Char slept deeply for the first time in weeks.
The storm had raged outside through the night, rain hammering against the townhouse windows, but within the thick walls, it had been nothing more than a distant murmur. He had dreamt, though he couldn't quite recall what about—just a vague sensation of chasing something just out of reach.
When he finally woke, golden morning light streamed through his window, and for a brief moment, he thought the storm had passed.
Then he heard the shouting.
Frowning, he swung his legs over the bed and made his way to the window. The view overlooked part of the village, or rather, what was left of it.
Where there had once been streets, water stretched out in wide pools, reflecting the pale sky above. A few of the smaller buildings were half-submerged, the river that ran alongside the village having burst its banks, flooding the lower areas.
A handful of villagers waded through waist-deep water, trying to salvage whatever they could. Wooden carts had been upended, supplies floating uselessly along the current. The once cozy village square was now a lake, with the taller buildings—including the townhouse—remaining as the only dry spots.
Char grimaced. So much for leaving today.
A loud knock at his door startled him from his thoughts.
"Boy," came Benjamin's gruff voice. "Wake up. We're stuck here for a while."
Char exhaled, rubbing his face before moving to open the door.
Benjamin stood there, arms crossed, his coat looking slightly damp as if he had already been outside. His usual gruff scowl was set firmly in place, but there was no real frustration behind it—just resignation.
"Bad?" Char asked, nodding toward the window.
"Could be worse," Benjamin muttered. "Nobody's dead, at least. But we ain't moving anywhere until that water recedes."
Char sighed, already feeling restless. "How long do you think that'll take?"
Benjamin shrugged. "Three days, maybe. Longer if the river decides to stay pissed."
Three days. Char frowned. It was time he didn't want to waste, not when Jaffalex was still so far away. But there was nothing he could do about it now.
Benjamin studied him for a moment before jerking his head toward the hall. "Flint's got people organizing food and supplies. Get something to eat and don't get in the way."
With that, he turned and strode off, boots clunking against the wooden floor.
Char watched him go before sighing. He wasn't about to just sit around twiddling his thumbs for days. If he was stuck here, he might as well make himself useful.
And he already had an idea of how.
*
Char discovered it entirely by accident.
He had been exploring the townhouse, looking for anything to do, when he noticed a narrow wooden door at the far end of one of the lower halls. Unlike the other rooms, it had no sign indicating what it was for.
Curious, he pushed it open.
The room inside was spacious, with wooden floors scuffed from years of wear. The walls were lined with training dummies, their straw-stuffed forms frayed from countless strikes, and several wooden practice weapons hung from racks along the walls.
A training room.
Char grinned.
Closing the door behind him, he strode toward the center, rolling his shoulders. He had spent so much time running, fighting, and surviving that he hadn't actually had a chance to practice properly.
And after the attack in the forest, he needed it.
He drew both of his knives—one light and quick, the other heavy with weight—and shifted into a stance.
Then, he began to move.
The room echoed with the whisper of blades cutting through the air, each stroke more precise than the last. Char worked through what he had learned from Tess, running through footwork drills, defensive parries, and quick, decisive strikes.
His movements started rough, still sloppy from inexperience, but with each repetition, he refined them—sharpening the edges of his technique like a blade against a whetstone.
Minutes stretched into an hour, then longer. Sweat dripped down his back, his breaths coming shallow and quick, but he didn't stop. He had to be better.
Had to be stronger.
Then, something shifted.
It was a feeling, subtle at first—a tingling at the back of his neck, a prickle of awareness.
He wasn't alone.
Char didn't let it show. Instead, he slowed his movements, pretending to be lost in concentration while his senses reached outward.
Someone was watching him.
But whoever they were, they didn't step forward.
After a while, the feeling faded, and Char finally lowered his knives, heart still pounding. He glanced toward the door, half-expecting someone to be there.
Nothing.
Frowning, he wiped sweat from his forehead. Had he imagined it?
Shaking the thought away, he sheathed his weapons. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten all morning.
Food first. Then he'd figure out who had been watching him.
*
The main hall was still buzzing with activity when Char entered, villagers and travelers alike gathering at the long tables for a midday meal.
He had just grabbed a plate of roasted meat and bread when a voice called out behind him.
"You again."
Char turned, already recognizing the voice from the night before.
The young woman from the balcony stood before him, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. She was just as he remembered—sharp-eyed and confident, but now he saw her dark hair pulled back into a loose braid.
She looked him over. "Didn't take you for the training type."
Char blinked. So she had been the one watching him.
"You were spying on me," he said flatly.
She shrugged. "Not spying. Just passing through."
He raised an eyebrow.
She laughed, then leaned against the table. "Name's Mira."
Char hesitated. "Char."
Mira hummed. "So, you're the guy who watched my brother's show last night."
Char blinked. "Your brother?"
She grinned. "Magician Merrick. You know, the failing performer you took pity on."
Char's face burned.
Mira laughed again, clearly enjoying his reaction. "Don't worry, I'm not mad. Merrick's… a bit of a dreamer, but he means well. He was really happy someone actually paid attention."
Char rubbed the back of his neck. "I just thought… I don't know, that he deserved to be seen."
Mira studied him for a moment, her gaze unreadable. Then, to his surprise, she smiled—not a smirk, not teasing, but genuine.
"That was kind of you," she said.
Char felt his face heat up again and quickly looked away, pretending to focus on his food.
Mira chuckled, then straightened. "Well, don't let me keep you from eating. Maybe I'll see you around, Char."
With that, she disappeared back into the crowd, leaving him standing there, flustered and confused.
Char exhaled slowly.
This was not how he expected the day to go.