Several weeks of their joint training had already passed. Just like every day, Nox was already waiting for Torven on the training grounds. He was lightly swinging a wooden sword, warming up before the upcoming duel. The sun had hidden behind the clouds, and Nox thought it was a good thing; the light wouldn't be blinding them.
It wasn't long before Torven stepped onto the grounds. As usual, he was dressed in black: a black shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and slightly open, and the same black trousers, worn in places from heavy use.
He smiled at Nox, then walked over to pick up his sword. He stood across from him, taking a combat stance.
"Ready?" he asked.
Nox nodded.
"Bring it on."
Torven didn't hesitate for a second. He launched himself into the attack. Nox effortlessly parried the first blow, jumped back, then went in with a counter. This time, he spun lightly on his heel, aiming from the right toward his opponent's shoulder. Torven raised his sword just in time to block the strike, but had to step back to keep his balance.
They stood once more on opposite sides of the grounds. Torven made a beckoning gesture with his hand.
"Your turn," he said.
Nox didn't hesitate. In an instant, he charged toward him
Torven blocked attack after attack, one by one, but this time the fight was much more balanced. Nox's new boots were working perfectly, and his injured ankle slowly returned to its former condition. Though full recovery could still take many weeks, he already knew that with proper training, he would soon be fully fit again.
They also kept practicing the technique that Torven was teaching Nox.
With every strike Torven made, Nox would catch the incoming blow with the flat of his blade and use the force of the deflection to turn his entire body, pivoting sharply on his heel. The movement was tight and well controlled; his shoulder would dip low as his sword swept behind him in a tight arc. Then, he would come up from beneath with a rising slash aimed just under the opponent's guard, aimed at his ribs.
It was a brutal counter, built for close range. It was less about elegance, more about timing and pressure. The beauty of it was in its efficiency: minimal movement, maximum damage.
When they finally stopped, they were both soaked with sweat, breathing hard. Their shirts stuck to their backs, and their arms hung heavy at their sides. The courtyard was quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Neither of them said anything; they just stood there for a moment, worn out, letting the weight of the fight settle between them.
Just after training had ended, Torven walked up to him.
"Wait a moment, before you go, I'll bring you something," he said, turning away and disappearing into the building.
Nox furrowed his brow, surprised. He had no idea what it was about. A moment later, Torven returned with a long package wrapped in cloth.
"For you."
Nox took the package with care and slowly unwrapped the cloth.
A sword in a dark brown sheath was revealed, made of calfskin. The leather was smooth, stitched with black thread, with a few metal studs glinting in the light. He recognized it immediately, he had seen this very sheath before, displayed at a vendor's stall in town.
He slowly drew the sword from the sheath.
It was his sword.
The same one he had tried to give Torven not so long ago in exchange for a quick death. Now, his sword was perfectly polished, well cared for, ready for battle.
Nox turned the sword slowly in his hands, the polished blade catching the light. For a moment, he couldn't find the words. Then he looked up at Torven.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "Not just for the sword... but for everything."
He hesitated, then added, "This means more to me than you know."
Torven gave a small nod, not saying a word. Nothing more needed to be said.
Nox's eyes grew misty. He had received that sword from his father many years ago, before he left his family home. It had previously belonged to his older brother, Cael. He remembered that day, his father handing him the weapon after Cael's death, with a pain-filled gaze. No one at the time could have known that the curse would claim the rest of the brothers as well.
Why Nox was still alive remained a mystery. The mark he bore seemed slightly replenished, as if something was holding it back... though not enough to call it salvation. At least it wasn't getting worse, he thought.
And then, in this moment, His heart made the decision.
Nox was ready to leave. He had to see his family.
With that resolution, Nox decided to leave the same day. There was no point in delaying it. The more he waited, the greater the risk he'd change his mind and stay. He was getting used to this place: to Torven and Velkan, even Gerhard seemed happy. had no intention of telling Torven. On the one hand, he feared Torven wouldn't let him go. On the other he was worried he wouldn't be able to say goodbye. Nox decided it would be best to leave quietly, under the cover of night, leaving only a letter behind.
...Nox still had the paper and pen Torven had given him some time ago. He sat in silence, staring at the blank page for a long while. Finally, he began to write:
"Torven,
Thank you for everything.
I'm sorry for leaving without saying goodbye.
I didn't tell you in person because I was afraid you'd try to stop me, and I might have let you. I hope we'll meet again someday.
Nox"
He considered adding more, but didn't want the letter to sound too emotional.
Everything he had, his clothes, boots, weapon: he owed it to Torven. Despite the cold and harsh reception at first, it was Torven who had looked after Nox like no one else. Nox had long since forgiven him for that first encounter. Now, ready for the road, he felt gratitude... and the weight of farewell.
When he finished writing, he set the pen down slowly, let out a deep breath, and folded the paper twice. It was already dark outside. Time to leave.
Quietly, he made his way to the main room. For a moment, the thought crossed his mind that he was acting like a thief. At the last second, he stopped, and for some reason he couldn't quite explain, he decided to leave the letter in Torven's bedroom. Maybe he just wanted to see him one last time before he left.
Nox felt his emotions welling inside of him as he walked down the hall.
He slipped into the room without a sound. After a brief pause, he placed the letter beside the pillow.
Torven was lying on his back, his hair spread across the pillow, breathing in a steady rhythm, calm and unguarded. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and Nox could see his chest rise and fall with each breath. The thought crossed his mind that Torven looked beautiful in his sleep.
Nox looked at his lips, hesitated for a moment, and then, without fully knowing why or how, he leaned down and brushed them with a light kiss.
A quiet goodbye.