The morning sun spilled over the hills, glinting on dew -slick grass. Arthur rubbed his stiff arms and shoulders, muscles still protesting from yesterday. Kay was already hauling a bucket, muttering under his breath, glancing occasionally at Arthur with a mix of impatience and curiosity. On the fence rail, Merlin— narratively "Merlin," but a pest to Arthur—vleaned forward, arms crossed, hair catching the light.
Arthur scowled, Pest.
"Finally moving," Merlin said with a teasing tilt of his head. "I thought logs slept faster than you."
Arthur rubbed his eyes. "Not in the mood, pest."
Merlin hopped down lightly. "Mood's temporary. Training is eternal. Come along, Arthur."
Arthur groaned but followed. Today was not chores. Today was training.
Ector had promised swordplay, balance, and endurance. Kay was already sparring with a wooden post, fists and feet moving in practiced patterns.
"If you're going to be slow," he said, "at least try not to trip over your own feet before breakfast."
Arthur tightened his grip on his wooden sword. He wasn't just a boy here; he was learning, inching toward something bigger.
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"First," Ector said, stepping between them, "stance and balance. Watch your footing. The world doesn't wait for hesitation." His eyes, sharp and patient, swept over Arthur. "Too fast or too slow, and mistakes will find you."
Arthur nodded, adjusting his feet and posture. Kay smirked. "What, afraid to eat dirt?"
"No, just saving it for when it matters," Arthur replied, jaw tight.
Merlin hummed softly. "Observation only, Arthur. Grace under pressure is more important than speed. And you… you are fascinating, truly."
Arthur glared. "Not now, your a annoyance ."
Merlin tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Ah, so you recognize me by sight. Progress."
Kay rolled his eyes. "Don't waste your breath on him. Focus or I'll start counting your missteps aloud."
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Ector handed Arthur a short, polished practice sword. "Imagine your opponent forgives nothing. Every swing, every block counts."
Arthur swung once. The wood resisted, weight pressing into his hands, muscles quivering. Kay laughed. "I've seen chickens swing with more grace!"
Arthur lunged again, wood clanging against wood. He stumbled but caught himself, heart hammering, sweat stinging his eyes.
"Good," Ector murmured. "You adjusted mid- step. That's the start of awareness."
Merlin circled, voice soft and playful. "And don't forget instinct, Arthur. You'll need it more than technique on the battlefield."
Arthur hesitated. "Instinct…?"
Merlin grinned. "The part that reacts before reason catches up. Perhaps you'll feel it soon."
Arthur stiffened. Something deep stirred beneath muscle and bone— a quiet, unfamiliar pulse. He shook it off, returning to the post.
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Hours passed. Sweat soaked his hair, muscles trembled, the sun burned his neck. Kay's teasing sharpened, now more pointed.
"Watch that foot," Kay said, pointing. "You're trying to trip yourself with style now?"
Arthur scowled, pivoting. "Careful. I could return the favor."
Merlin chuckled softly. "Observation only, Arthur. But such fire… intriguing."
Arthur ignored him, focusing on Kay's movements. Memories flickered —tripping over roots as a child, Kay's laughter, Ector steadying him. Something primal hummed in his blood—strong, patient, waiting.
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Ector brought out dulled steel swords in the afternoon. Arthur's heart raced at the weight. This wasn't a toy. Kay faced him with a sly grin.
"Don't hold back," Kay said. "I want to see if all that training is more than just noise."
Arthur squared his stance, muscles coiling like springs. Each swing, block, and pivot became deliberate. Sweat stung, muscles screamed, adrenaline sharpened his senses. He noted subtle shifts in Kay's stance, the ground underfoot, timing of each strike.
Merlin hovered nearby, voice playful. "Careful, Arthur. Slow and steady can survive… often deadlier than fast and careless."
Arthur stiffened. Survive first. Everything else later.
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Minutes bled into hours. Mistakes were made and corrected. Arthur tripped once, caught himself, cursed under his breath, and swung again. Kay lunged with exaggerated flair. Arthur ducked, countered, and landed a clean strike. The clang of wood and dulled steel echoed across the yard.
Merlin laughed softly. "Good. Observe everything. The space, the timing… even the smallest hesitation can betray you."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. This is more than strength… it's awareness, reaction, anticipation. He felt something stir beneath his skin. Not human entirely—something deeper, older, fierce. The faintest pulse of the Red Dragon. He did not yet understand it, but it hummed, patient and curious.
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By late afternoon, Kay's teasing had softened into quiet commentary. Merlin's voice floated around him like a restless spirit, offering advice, jest, or cryptic observation. Arthur could feel himself growing stronger, faster, sharper. Each successful block, each clean strike, each recovery from a misstep built confidence. Mistakes stung, but they taught more than humiliation ever could.
Ector finally lowered his sword. "Enough for today. You've earned rest."
Arthur slumped against a tree, chest heaving, sweat and dust coating him. Kay sat nearby, wiping his brow. "Not bad. Slowly improving. Don't think I'll go easy next time."
Arthur allowed a small grin. "Slow progress is still progress."
Merlin floated down lightly, clapping once. "And that, dear Arthur, is why kings aren't born— they're made."
Arthur stiffened. Weight pressed faintly, though not fully understood. He wanted to argue, to ask, to challenge— but his arms ached, the sun burned his neck, and he simply nodded.
————±————±————±————
Night crept over the countryside. Arthur sat alone, reviewing every swing, step, and breath. His body ached, but he felt sharper, more attuned. Memories of past lessons and faint echoes of other lives danced at the edge of his mind.
I am not just a boy. I am meant for more.
Arthur pressed his hands to his knees, staring at the horizon. Tomorrow, the sun would rise again. And he would train again.
A future king could not tolerate weakness. And this boy, though small and unproven, would survive.