The church garden was peaceful in the early morning, with dew still on the grass and petals. A curved stone bench sat in the shade near a circle of lilacs, while sunlight filtered through the lattice overhead.

  I sat on the bench, my knee bouncing, while Seraphina stood near a patch of wildflowers. The morning light spilled over her hair, giving it a radiant shine. She wore a pale green dress that brushed just past her boots, simple yet elegant, with a braided sash tied at her waist and loose sleeves that shifted gently in the breeze. Dew clung to the hem where it touched the grass. She looked as if she belonged to the garden, not merely standing in it but becoming part of it. Alive, quiet, enduring. Her arms were crossed, but her posture wasn’t closed; it was just guarded. Thoughtful. Watching her in that moment made something settle in my chest, as if all the noise I’d been carrying found a place to rest, even if just for a breath. Her gaze wasn’t on the blooms; it was fixed on the woman walking toward us with slow, deliberate steps.

  “Seraphina,” the priestess said warmly, clasping her hands. “How are you this morning, my dear? And where is that young man of yours?”

  I stood before she finished the question. “Right here, Priestess Anne.”

  Almost without thinking, my Analyze skill flickered to life. A familiar blue square appeared above her head:

  [Name: Anne Eldercrest]

  Level: 30

  Class: Priest

  Title: Divine Priestess

  I winced inwardly. I really needed to get that skill under control because it pops up at the worst times. Still, the title caught my eye. Divine Priestess? Not just priestess. I wonder what the difference is…

  Anne turned to me with a twinkle in her gaze. “Ah, David. There you are. I was hoping to ask about what we discussed last time,” I said cautiously.

  “Yes, yes,” she said, already smiling. “Marriage is a huge step, young man.”

  Seraphina coughed into her sleeve, her cheeks coloring just enough to be noticeable.

  “That’s not quite what I meant,” I added quickly, though the warmth in her teasing tone eased the awkwardness. “It’s about… the other thing. My class.”

  Her expression changed subtly. Less playful. More confident.

  “Ah. That,” she said. “Let’s sit. I notice a few bees are buzzing around in this garden this morning. More than usual.”

  Anne and Seraphina moved to a bench near the trellis, where a patch of white flowers curled at its base. They sat with their knees pointed toward each other, just as people often do when they are about to speak earnestly. I remained standing, unsure whether I should join them or watch.

  I moved a few steps away, letting my eyes wander across the garden. Bees buzzed lazily among the lavender and marigolds, and sunlight danced on the leaves. It should have felt safe. But something prickled at me—an echo in my chest, a shift in the rhythm.

  [Perception Triggered]

  I slowed my steps, feigning interest in the ivy crawling up the garden wall, but my eyes were scanning, searching. And there just past the hedges stood a figure. Too still. Too deliberate. Watching. My analyze skill flickered to life, unbidden, the familiar shimmer overlaying my vision until words sharpened into focus:

  [Name: Fredrick Groitent]

  Level: 25

  Class: Priest

  Title: High Priest

  A high priest. Out here, in the shadows of a garden? My stomach tightened. Was he here for us or for Anne? And if the church had already started watching, how many more were out there, unseen?

  The thought crawled down my spine like ice.

  “Has something changed, child?” Anne’s voice cut through, warm but edged with concern, pulling Seraphina’s attention and mine back to the moment.

  Seraphina looked at me before answering. “Yes. Something’s shifting. It’s him. And me. And everything.” Her voice was steady, but I sensed the ripple beneath. “What should we do?”

  I stepped in, shaking the thought of the other in the garden and gently resting my hand on Seraphina's shoulder. “I don’t want to overshadow Garron. He’s already given me more than I deserve. I’ve been thinking about it, maybe it’s time to find my own way.”

  Anne studied both of us, then nodded slowly. “The forge taught you your hands. But now your heart needs testing.” She stood, brushing a few petals from her robes. “If you want help, then you need to go to the capital. Speak to your guild, and take their assessment tests. If you are ready for your ceremony, I am also visiting the capital in three weeks.”

  “The guild?” Seraphina asked. “They’ll help him?”

  Anne looked toward the distant wall where I had seen the movement earlier. “If he’s brave enough to walk through their doors, yes. Go now, if you are ready; I believe the caravan in the village is leaving today for the capital. You have to be quick if that is what you desire.”

  She looked at both of us. “You’ll have to move quickly. The road doesn’t wait.”

