✧ Chapter Thirty-Four ✧
The Fifth Walk
from Have You Someone to Protect?
by ©Amer
Caelum crafted the training ground with deliberate hands and even more deliberate silence. Nestled just beyond a low ridge—not far from the bookshop but far enough that no stray fire spell or surge of magic could find an audience—it was the kind of place where one could scream and only the trees would answer. The clearing held space for focus, for failure, and for growth. And it was here that Lhady began.
Elias, ever the whimsical voice in the house, transformed under the open sky. Gone was the sly smile and the cryptic tongue. This Elias was sharp. Exact. Steel.
"Again," he said—firmer than Lhady had ever heard him.
Even Caelum looked surprised, watching with a quiet reverence as Elias ran the session like a court-appointed spellmaster.
Lhady braced herself, drawing on the pulse of energy beneath her skin. The sigil over her heart glowed faintly.
She raised her hands to draw the current inward, to contain it—but it flared too wildly. A burst of force lashed outward, tossing her back.
She barely registered the vanishing ground before strong arms caught her.
Caelum.
"Careful," he said gently, steadying her.
She looked up, breathless. "Did I—?"
"You lost control," Elias answered for her. "But you tried. We'll end here for today."
By the second day, her spells held longer. There was a rhythm in her hands now. Form. But her stamina lagged behind her will. Sweat soaked her shirt. Her breath grew shallow. Caelum stayed close—always three steps nearer than he needed to be.
She stumbled. Again, he caught her.
"You're pushing too hard," he said, easing her against a tree. She didn't protest.
Elias observed in silence. This time, it sounded like approval.
On the third day, Elias halted training entirely.
"We resume on the fourth," he said, with no room for argument.
"Why?" Lhady asked, brow furrowed.
"You've earned rest. You need it. Your body will break before the magic does."
She offered a tired smile. "No training for the great wizard Elias?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Even gods take naps."
She nodded. No fight left in her. As Caelum walked her back, neither of them spoke. There was only the quiet knowing of two people who'd shared fire—and knew its burn.
She rose early the next morning, donning her violet shawl—the one Caelum had once mended with quiet care. She smiled brightly and told them she was going bathing with friends by the river. Elias didn't blink. Caelum only nodded, as if half-truths were part of the world's weather.
He left not long after, silent on where he was going. Elias simply shrugged—too fond of stillness to chase answers.
Then came the knock.
Allen, breathless, cheeks pink from running, stood at the door holding a small wrapped bundle.
"Is Lhady home already?" she asked, peering past him.
Elias raised an eyebrow. "No. She said she was meeting someone by the river."
Allen frowned. "Oh. That's what we thought too. Mira, Lhady, and I were supposed to meet up. But my piano teacher moved my recital lesson up, so I couldn't make it. I thought they rescheduled—or that she just went home after."
She held out the bundle. "Could you give this to her? It's for her."
Elias took it slowly. "Of course."
"Thanks!" Allen chirped, already turning to go.
Elias stood still.
"I'll make sure she gets it," he repeated.
His gaze darkened.
Down by the shaded river clearing, Lhady stood barefoot in the shallows. Her cloak lay folded on a boulder nearby. Her shawl—tattered but carefully mended—was draped over her head, catching the wind like twilight spun into fabric.
She closed her eyes.
The sigil glowed softly over her heart.
"I can do this," she whispered.
She reached inward, summoning the flow. The power was familiar now. It answered, more gently than before.
She lifted her arms. Her feet left the water.
She hovered.
Her breath slowed. Eyes opened, just for a moment.
The glow flickered.
"No—"
Her control wavered. The current inside her splintered. A violent pulse shot through her spine.
Silence followed.
She dropped.
Unconscious before her body hit the river.
The water received her like it had been waiting. Her dark hair fanned behind her like spilled ink. She sank—slowly, dreamlike.
Inside her mind, stars she did not know burned above her. The sigil's voice whispered in riddles she couldn't grasp.
Above the surface, her shawl slipped away, drifting.
Silas had walked the forest trail for the fifth time, rehearsing lines beneath his breath.
"Lhady… It's been years, but I…"
"No, too stiff."
"Lhady. May I come in?"
"Too formal. I sound like a salesman."
He laughed at himself, raking a hand through his hair.
Then—he heard it.
A splash.
He froze.
Then… nothing. Only ripples. Then silence.
He moved toward the riverbank, cautious.
Then he saw it.
A violet shawl. Floating. Worn. Mended at the corners.
His breath caught.
He knew that shawl. He'd held it once.
"Lhady?"
He didn't wait.
He ran.
And dove.
The cold bit like knives. He plunged deeper. The water blurred around him—until a shape emerged.
Still.
Hair like shadows.
He wrapped his arm around her and pulled.
They broke the surface.
He dragged her to the bank. Her lips were pale. Her eyes were closed.
"No, no, no. Come on."
Lhady floated between drowning and dreaming.
Silas held her close, hands shaking. Water poured from her sleeves. Her violet shawl tangled in his grip.
"Come back," he whispered. "Please."
He tilted her head to press his lips to hers—
"That won't be necessary," said a voice.
Silas jerked his head.
A figure emerged from the trees. Silver hair. Calm eyes.
Elias.
"She's not dying," he said. "She's dreaming."
"She's not breathing!" Silas barked.
"She will."
And as if summoned by those words, Lhady coughed. Water trickled from her lips. She stirred.
Silas exhaled, collapsing to his knees.
"Who… who are you?" he asked.
Elias didn't answer at first. He knelt beside Lhady, studying her.
"Someone who doesn't like being questioned by a man who doesn't even know himself."
Silas said nothing.
Elias lifted Lhady with ease, too graceful for someone so lean.
He carried her wordlessly into the trees.
In a grove of soft moss, he laid her down. Watched. Waited.
Then—she gasped.
Her eyes flew open.
"I… was floating," she whispered.
"No," Elias said. "You were drowning."
She blinked. "What?"
His voice hardened. "Two days of training, and you thought you were ready to go off alone? No ward. No warning?"
"I didn't think—"
"No," he cut in. "You didn't."
She lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize to me," he said. "Apologize to Caelum—if you want him to ever trust you with power again."
She flinched. "Please… don't tell him."
Elias studied her.
Then nodded. "Fine. But you almost died, Lhady."
She met his eyes.
"If it weren't for the man with golden-yellow hair who pulled you out, you'd still be under that river."
Her breath caught. "Golden-yellow?"
A single heartbeat passed—louder than the rest. Her lips parted.
Silas.
But the name was a breath, not a word.
The name trembled on her lips but never escaped.
She swallowed it down, eyes flickering with something too tender for the moment.
Elias said nothing. But he noticed.
"Come," Elias said. "Let's go back to the bookshop. Rest. And think."
He walked ahead.
She followed.
In the trees behind them, Silas remained.
Rooted. Shaken. Watching.
His heart thundered.
His thoughts louder still.
He whispered into the silence:
"Am I too late again?"