Weeks had passed since Arthur first stumbled awkwardly across the estate yard.
Each day brought repetition and small victories, and tiny humiliations, but now something had begun to change.
He could carry heavier buckets, swing a wooden sword without toppling over, and even keep up with Kay on short sprints across the yard.
Yet today felt different.
Arthur's arms ached more than usual, muscles trembling under the strain of repeated swings.
Sweat ran down his back as he faced Kay, who wielded a wooden practice sword with fluid confidence. Kay smirked, watching him fumble.
"Come on, slowpoke," Kay said, "I thought you said you were improving."
"I am improving!" Arthur snapped, frustration flaring.
He swung the sword again, clumsy, off-balance, and nearly dropped it.
Merlin, perched on a low fence, clapped slowly. "Ah, perfect Fire and frustration, Delicious."
Arthur whirled toward him. "Why do you even care if I fail?"
Merlin tilted his head, grin teasing, voice soft. "Because failure tells more than success ever could. Watch closely, child and learn."
Arthur growled under his breath, tightening his grip. He swung again, harder this time. The wooden sword hit Kay's shield with a dull thunk, making Kay stumble back slightly. Victory or something close sparked a grin across Arthur's face.
"You… almost hit me!" Kay said, laughter in his voice.
Arthur straightened, chest heaving. "Now say I was improving."
Merlin clapped slowly. "Indeed. And yet, the mind falters faster than the body. Watch your temper, Watch your patience. The Red Dragon does not roar for fools."
Arthur froze at the words. Red Dragon? He shook his head, trying to clear the strange pressure coiling in his chest. He didn't understand it yet, but it made his heart beat faster, and his hands tremble more fiercely.
---
By late morning, Arthur had been sent to help a villager carry a basket of fresh herbs to the main yard. The woman looked wary at first, but Arthur, careful with the fragile bundle, managed a polite nod.
"Thank you, Master Arthur," she said softly.
Arthur hesitated. "I… I hope it's okay."
Merlin, lounging nearby on a fence rail, whispered theatrically, "Observe. Even the simplest kindness earns notice."
Arthur flushed but ignored him. He set down the basket and wiped his hands. Kay, nearby, smirked.
"You're slower than a snail with that basket."
Arthur scowled. "Better safe than broken!"
Kay laughed. "True. But you'll need speed too, someday."
Arthur frowned. "I don't care about someday. I care about now."
Merlin's eyes gleamed. "Ah, the impatience of youth. Good..Useful."
---
By afternoon, Sir Ector called them to a new exercise: balancing on uneven logs while maintaining sword stance. Kay went first, moving over the logs with fluid ease.
Arthur first stepped onto the first log.
His wooden sword wobbled in his hands. Halfway across, a log shifted beneath his feet. He froze, heart pounding.
"Move!" Kay called, teasing but sharp.
Arthur faltered, almost falling. The Red Dragon stirred faintly in his chest, pressure coiling, whispering urgency. He clenched his teeth and forced his legs forward, reaching the end of the logs without toppling.
"Marvelous," Merlin said softly, eyes glittering. "You felt it, didn't you? The edge of something vast. Potential… waiting."
Arthur shook his head. "I don't feel anything. Just tired."
Merlin's grin widened. "WAh, but that is enough for now."
---
Later, Arthur carried water to the small garden. Villagers had started planting vegetables in neat rows. He was careful, but one basket tipped slightly, spilling some seeds onto the path.
"Oh no!" he whispered.
An elderly man laughed gently. "Happens to everyone, lad. Keep going."
Arthur nodded, cheeks burning. He bent to gather the spilled seeds.
"You notice him?" Merlin murmured, voice low. "Every mistake, every hesitation—they see it. And they notice you."
Arthur blinked. "Why do you always say that?"
"Because it is true," Merlin said, tilting his head. "Small actions reveal more than grand gestures."
Kay snorted. "Ignore him. Just do your job, slowpoke."
Arthur muttered under his breath. "I am doing my job!"
---
By sunset, Arthur's muscles screamed with exhaustion. Ector had pushed him hard that day: stance, sword control, balance, and endurance. He collapsed onto the stone steps, letting out a long breath.
Merlin leapt down beside him, smiling. "Ah, the small human survives another day. Progress is visible and Your fire grows."
Arthur groaned. "I'm not a fire. I'm just tired."
Merlin's eyes gleamed. "Ah, but the fire exists. You may not see it yet, but it is there. And so is something else… something older. It stirs when you push beyond your limits."
Arthur pressed a hand to his chest. The strange pressure coiled faintly beneath his ribs again. Not pain. Not heat. Something aware. He didn't understand it, but it made his heartbeat quicken.
"You're learning," Merlin said softly, voice almost fond. "More than you know. Small victories build the foundation for greatness. And you… will grow."
Arthur didn't answer. He simply stared at the darkening yard, muscles trembling, mind spinning. For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself a faint smile.
Over the next few days, this rhythm continued. Arthur's interactions with the villagers grew warmer—he learned names, exchanged small greetings, and even helped a few children practice balance over logs, his instructions careful but growing confident.
Kay remained his constant foil: teasing, challenging, and occasionally helping.
Merlin, always watching, tested him subtly: a word of doubt, a smile at a misstep, a quiet hint of encouragement. Arthur learned to respond to the teasing, to harness frustration into focus.
And somewhere deep inside, the Red Dragon stirred more strongly, sensing growth, testing patience, awaiting the moment it could awaken fully.
Arthur didn't yet know what it was. He only knew he could feel it—and that, somehow, it mattered.
For now, though, he was still just a boy. Small, awkward, frustrated. Yet capable. Learning. Enduring.
And the world around him—the villagers, Kay, Ector, and Merlin—watched silently as he grew, unaware that this child carried the first sparks of someone who would one day change everything.