  I gave the priestess a slight bow and thanked her for her advice. “Please leave a note with the guild when you arrive in the capital. By then, we should know which path we’re taking.”

  With that, I took Seraphina’s hand as she rose, and together we stepped out of the garden and onto the street beyond.

  Behind us, Priestess Anne paused briefly, watching the two of us walk along the winding path away from the church grounds.

  A gentle rustle of robes announced the arrival of an older man, dressed in deep blue and silver trim of a High Priest. He walked over to her, hands clasped behind his back.

  “And what weighs on the hearts of young people today?” he asked with a gentle smile.

  Anne turned and nodded in greeting. “Their future. And marriage.”

  He chuckled. “A well-worn road.”

  “What are their classes, if I might ask?”

  “He’s a blacksmith,” she replied. “She’s a villager.”

  “An interesting pairing.”

  She nodded. “Yes. They’re heading to the capital now to speak with the guild. I wished them luck. And if they still want a ceremony, I’ll be there in a few weeks.”

  “Ah, the joys of youth,” he mused as he strolled through the garden, sauntering, stopping to smell the flowers, and ignoring the bees drifting lazily among the blossoms.

  I opened the store door for Seraphina as we slipped through the growing crowd outside, wagons creaked, crates were being loaded, and voices shouted over the noise of departure. Inside, the shop was already busy. Edmund stood behind the counter, talking with a couple of customers, while Elias moved among the shelves, climbing up to reach supplies stacked high.

  When Seraphina stepped forward, Edmund’s attention immediately turned to her. He smiled warmly and familiarly, reaching out to take her hand, his fingers gently wrapping around hers.

  “What’s wrong?” Edmund asked, furrowing his brow as he looked between us.

  Seraphina paused briefly before gently drawing her hand back. “We need to leave,” she said, her voice calm but softer than usual. “The priestess said it’s best if we go to the capital.”

  “Why the capital?” Elias inquired as he moved closer.

  “I have to visit the guild and take their test, the priestess said,” I replied. “And Seraphina needs to go with me. I plan on taking care of her; you have my word on it.”

  “From what Elias told me yesterday, you already did that a few times," Edmund said. “I guess there’s no stopping you both.” With that, he left the store and walked into the storeroom.

  Elias stood beside Seraphina, his voice low and brotherly. “You sure about this?”

  She nodded, not immediately trusting her voice. “It’s time.”

  As they talked, I remained silent, glancing around the shop. Customers moved between the shelves, their footsteps softly tapping on the worn wooden floor. A mother haggled over fabric near the back. A young boy pointed at a jar of licorice sticks, his eyes wide with wonder. For a moment, it seemed like just another typical morning. Then the storeroom door creaked open again. Edmund came out holding a small, rectangular wooden box, hand-painted with gentle floral patterns and faded green trim. The corners were worn from age, but it was clear that someone had once taken great care in crafting it beautifully.

  “It’s time to give this to you now,” Edmund said, gently placing it on the counter between us.

  I looked at it, unsure. “What is this?”

  Seraphina’s hands hovered above the lid, trembling slightly. “It’s my dowry box,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Mother painted it before she passed. She said it was for the day I finally found someone.” Her voice cracked on the last word. Her fingers traced the outline of the flower painted on the cover.

  She slowly lifted the lid. Inside was a small coin purse, modest yet full, and a folded piece of parchment, its edges yellowed with age. Tears welled up in her eyes as she reached for the letter. Elias placed a steady hand on her shoulder.

  I didn’t speak; some moments aren't meant to be filled with words.

  Edmund watched us in silence for a moment, then let out a breath and crossed his arms. “I suppose I should start calling you son, then.”

  I glanced at him, one hand still on Seraphina’s back as she held the letter close to her chest. “Maybe,” I said quietly. “We haven’t fully talked about it yet.”

  Edmund gave a single nod, neither approval nor disapproval. Just a nod. The kind you give when you realize the road ahead isn’t yours to walk, only to watch from the side.

  “She’s strong,” he said at last, not looking directly at her. “Gets that from her mother.”

  Seraphina let out a wet laugh, brushing a tear from her cheek. “And stubborn. That’s all you.”

  “Guilty,” he muttered, pride slipping through the word.

  “Here.” Edmund pulled a folded cloth from a decorated bag. “This was your mother’s. She would want you to have it.”

  Seraphina’s hands trembled as she took it. “I can’t take this.” Her voice broke as she began to unfold the hand-knit covering.

