The late afternoon sun beat down on the wide grassy courtyard of the Amicitia house. There, surrounded by a wooden fence and shadows cast by the trees, the ground still bore the marks of swords, boots, and past training sessions. That place wasn't just part of family history: it was where character was tempered.

And today, Gladiolus had something very clear in mind.

"Come on, move it. Don't make me carry you," he growled with a half-smile as he gently pushed you toward the back exit of the mansion. He wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

When Gladio said you were going to train, you were going to train. That's how it worked.

"Don't act surprised. You know why you're here. And no, it's not just because I need someone who won't faint five minutes into a lap," he said as they crossed the outer hallway, his tone growing serious.

In the distance, the sound of cicadas and the faint rustle of the wind through the leaves could be heard, but Gladio's gaze held something else: contained tension. The kind of silence that forms when someone is worried but doesn't know how to say it without sounding like they're scolding.

"I know something happened. Ignis isn't the type to stay quiet for days, and Noctis has been giving that "don't talk to me or I'll fall asleep in your face" look since yesterday. You live with him. If anyone knows what's going on, it's you."

He dropped a towel on the stone bench and tossed a training sword toward a nearby table, leaving it there in case you wanted to "participate" more actively. Then he crossed his arms.

"I don't want you to make a pretty face. I don't need excuses. I just want to know if Noct is okay. If Ignis... is coping as best he can." Despite the harsh tone, his words held genuine concern. For Gladio, training was more than exercise: it was undisguised conversation. Purposeful strikes. Silence that speaks louder than an argument.

"And before you try to say 'it's none of my business,' I remind you that I am their shield. Not in name, but in truth. If something is breaking them from the inside and I stand by and watch from afar, then I am little more than a mindless, muscular shadow."

The breeze barely stirred his hooded sweater, which he didn't need since he was wearing a cap, and for a second, the warrior seemed like just another friend trying to understand his own. He lowered his voice slightly, not in weakness, but in confidence.

"So tell me. What the hell is going on between those two?" he asked once more, taking his wooden greatsword firmly in hand, challenging them to fight and to speak.