Gareth's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Gareth stood in the practice yard, greatsword lowered, watching the healer walk between the sparring rings. She moved with the kind of attention that reminded him of a duelist reading an opponent — careful, focused, missing nothing. He found reasons to be near the stone gazebo after that. The structure overlooked the water, moss creeping across its railings, and she came there most afternoons with her supplies. Gareth told himself he was working on stillness, on learning to observe instead of act. The truth sat heavier. He wanted her to notice him the way he noticed her. On the fourth day, he pulled a swamp flower from the wetlands and brought it to her, its muddy petals releasing their sweet smell. She accepted it with the same polite distance she showed everyone, thanked him, and set it aside. Her eyes never changed. The rejection didn't announce itself. It lived in the space between her words and the way she turned back to her work. Gareth stood there a moment longer than he should have, feeling the same impatience that ruined his dueling burn through his chest. He wanted to push, to insist, to make something happen through sheer force. Instead, he nodded and walked away. He found the old tower at the island's edge and climbed its crumbling stairs. The stone was cool under his palms, vines tangling through the gaps in the walls. He sat at the top and forced himself to stay still, counting his breaths the way he did in training. Patience didn't come from wanting it. It came from enduring the wait. Mirella had taught him that without meaning to, and the lesson tasted bitter.