  “If she were here, she would have made your first one. I kept this for your special day. I want you to wear it, even if the two of you are only talking.”

  I didn’t know the full meaning, only that it was important. Seraphina tucked her hair under the covering, fumbling with it for a few minutes until it sat just right.

  Edmund’s voice caught. “Sweetheart, you look beautiful.”

  Elias cleared his throat softly. “You should get your things. The caravan won’t wait.”

  “Right,” Seraphina said. She placed the letter carefully back into the box, closing the lid as if sealing something sacred inside.

  As she carried the dowry box toward the back, Edmund caught my eye again. “Look after her. Not just the big things. The little ones, too. They’re what matters.”

  I nodded. “I will.”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  The village square hummed with restrained urgency as the caravan prepared to depart. Wagons creaked under the weight of crates and barrels, oxen stamped and snorted, and shouted instructions cut through murmured farewells. Above it all, the banners of Vaelthorn snapped in the rising wind.

  Seraphina stepped out of the shop with her travel pack slung over one shoulder. I followed with my bundle, lighter than I expected, considering what I was leaving behind.

  Elias didn’t hesitate. He wrapped Seraphina in a hug so tight it lifted her onto her toes. “Write,” he said, voice thick. “Every stop. Even if it’s short.”

  “I will,” she promised.

  Edmund waited until Elias stepped back. He clasped my hand, firm and steady. “The road’s no joke,” he said. “Stay sharp. It’s four days to the capital. Try to make it back for the Harvest Festival.”

  “We’ll try,” I said. His grip lingered a moment longer than necessary, approval, warning, hope, all without words.

  “Last call!” a driver shouted. “We ride at three bells!”

  Seraphina and I wove through the crowd together and climbed into the covered wagon. A soldier nodded us aboard. Inside, we took a bench beside a young woman with a bundled child and a man in a dark riding cloak who never looked up.

  The wagon lurched, wheels crunching over gravel and fallen leaves. Through the canvas flap, I caught one last glimpse of the square, Elias waving, Edmund standing still, hands folded in his apron.

  Then the village fell away.

  I leaned back against the wooden slats as the road stretched forward. Whatever awaited us, answers or trouble, we were committed now. Instinctively, I activated my skill.

  [Analyze Activated]

  Text shimmered into view.

  [Name: Mira Halden]

  Race: Human

  Status: Married (Syndy Halden)

  Age: 19

  Class: Seamstress

  She glanced at me as if she’d felt something, then smiled faintly and returned to adjusting the blanket around her sleeping child. I turned my attention to the man at the end of the bench.

  [Analyze Attempt Failed]

  I blinked. That hadn’t happened before.

  The overlay flickered, static rippling across the still water, text half-forming before dissolving. A moment later, the man shifted, just enough to let me know he was aware. Then he looked away. A tightness settled in my chest.

  I reached behind and pulled Seraphina close, her warmth steady against my side. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. The silence between us said volumes. Maybe I’d read too many spy novels back home, but I could feel it: things were shifting. Some of it was good. Some of it wasn’t. And all of it was in motion.

  By the time the caravan made camp on the third night, my body had reached that familiar, irritating state where nothing hurt, yet everything felt wrong. Sitting in the back of a wagon all day will do that. Hips locked. Lower back tight. Knees stiff from being bent just a little too long. Even my shoulders felt like they’d crept halfway up my neck.

  I stepped a short distance away from the firelight, my boots crunching softly over packed earth, and rolled my shoulders once. Then again. The second time, something popped, not painfully, just a quiet there you are, and I exhaled.

  I tugged my shirt up and over my head, the fabric peeling away with a faint rasp of sweat-dried cloth. The evening air brushed my skin, cool enough to raise a light shiver along my arms and shoulders. Better. Easier to move like this. I set the shirt on a nearby crate, flexed my fingers once, twice, then let my hands fall loosely at my sides.

  “Okay,” I muttered to myself. “Let’s undo that.”

  I planted my feet shoulder-width apart and let my arms hang loose, then slowly rotated my neck to the left. Not forcing it. Just letting gravity do the work. A dull pull ran from the base of my skull down between my shoulder blades. I held it there, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, then rolled the other way.

  The stars were just starting to come out overhead. The fire crackled behind me. Somewhere nearby, Seraphina laughed softly at something someone said, the sound warm and grounding.

