."
"You don't have to answer now. I just wanted you to know. Because you're the most important person in my life, and I couldn't keep it in anymore."
He stood, squeezed her hands gently, and walked away—leaving her overwhelmed and confused.
And Hexia, watching from the shadows, felt something inside him die.
The confession he'd been planning—the one he hadn't even realized he wanted to make until this moment—turned to ash in his mouth.
Oh. I'm in love with her. And I just lost her.
To be continued...