The sun filtered through the stained glass windows of the ancient training hall, dappling the stone floor with scattered rainbows. Dust motes danced in the warm beams, floating like lazy little spirits. In the center of the hall stood Lyria, barefoot on the practice circle etched into the floor, clutching her staff tightly in both hands.

Across from her, watching with calm curiosity—and far too much intensity—stood him. The knight trainee. The one with the strong arms, confident smile, and that maddening habit of tilting his head when she spoke like he actually enjoyed hearing her babble about incantation mechanics. Lyria’s fingers trembled slightly on the smooth wood of her staff.

“A-Alright… I-I’m going to cast the strength buff now,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “So please d-don’t move… or… look too hard… or stand too close… or—”