  I interlaced my fingers and stretched my arms straight out in front of me, palms forward, feeling the tension unwind along my upper back. Then I lifted them overhead, my ribs flaring slightly as I reached up, heels planted. My spine lengthened, vertebra by vertebra, until the stiffness began to give way. Better. Much better.

  I folded forward at the hips next, slow and controlled, hands dangling toward the ground. My hamstrings protested immediately. I didn’t bounce; I learned that lesson years ago. Just let myself hang, knees slightly bent, head relaxed. Blood rushed into my shoulders. The world tilted pleasantly.

  After a few breaths, I straightened and shifted into a gentle twist, one hand braced against my opposite thigh as I rotated through my torso. I felt it in my lower back, deep and tight from hours of vibration and uneven motion. I held, switched sides, and worked through it carefully.

  Last came my hips. I placed my hands on my waist and made slow, deliberate circles, loosening joints that had been frozen in place all day. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t meant to be. It was maintenance.

  I finished with a few shallow knee bends, just enough to remind my legs that they still worked, then shook them out one at a time.

  By the time I stopped, my body felt… present again. Connected. Ready.

  I glanced back toward the fire without thinking and caught Seraphina watching me. Not staring. Just observing, curious, thoughtful. As if she were filing the moment away. That was fine. I like to show her how to defend herself if needed. Not to fight. Not yet. Just to move.

  Behind her, I caught the man from the wagon watching from the shadows. He watched every move I made. When I caught his gaze, he slipped further back into the darkness.

  I settled into a relaxed stance, feet shoulder-width apart, knees soft, weight centered. My hands came up naturally, not clenched, palms half-open. I shifted my weight forward and back a few times, testing my balance on uneven ground. Gravel shifted under my boots. Good. If I could move here, I could move anywhere. I started slowly.

  A simple step forward, heel to toe, as my lead hand extended, not a punch, just a measured reach, like measuring distance. The other hand stayed close to my ribs, ready. I drew back, switched feet, and mirrored the motion. Over and over. Smooth. Controlled.

  Then I added a basic straight punch. Straight out from the shoulder, elbow tucked, wrist aligned. No power yet, just mechanics. I let the punch stop short, feeling the chain of motion from foot to hip to shoulder to knuckles.

  Step. Strike. Reset.

  I rotated my torso into a shallow block next, my forearm sweeping across my centerline, followed by a small pivot and a palm strike aimed at the sternum. Nothing dramatic. Just efficient angles and economy of motion.

  The stiffness from the day bled away with every repetition.

  I settled into a slow combination: step off-line, deflect, counter. Again and again. My breathing stayed even and quiet, syncing with the rhythm of my movements. In. Out. In. Out. I practiced a low kick next, not high, not flashy. Just a short snap aimed at a knee or shin, then my foot returned to the ground immediately. Balance mattered more than force. I’d learned that the hard way.

  After a few minutes, a faint sheen of sweat returned, warmer this time. My muscles felt awake, connected, like they were finally talking to each other again instead of arguing.

  I slowed, finishing with one last controlled motion, hands rising, then lowering, shoulders relaxing as I exhaled. That’s when I became aware of eyes on me.

  I turned my head slightly and caught Seraphina near the edge of the firelight. She wasn’t gawking. She wasn’t embarrassed. Just watching with quiet interest, arms folded loosely, head tilted like she was studying something she didn’t have words for yet.

  I gave her a small, crooked smile. “Nothing impressive,” I said. “Just doing some of the basics.”

  She didn’t answer right away. Just stepped a little closer, gaze flicking from my hands to my stance.

  “Would you… show me?” she asked. I nodded, already stepping back into position.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I would love to. Let’s start with the basics, just as my sensi taught me.”

  “Sensi?” She stepped closer, boots crunching softly on the gravel.

  “Teacher,” I clarified. “Now… first rule, nothing fancy. No hero stuff. This is about staying on your feet.”

  I gestured for her to stand where I had been. “Face me.” She did, a little uncertain at first, then steadier as she settled.

  “Next time, you need to change into something better for practicing. A dress isn’t the best to start out in… Okay,” I said, lowering my voice. “Feet first. Shoulder-width apart. Don’t lock your knees.” I lightly tapped the outside of her knee with two fingers. “Soft. Always soft. Locked joints break.”

  She adjusted instinctively, shifting her weight.

  “Good,” I said. “Now imagine someone shoves you. Where does your weight go?”

  She frowned slightly, thinking, then leaned back without realizing it.

  I shook my head gently. “That’s how you fall. Keep your weight centered, right here.” I tapped my own lower abdomen. “Not forward, not back.” She mirrored me again, this time more carefully.

