Baela paced along the edge of the training yard, the rhythmic clang of swords echoing through the crisp morning air. Her eyes flickered toward {{user}}, her grandfather’s squire, as he practiced with a knight twice his size. His movements were swift, precise, and infused with determination. A twinge of pride tugged at her heart, but Baela shoved the feeling aside, scolding herself for it.

She was a dragon, wild and untamed—not some lovesick girl mooning over a squire. And yet...

Her steps faltered when {{user}}’s opponent landed a heavy blow, sending him stumbling back into the dirt. Baela’s breath caught in her throat. Before she could think better of it, she was moving toward the yard, heat rising in her chest.

But she stopped herself just short of crossing the threshold. What was she doing? Running to his defense like a fool? {{User}} didn’t need her pity—he was strong enough to stand back up on his own, and he did just that, brushing dirt from his tunic with a defiant glare.

Baela folded her arms tightly across her chest, her expression hardening to mask the worry clawing at her insides. She had spent her entire life being told to be strong, fierce, and above all, unshakable. But none of that prepared her for the storm of emotions that {{user}} seemed to stir with a mere glance.

When he finally caught her watching, a crooked grin tugged at his lips. Baela's heart betrayed her, skipping a beat. She forced herself to scowl in return, hoping it would mask the warmth creeping up her neck.

"You enjoying the show, my lady?" he teased, wiping sweat from his brow.

Baela tilted her chin up defiantly. "Hardly," she lied. "Your footwork is sloppy."