Louis arrived at the training yard earlier than usual.
The morning air was cool, mist still clinging to the ground as recruits filtered in slowly, stretching, yawning, preparing themselves for another day of routine exertion. The yard felt calmer at this hour—less noise, less scrutiny.
He hadn't been there long when a familiar voice called out.
"Louis."
He turned.
Luke stood a short distance away, arms crossed, expression unusually subdued. He approached at an easy pace, stopping a few steps short.
"I wanted to say this properly," Luke said. "About yesterday."
Louis waited.
"Nathan shouldn't have used a skill," Luke continued. "Intentional or not, it crossed a line. I take responsibility for that."
Louis studied him for a moment, then shook his head lightly.
"You don't need to," he said. "Nathan didn't mean to hurt me. And I don't hold it against him."
Luke frowned slightly. "He activated it on purpose."
Louis nodded. "I guessed as much".
That surprised him.
"But I know why," Louis went on calmly. "He wanted to see how far he could push me. I'd have done the same in his place."
Luke searched his face, then let out a slow breath. Finally, he laughed quietly.
"…You really are an odd one."
Louis shrugged.
Luke straightened. "Still, I'm glad this doesn't change anything. You're welcome here anytime. If you ever want to train again—"
"I know," Louis said. "Thank you."
Luke gave a short nod, satisfied, and turned back toward the field.
Louis didn't stay long after that.
That evening, the edge of the training yard was quiet, shadows stretching long as the sun dipped lower. Louis walked beside Natasha in silence, their footsteps unhurried.
After a while, he spoke.
"You mentioned someone before," he said. "A friend. Someone who could help."
She didn't respond immediately.
They continued walking.
"Who are they?" he asked.
Natasha's gaze remained forward. "Someone I trust."
That was all she said.
Louis didn't push. Instead, his thoughts drifted—back to the day before.
He remembered waking in the infirmary. The lingering scent of herbs. The quiet. And after that, despite everything, training.
Not weapon drills.
Something else.
They had gone somewhere tucked away, far from the main grounds. A place filled with glass walls and filtered light, overgrown with life. A greenhouse—or something very close to one.
"It's not mine," she had told him then. "But it's quiet."
She hadn't trained him with spells.
She had shown him how to plant.
How to press seeds into soil. How to watch, not interfere. How to tell when a plant needed attention—and when it needed to be left alone. How wild growth differed from cultivated life.
"The Plant Path isn't about control," she had said. "It's about coexistence."
He remembered asking her.
To look at him.
And then asking her for an oath if they were to work together.
"That you won't tell anyone what you learn about me," he had said. "No matter what."
She had studied him for a long moment before agreeing.
"I swear it," she said simply.
Only after that had he explained.
His unique skill.
What it did. Why it mattered.
Natasha had listened without interruption. When he finished, she hadn't reacted with shock—only understanding.
"That explains it," she had said quietly.
And then, after a pause:
"…I think I know someone who can help you."
The memory faded as Louis returned to the present, walking beside her in the cooling dusk.
He glanced at Natasha again, thoughtful.
They had just reached the edge of the training yard when Louis noticed the sheds—old structures reinforced with iron braces, likely used for storing outdated weapons and surplus gear.
And not far from them stood a familiar figure.
She wasn't wearing armor.
No polished plates. No cloak bearing insignia. Just practical clothing meant for movement rather than ceremony. Even so, the way she stood—weight balanced, posture alert—made her unmistakable.
Kirian's paladin.
The one who was always there.
Remembering the two priest's that were always by her side. He almost chuckled as he thought. "They were most likely serving Kirian by this time."
"Still standing like you expect an ambush," Natasha said dryly as they approached. "Do you ever relax?"
The woman turned, eyes sharp for an instant before she snorted.
"And let you stab me in the back with a smile? Hardly."
Natasha clicked her tongue. "You wound me. I prefer precision over betrayal."
"And I prefer honesty over cleverness," the paladin shot back. "Yet here we are."
Louis watched quietly as the two exchanged looks that carried years of familiarity—mutual respect wrapped in irritation.
Natasha gestured lazily toward him. "This is the druid I mentioned."
The paladin's gaze settled on Louis, assessing.
"Louis," Natasha added. "And this is Belia. Try not to let her posture intimidate you."
Belia scoffed. "You say that like I choose it."
Louis raised a hand and opened her status panel.
[Name: Belisara Kaelith]
[Class: Luminous Templar]
[Rank: Practitioner]
[Level: 69]
Before he could speak, Belia bowed.
"Hero," she said formally.
Louis frowned.
The word landed wrong.
He inclined his head in return, measured and deliberate.
"Luminous Templar."
Belia stiffened.
Her brow furrowed—not in offense, but in understanding.
Slowly, she straightened, eyes narrowing as she studied him again.
"…I see," she said.
Not acceptance. Recognition.
Natasha, standing to the side, smiled faintly.
Belia exhaled once through her nose.
Louis met her gaze.
A brief silence followed.
Then Belia nodded once. "Very well."
Natasha took two steps back. "Since introductions are done, I'll leave you two to it."
Louis turned. "You're leaving?"
Belia glanced at Natasha. "You arranged this, then plan to vanish?"
Natasha shrugged lightly. "I see no reason to stay. I have better things to do than stand around watching you get beaten."
Belia let out a short laugh.
"Still as charming as ever."
Natasha waved without turning back. "Try not to cripple him. I need him functional."
And with that, she left.
Belia turned fully toward Louis, expression now focused—professional.
"So," she said, rolling her shoulders once. "Shall we begin?"
Louis nodded.
"…I suppose we shall."