  “Better,” I said. “Now relax your shoulders.” I demonstrated, rolling mine once. “Tension makes you slow.” She exhaled and followed suit. I noticed how naturally she adjusted once she stopped overthinking it.

  “Hands,” I continued. “Don’t make fists yet.” I held my hands up loosely. “Open palms. Thumbs relaxed. You want movement, not strength.” She raised her hands, awkward for half a second, then they settled, as if they’d always belonged there.

  I smiled despite myself. “Good. That’s a stance,” I said. “Not for fighting. For not getting knocked down.”

  She glanced up at me. “That’s it?”

  “That’s most of it,” I replied. “Everything else builds on this.”

  I stepped closer, not crowding her, just enough to demonstrate. “Now, balance check.” I nudged her shoulder gently.

  She rocked, but didn’t stumble.

  Her eyes widened a little. “Oh.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “If you can stay upright, you already beat half the people who panic.”

  I took a step back. “Now breathing. In through your nose.” I demonstrated slowly. “Out through your mouth. If you stop breathing, you stop thinking.” She followed, breath evening out.

  For a moment, neither of us spoke. The fire crackled nearby. Somewhere down the camp line, someone laughed.

  She looked up at me again, quieter now. “You’ve done this a lot.”

  “Yeah,” I said honestly. “Mostly to keep from getting hurt.” She nodded, absorbing that.

  I was aware of the camp in a distant, peripheral way, the firelight shifting, silhouettes moving, but my focus stayed on her. Still, humans are good at noticing when they’re being watched.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a few heads turning. A driver paused mid-bite. Someone nudged someone else. A low murmur rippled through the wagons like wind through tall grass.

  Seraphina noticed it too. Her shoulders tightened just a fraction.

  I stepped slightly closer, enough to block her line of sight without crowding her. “Eyes on me,” I said calmly. Not sharp. Not commanding. Just steady. Her gaze snapped back to mine.

  “Good,” I said softly. “Ignore them. They’re just bored.”

  A few shapes shifted again beyond the firelight. One of the guards leaned against a wheel, arms crossed, watching with open curiosity. A woman near a cooking pot whispered something behind her hand, a smile on her face.

  Seraphina’s mouth twitched. “They’re staring.”

  “They stare at anything that breaks routine,” I said. “Anyway, they’re staring at me, not you…” I smiled as I raised my hands again, slow and deliberate, drawing her attention back. “Now, step forward. Half a foot. Don’t lift your heel too high.”

  She followed, movement cautious but controlled.

  “That’s it,” I said. “Smooth. You’re not sneaking. You’re placing your foot.”

  Behind her, someone chuckled quietly. Another voice murmured something I couldn’t hear, but I saw the amused expressions. Speculation. Mostly harmless.

  I shifted again, angling my body so she had no choice but to face me fully. “Look at my shoulders,” I said. “If they turn, your hips follow. Try.” She mirrored me, turning slowly.

  “Perfect,” I said. And I meant it.

  Her attention narrowed. The camp faded from her; I could see it in the way her breathing steadied again. A guard near the fire raised his brows, impressed. Another shook his head with a grin, muttering to a companion. Seraphina didn’t notice anymore.

  “Now,” I continued, “small push test again.” I pressed lightly against her shoulder.

  She shifted her stance, absorbed it, didn’t stumble. Her eyes lit up. “I stayed up.”

  “You did,” I said, smiling. “That’s not strength. That’s balance.”

  Behind us, someone let out a low whistle. Another person clapped once before being shushed. Seraphina flushed, but didn’t break stance.

  “Good,” I said quietly. “That’s what confidence feels like. Not loud. Not showy. Just… solid.”

  She nodded, jaw set with new determination.

  “Again,” I said. “From the top.”

  And this time, even with half the caravan watching, she moved like there was no one else in the world but the firelight, the ground beneath her feet,

  and my voice kept her steady. She didn’t lower her hands right away.

  “Again,” I said. “From the top.”

  She reset without complaint. Feet planted. Knees soft. Hands raised, not clenched, not loose. Just ready.

  We moved through it slowly at first. Step. Turn. Shift weight. Breathe. I corrected her posture with a light touch to the elbow, a nudge at the hip. Each time, she adjusted immediately, like she’d been waiting for permission to move this way her whole life.

