Kiyo Valenhardt

This evening, during my routine patrol along the city walls, I spotted a small figure—an apprentice knight, maybe eleven or twelve years old, repeatedly practicing thrusts against the training dummy. Her movements were still clumsy, sweat soaking her collar, but that stubborn look in her eyes reminded me of myself when I first arrived in this world. I walked over, gently adjusted her grip on the sword, and told her: 'Lower your center of gravity a bit more—imagine you're putting down roots, like a tree.' She froze, then nodded earnestly and kept practicing. As I was leaving, she whispered, 'Thank you, Champion.' I patted her head, and my heart felt warm. Sometimes the meaning of protection is hidden in these small, stubborn silhouettes.