It had been weeks since the academy had started, and Lira was beginning to settle into the rhythm of her new life. The initial excitement had faded into the grind of daily training and lectures, but something had stayed with her: the lingering memory of Sharo Velcryn.
The first time she saw him, she hadn't thought much of it. A commoner, standing alone, with a cold demeanor that made him stand out in a crowd. But then came the confrontation with one of the noble students from House Karrel, a powerful military family known for their warriors. The way Sharo had swiftly and decisively beaten the noble, his calm and effortless movements—something about it had stuck with her. There was a quiet strength about him, something that marked him as different, as more than just another student at the academy.
Her curiosity about him only grew with each passing day. It was hard to ignore someone like Sharo, especially when he exuded an aura so starkly different from the others at the academy. He didn't try to fit in, didn't care to prove anything. He was quiet, isolated—and there was power in that isolation.
When rumors started circulating that he was once again training alone in the sparring grounds, Lira found herself drawn to the idea of watching him. She didn't fully understand why, but it felt like something she needed to see.
The morning air was crisp, and the academy's courtyard was unusually quiet. Most students were still in their dormitories or classrooms, leaving the training grounds empty. Lira's boots echoed against the stone path as she walked toward the open area, her curiosity urging her forward. She hadn't expected to find it this peaceful, but there, in the center of the training ground, was Sharo.
He stood alone, his sword held at his side, his posture still and focused. The air around him seemed to hum, thick with an energy she couldn't quite explain. The blade in his hand was dark, the reflection of the morning light slightly warped as though it were made of something otherworldly. She couldn't see any obvious magic, but there was an undeniable presence to him, something that made the air feel different, heavier.
Lira didn't move at first, simply watching as he stood there, almost waiting. Then, with a fluid motion, he raised his sword. The sound of metal cutting through the air was sharp, and the mist around him began to stir, swirling in the wake of his movements. It wasn't the kind of magic that most students were used to—there was no fire, no visible energy—but it was undeniably powerful. Black ice shimmered in the air, faint tendrils wrapping around his sword as if responding to his command.
Lira's breath caught in her throat. There was something about him, something that felt almost… ancient. His movements were calculated, measured, and yet they carried the weight of experience, of battles fought long ago. It wasn't just the way he wielded his sword—it was the air around him, the atmosphere that seemed to bend to his presence. It was like he was a storm, a force of nature, calm on the surface but with something deep and untamed beneath.
She was so absorbed in watching him that she didn't realize she had taken a step forward until the crunch of gravel beneath her foot sounded too loud in the silence.
Sharo's sword stopped mid-swing, and the mist around him dissipated as his eyes flicked toward her. For a long moment, he didn't speak, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made Lira's heart beat just a little faster. It wasn't a glare, but there was a quiet weight to his stare, as though he was appraising her, waiting for her to make the next move.
Lira didn't flinch. She met his gaze evenly, her own curiosity written across her face. The air between them seemed to hum with something unspoken, a tension that was both unfamiliar and magnetic.
"You've been training alone for weeks now," she said, her voice calm but cutting through the silence.
Sharo's expression didn't change, but there was a slight narrowing of his eyes, a flicker of something passing through them. "Is that a problem?" His tone was steady, but there was an edge to it, as if he were asking her to challenge him.
Lira shook her head, stepping forward a little more. "No," she said, her voice softening, "I just… don't understand why you do it. You're surrounded by people who would help you, yet you choose to be alone. Why?"
Sharo didn't answer right away. Instead, he lowered his sword slightly, his grip tightening around the hilt. He looked away, as if searching for something in the distance. The cold mist that had gathered around him dissipated into the morning air, leaving behind only the faintest traces of frost on the stone beneath his feet.
"I don't need help," he finally said, his voice quiet but firm. "And no one else can keep up."
Lira wasn't put off by his bluntness. She stepped even closer, her eyes narrowing in thought. There was a reason, a deeper reason, behind his words. She could sense it.
"Is that what it is?" she asked. "You're pushing yourself because no one can match you? Or is it something else?"
His gaze snapped back to hers, a sharpness in his eyes that was nearly unsettling. But it wasn't anger—more like a challenge, a dare for her to understand. His lips parted, but before he could speak, Lira continued.
"I'm not asking to fight you," she said with a slight smile, her voice lightening. "I just want to know why you're so determined to keep everything inside. What's the point of all this if you're just training to stay away from everyone?"
Sharo's expression shifted, and for a brief moment, it seemed like something opened up in him—something raw and fleeting. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual guarded demeanor. He straightened up, his sword now resting at his side, no longer in the middle of a motion.
"Because," he said quietly, "no one can afford weakness. Not here. Not in this place."
Lira studied him for a moment longer, her gaze softening. There was more to his words, she realized. He wasn't just talking about power; he was talking about control. About the burden that came with the strength he wielded. And in that moment, Lira felt something stir inside her—a recognition of the same determination, the same quiet struggle.
She stepped back slightly, her eyes still on him, and offered a small smile. "I understand. But if you ever get tired of being alone in all of this, you don't have to do it by yourself."
For a brief instant, Sharo's expression faltered. It was as if the words struck something deep within him, but he quickly masked it, his features returning to their usual indifference.
"I'm not looking for company," he replied, his tone steady.
Lira didn't push it. She simply nodded, accepting his words for what they were. But there was an unspoken understanding between them now, something that ran deeper than any of the surface-level interactions they had shared.
As she turned to leave, she cast one last look at him. His silhouette stood tall in the morning light, the faint remnants of mist curling around his form. For a moment, the air seemed to hold still, as if the world itself were waiting for something.
But Sharo didn't say anything further. He didn't need to.
And neither did she.