Steven’s POV
Dylan had said he would come by today.
He had not said when.
Which meant Aqua and I had spent most of the afternoon pretending we were not waiting.
Aqua did a better job than me.
She knelt beside one of her flower beds in the backyard, carefully checking the soil around the blue and white blossoms she had planted near the back deck. Her hair was tied loosely over one shoulder, and the sun caught the pale strands until they looked almost silver.
She looked peaceful.
Focused.
Like she had not looked toward the back path four times in the last twenty minutes.
I sat on the edge of the deck steps with a small plate beside me, eating fruit and crackers because Aqua had decided waiting went better with snacks.
She was right.
Waiting went better with snacks.
It still went badly.
Fang had chosen the most dramatic spot in the yard: a flat stone near Aqua’s flowers, warmed by the sun but close enough to a patch of shade that he could retreat if he decided the world had become too bright. His black-and-yellow body stretched across the rock like he had been placed there for decoration.
Except one yellow eye stayed open.
Watching the path.
Watching Aqua.
Watching me.
Always watching.
I pointed a cracker at him. “You know, pretending to nap would be more convincing if you closed both eyes.”
His tail gave one slow tap against the stone.
You fall for worse lies.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
Aqua glanced over her shoulder. “What did he say?”
“He insulted me.”
Fang blinked.
Aqua smiled. “That sounds like Fang.”
“He is getting too comfortable.”
Fang’s tail tapped again.
You are the one staring at a path while pretending to enjoy fruit.
I looked at Aqua. “He did it again.”
Aqua’s smile widened.
“Do not encourage him,” I said.
“I did not say anything.”
“You smiled supportively.”
“That is not a crime.”
“It is when he is already this smug.”
Fang closed his eye.
Rude.
Aqua turned back to the flowers, pressing the soil gently with her fingers. “Dylan said he would come.”
“I know.”
“He is usually reliable.”
“That is the problem.”
She glanced at me again.
I picked up another piece of fruit and stared at it like it had answers.
“If he was unreliable, I could be annoyed. Since he is reliable, I just get to sit here and feel weird.”
Aqua’s expression softened. “Because he is leaving.”
I swallowed the fruit.
It tasted too sweet all at once.
“College is not death.”
“No.”
“He is not even leaving forever.”
“No.”
“And he is probably going to visit because Worths do not know how to stay out of people’s lives.”
“That may be true.”
“So it is fine.”
Aqua stood and brushed dirt from her hands.
Her smile was gentle enough to make my chest ache.
“You say fine in a very unfine way.”
“I am expanding the definition.”
Before she could answer, movement appeared beyond the flowers, near the back path.
I straightened.
Fang lifted his head fully.
Aqua turned.
Dylan walked into the yard without a portal.
That should not have surprised me.
It did.
He came down the path from the trees, a dark bag hanging from one shoulder and a green leather folder tucked under his arm. His white dress shirt sleeves were rolled to his forearms, the edges a little damp. His dark trousers were still too neat for someone crossing grass, and his shoes looked expensive enough that I immediately felt bad for the dirt.
His hair was damp too, combed back but not fully dry.
I stared at him.
“Did you swim here?”
Dylan glanced at me. “No.”
I waited.
He sighed once.
“I swam before coming here.”
Aqua smiled. “One last swim before college?”
Dylan looked at her, then away toward the deck.
“Something like that.”
That was strangely cute.
I decided not to say that because I valued my life.
Dylan stepped onto the back deck and set his bag down near the railing. It landed with a soft thud, heavier than it looked. Maybe clothes. Maybe books. Maybe a secret Worth survival kit. Honestly, with Dylan, it could have been all three.
The folder stayed in his hand.
That made me nervous.
I nodded toward it. “Please tell me that is not homework.”
Dylan looked down at the folder, then back at me.
“It is not homework.”
I relaxed.
“It is training documentation.”
I stared at him.
“That is worse.”
Aqua pressed her lips together.
Dylan held it out.
I took it because refusing would have made me look childish.
Also, Dylan would have kept holding it there until I gave up.
The leather was dark green, smooth, and neatly stitched along the edges with pale thread. A small Worth crest had been pressed into the bottom corner. Not flashy. Just present enough to remind me this folder had more authority than I did.
I opened it.
Pages.
A lot of pages.
Neat handwriting. Clean diagrams. Tabs. Notes. Charts. Lists that looked like they had been written by someone who believed chaos was a personal insult.
I flipped the first tab.
Warm-ups.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
The next.
Fire control.
The next.
Footwork.
Then breathing.
Then recovery.
Then forms.
Then one section labeled: When to Stop.
I looked up.
Dylan looked back.
I looked down again.
Another tab read: If Something Feels Wrong.
I shut the folder halfway.
“This has emergency tabs.”
“It has useful tabs.”
“It has a tab that basically says, ‘Steven, do not explode.’”
“It does not say that.”
I opened it again and found the page.
He was right.
It said: Signs of Loss of Control.
Which was somehow more insulting.
Aqua stepped closer. “May I see?”
