The forest was vast and ancient. Leonotis moved through it in his dream the trees impossibly tall, their roots older than anything he could name. He knew this place. He was certain of it. He could feel something humming in his chest.

  "Leonotis!"

  The trees dissolved. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, grasping for the images as they slipped away. A forest. Something vast. The certainty faded last, leaving only its ghost.

  "Leonotis, breakfast is ready!"

  He scrambled out of bed, dressing quickly in a white V-neck and black shorts, raking his orange hair into a high top. It was the first dream he'd truly remembered since waking up in this village six months ago. He'd have to think about that later.

  He hurried to the table.

  "I made you plenty of—Hey, slow down!" Chinakah exclaimed, but Leonotis was already halfway through his breakfast. He jumped up, hugged her, and darted out the door, grabbing his trusty tree-branch sword on the way.

  Gethii was waiting by the clinic gate. "Oh, you actually made it," he said dryly.

  "Yes, Master. Sorry I'm late. I'm ready for my lesson."

  "For being late, you'll run double. Circuit. Now."

  Leonotis stretched quickly and set off.

  Chinakah emerged a few minutes later, leaning against the gate beside Gethii. They watched the orange-haired boy disappear around the bend.

  "How's he doing?" she asked.

  Gethii was quiet for a moment. "I doubled his laps last week," he finally said. "Just so we'd have time to talk."

  Chinakah looked at him. "You doubled them so you'd have time to talk?"

  "He was finishing in under an hour." Gethii turned the hilt of his sword over in his hand, a habit she'd come to recognize as restlessness. "He's absorbed everything I've taught him. All of it. Six months ago I thought he'd quit after a week." He paused. "Something in that boy isn't ordinary. He could probably beat a swordmaster as is."

  "So you're saying he's better than you were at his age."

  "In a straight sword skills he just might be."

  Chinakah didn't answer right away. Somewhere down the lane, a door opened. The smell of baking bread drifted over from the market.

  "Any word from the capital?" she asked.

  "Nothing. Not since they released me from the Kingsguard for recovery." The hilt-turning stopped. "I doubt if they'd even want me back. A one-armed soldier isn't much use to a new king."

  "Nothing for me either." She crossed her arms loosely over her chest. "I'm not sure anyone left even remembers we're posted out here. Honestly—" She glanced at him sideways. "I don't mind."

  "It's temporary," Gethii said, though his voice had softened. "Either they'll call us back, or he'll remember who he is."

  "I know." She leaned her shoulder gently against his. "I'm just saying. These months haven't been nothing."

  They stood together in the quiet morning, listening to the distant rhythm of boots on packed earth.

  The rhythmic slap of Leonotis’s worn boots on the packed earth echoed slightly in the cool morning air. Mist still clung to the thatched roofs of the village houses, and the scent of bread mingled with damp soil.

  He rounded the corner by the baker’s, offering a wide grin and a wave. Old Mrs. Kunau, leaning on her broom in her doorway, paused her sweeping. Her lips, usually set in a firm line, twitched upwards at the corners, and she gave a short, stiff nod. "Morning," she rasped, the word barely audible. Leonotis’s grin widened. A few months ago, she would have just squinted suspiciously.

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  Further down, Nsheri the fletcher looked up from sorting arrow shafts, grunted something that might have been a greeting, and went back to his work. Progress.

  As he passed the marketplace, a crate of apples tumbled from a vendor's unsteady stack. Without breaking stride, Leonotis scooped up the rolling fruit, depositing them back into the flustered vendor's arms with a quick, "Careful there!" before continuing his run. The vendor stared after him, mouth slightly open.

  But not everyone met his gaze. By the smithy, Mzeem stopped hammering, the sudden silence loud. As Leonotis approached, the blacksmith turned his broad back pointedly, examining a horseshoe with intense focus. Leonotis’s pace didn’t falter, though the easy smile tightened for just a breath before relaxing again.