  Time stretched. The fire burned lower. The watching shapes around us drifted back to their meals and bedrolls as the novelty wore off. But she stayed. Her breathing deepened. Her movements smoothed out.

  “Good,” I said quietly. “Again.”

  She stepped in. I applied gentle pressure. She absorbed it. Didn’t stumble. Her eyes widened, not at me, but at herself.

  “I… wait,” she said, pulling back suddenly. Her hands dropped. She blinked, like she was waking from a dream. “That felt…” Then she froze. Completely still. The air around her changed, not visibly, but noticeably like a held breath.

  I straightened. “Seraphina?” She swallowed. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her hand in front of her face. I saw it before she spoke. A faint shimmer. Translucent text forming in the air, reflected in her widened eyes.

  [Seraphina (Adwell) Robertson]

  Race: Human

  Status: Married (David Robertson)

  Title:

  Age: 18

  Class: Villager

  Strength: 6

  Intelligence: 10

  Wisdom: 7

  Agility: 6

  Charisma: 8

  HP: 120/120

  MP: 100/100

  SP: 100/100

  Skills:

  Leatherwork Lvl 2

  Cooking Lvl 10

  Unarmed Combat Lv. 1

  “No,” she whispered. “No, that’s not right.”

  “What?” I asked, already knowing the answer I wasn’t supposed to know yet.

  Her voice trembled. “I heard her. The goddess. Just for a moment.” She looked at me now, panic and disbelief tangled. “She said I had gained something.” The text sharpened. She stared at it as if it might bite her.

  “I don’t… villagers don’t…” She shook her head hard. “We don’t get combat skills. Ever. Not like this.”

  I stepped closer, lowering my voice instinctively. “What does it say?” She hesitated, then swallowed again and read aloud, barely above a whisper.

  “Skill Acquired: Unarmed Combat - Lv. 1.”

  Silence dropped between us, heavy and absolute.

  Her hands curled into fists without her meaning to. “That’s impossible,” she said, sharper now. “I didn’t use a scroll. I didn’t…”

  “You trained,” I said gently.

  Her head snapped up. “That doesn’t count.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not allowed to,” she said. Not angry. Just… stating a rule she’d lived under her whole life. “I don’t have a class for it. I’m not a soldier. I’m not a guard. I’m a villager.”

  I held her gaze. “You stood. You learned. You adapted.”

  She lifted her gaze to me, disbelief written plainly across her face. “Also, my family name is gone.” I didn’t speak. I let her finish.

  “My status...” she continued, voice barely steady now. “...Has that we are now married.”

  "Well, we were pretending for the past couple of days... Right?" I responded with a crooked smile.

  The world seemed to go quiet around us. No crackle of fire. No murmurs from the caravan. Just the space between us, suddenly heavy with meaning.

  “It...” She stopped. Swallowed. Looked back at the invisible panel like it might change if she stared hard enough. “Shouldn't be possible.” I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

  “We didn’t perform a ceremony,” she said quickly, almost defensively. “No priest. No blessing. No contract.” She looked at me, her eyes wide. “Marriage is declared after the rites, in front of the gods, witnesses, and family.”

  “I didn’t,” I started, then stopped myself. “I didn’t do anything like that.”

  “I know,” she said immediately. And that somehow made it worse.

  She dropped her hands, pacing a single step away, then back. “First, a combat skill I shouldn’t have. Now this.” She laughed once, breathless and sharp. “David, things like this aren't supposed to happen this way.”

  I exhaled slowly. “Then maybe,” I said carefully, “Other forces are doing something that we can't explain yet.”

  She laughed once. It was shaky. “That’s not comforting.”

  “No,” I agreed. “But it’s honest.”

  She looked back at the fading shimmer, like she expected it to vanish if she stared hard enough.

  “It’s still there,” she whispered.

  I reached out, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder, not to correct her stance this time, but to steady her. “You okay?”

  “No,” she said. “It just feels… like the ground moved under me.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. That happens.”

  She looked at me again. Really looked. “David,” she said slowly, “what did you do?” I met her eyes, the firelight catching between us.

  “I showed you how to stand,” I said. “Everything else… I am working on figuring out.” She was quiet for a long moment. Then, very carefully, she raised her hands again.

  “…Can we keep going?” she asked. I smiled, small, steady, and confident.

  “Yeah,” I said. “We can. It would be better if you were not wearing that dress.”

  “David Robertson… Now, we are married, you want me out of my dress…” she said.

  “That’s not…” I started until I saw that smile. I had to laugh.