  Then he saw Mr. Wanjau, standing motionless by his gatepost, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His face was granite. Leonotis raised a hand, a cheerful, "Morning, Mr. Wanjau!" The man didn't respond. His eyes, hard and accusing, followed Leonotis’s every step as he ran past. Leonotis’s gaze flickered involuntarily towards the empty patch of worn grass near Wanjau's porch, remembering the frantic accusations, the posters for a lost dog named Pip nailed to the village notice board. Still blames me. A knot tightened briefly in Leonotis’s stomach. He forced his eyes forward, focusing on the path ahead, hoping with a fierce, silent plea that wherever Pip had wandered off to over six months ago, he'd had nothing to do with the dog's disappearance.

  Leonotis was eager for his training with Gethii today. Gethii had said they would investigate the demon sightings reported near the village's protection shrine. He was excited to use his sword skills for something truly helpful. Then everyone would see he was different, even Mr. Wanjau.

  Finally, Leonotis finished his run and met Gethii, who opened the clinic door as he approached.

  "Finished your run?"

  "Yes, Master Gethii."

  "Was that even half an hour? Alright, well, drink this. We've got a demon to find," Gethii said, tossing Leonotis a water bottle.

  "Wait, I have to get something from my room," Leonotis said, running into the clinic to his room.

  The morning sun slanted through the windows of the clinic, illuminating Leonotis as he meticulously draped a length of roughspun cloth over his t-shirt and shorts. He’d managed to secure it at the shoulder with a crudely fashioned bone clasp, attempting a look that was somewhere between “noble warrior” and “slightly disheveled laundry accident.”

  Gethii, who was adjusting his own, considerably more authentic-looking, warrior’s toga (worn with a distinct air of someone who’d been doing this for decades), paused, his brow arching slightly.

  “And what, precisely, is that you’re wearing, Leonotis?” Gethii asked, his voice carefully trying to hide a laugh, though a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

  Leonotis puffed out his chest, adjusting the folds of the cloth. “It’s my battle attire! A warrior’s… uh… toga! For facing the fearsome fox demon!” He struck a dramatic pose.

  Gethii blinked slowly. “A toga. Over your… ‘fearsome’ shirt and those shorts that appear to be held together by sheer willpower?”

  “It adds… gravitas!” Leonotis insisted, his voice a little less certain now under Gethii’s scrutiny. “And… and it’s traditional! You wear one!” He gestured to Gethii’s own expertly draped garment.

  “Indeed I do,” Gethii replied. “Mine is made of sturdy, demon-hide fabric as strong as chainmail and is secured with actual, talisman clasps made by the Moatia. Yours appears to be… a repurposed bedsheet that could fall off at any moment.”

  “It’s… secure! I already tested it!” Leonotis countered, demonstrating with a sudden lunge that nearly sent him sprawling.

  Gethii sighed, a hint of amusement finally breaking through his stoic fa?ade. "Take that off; you'll be tripping over your own feet.”

  “It’s… a symbol!” Leonotis declared, striking another pose, this time managing to stay upright. “A symbol of my devotion as your pupil! And my… my spiritual readiness!”

  Gethii finally conceded, putting his hand on his hilt, a small smile playing on his lips. “Well, always keep your shorts on under that thing. Your ‘spiritual readiness’ looks like it would expose your… less spiritually ready undergarments to the general public. Perhaps a belt?”

  Leonotis glanced down, suddenly aware that a particularly enthusiastic movement had indeed caused the toga to shift precariously. He quickly adjusted it. "I think I have a belt inside."

  Gethii chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Right then. Go ahead and get it.” He gestured towards the door, a genuine warmth in his eyes. Despite the ridiculousness of Leonotis’s attire, there was a spark of the brave, determined boy Gethii had come to care for.

  Leonotis, beaming, adjusted his toga one last time. “Lead the way, Master Gethii!” He followed Gethii out the door, his makeshift toga flapping heroically in the breeze, a brown belt securing his attire around his waist.

  Chinakah leaned against the cool stone of the window frame, tracing the path of the two figures as they passed through the outer gate. Their matching green garments billowed slightly in the morning breeze, looking almost ceremonial.

  A soft smile touched her lips at the sight of their coordinated departure. Then, her gaze sharpened. The smile vanished, replaced by a sudden furrow between her brows. She squinted, focusing on the drape of the fabric on Leonotis just before they disappeared around the bend. Was that... the faint dark green embroidered hem? The one from her good linen set? Her breath hitched. "Oh, wait a minute, that better not be my good bedsheet," she muttered under her breath.