I handed it to her, mostly because I needed someone else to witness the crime.
She opened the folder with much more respect than I had and started reading.
Her expression softened almost immediately.
That made my stomach feel strange.
I looked at Dylan.
“You wrote all this?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Over time.”
“That is vague.”
“It is true.”
I groaned. “You and Fredrick both do that.”
Dylan’s brow lifted.
“Do what?”
“Answer questions in a way that technically answers them while still making me feel like I learned nothing.”
“That sounds efficient.”
“That sounds annoying.”
“Those can overlap.”
Aqua turned another page.
Her fingers moved over one of the diagrams.
“This is very detailed,” she said softly.
Dylan shifted his attention to her. “He remembers better when the correction is tied to a mistake he already made.”
“Hey.”
Dylan looked at me. “Am I wrong?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Fang’s tail tapped once against the stone.
Rare wisdom.
I pointed at him. “You are supposed to be on my side.”
Fang’s head lifted.
I am. That is why I agree with him.
Aqua made a small sound suspiciously close to a laugh.
I took the folder back before everyone could emotionally bond over my flaws.
I flipped through another section.
Flame response patterns.
Recovery notes.
A diagram of my stance with three tiny marks near my left shoulder, because apparently even on paper, my shoulder was a problem.
The pages were heavier than they should have been.
Not because of the paper.
Because Dylan had thought about me after training ended.
That should not have surprised me.
It did anyway.
There were small notes in the margins.
Not long.
Not sentimental.
Just careful.
Left shoulder lifts before flame response. Correct before it becomes habit.
Breath catches when angry. Pause before release.
Improves faster when Aqua is present, but risks overextending to impress her.
I snapped the folder slightly shut.
Dylan’s eyes moved to my face.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Aqua’s gaze softened.
I did not look at her.
Bad idea.
Looking at Aqua while feeling things usually made the feelings worse.
I looked back down at the folder. The pages were too neat. Too careful. Too much like something meant to last.
“This is a lot for training notes,” I said.
Dylan was quiet for a moment.
Then he looked at the folder instead of me.
“You do not have a traditional Salvatore tome,” he said. “No family record explaining your techniques. No inherited manual. No one teaching you how your bloodline is supposed to move.”
My fingers stilled on the page.
Aqua’s expression softened beside me.
Dylan’s voice stayed practical, like he had not just handed me something that made my chest hurt.
“So I thought this could be yours.”
I stared at him.
A personal tome.
Not old.
Not official.
Not written by some dead Salvatore ancestor who probably would have made everything sound dramatic and vaguely threatening.
Written by Dylan Worth, who corrected my footwork like it had personally betrayed him and somehow still cared enough to write down every mistake I might need help surviving later.
Aqua smiled at the folder like Dylan had just done something unbearably sweet.
Which he had.
Unfortunately.
I cleared my throat. “So this is my ancient Salvatore inheritance, but with better handwriting?”
Dylan looked at me.
“It is not ancient.”
“Give it time.”
His mouth twitched. “Use it first.”
I looked down before either of them could see too much on my face.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I will.”
Dylan gestured toward the folder. “Keep it where you can reach it.”
“I was planning to hide it under the bed and pretend I learned through instinct.”
“That would be very Salvatore of you.”
I frowned. “That sounded like an insult to my ancestors.”
“It was.”
“Fair.”
He looked toward the training field beyond the trees.
“One more spar.”
I blinked.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the fruit plate.
Then at Aqua.
Then at Fang.
Fang was already sliding off the rock like he had expected this all along.
Aqua closed the folder carefully and handed it back to me.
“You knew he was going to do that,” I said.
She smiled gently. “I suspected.”
“I am surrounded by betrayal.”
Dylan picked up his bag from the deck and slung it over one shoulder.
“I am leaving from the field.”
I looked at the bag.
Then at him.
“You brought luggage to spar?”
“I brought luggage to leave.”
That was not better.
It was worse in a quieter way.
I held the folder against my side and followed.
We walked toward the training field together.
Dylan led without speaking much. Aqua stayed beside me, her hand brushing mine once, then again, until I finally took it. Fang moved through the grass near our feet, quick and quiet, his yellow stripes flashing whenever sunlight caught him between shadows.
The field waited beyond the trees, open and worn down in the places where Dylan and I had spent too many hours trying to make my body understand what my brain kept arguing with.
The ground still had faint scorch marks near the far side.
Most of those were mine.
A few were also mine, but I liked to pretend they had mysterious origins.
Aqua took the folder from me and sat on the bench near the edge of the field. Fang climbed up beside her, coiling neatly with his head raised.
Dylan set his bag beside the bench.
Then he walked to the center of the field and faced me.
No dramatic speech.
No emotional goodbye.
Just Dylan, standing exactly where he had stood so many times before, waiting for me to stop delaying.
That was worse somehow.
I stepped into place across from him.
The afternoon sun pressed warm against the back of my neck. My hands flexed at my sides. Fire stirred under my skin, familiar and restless.
Dylan watched my stance.
“Feet.”
I adjusted.
“Again.”
I adjusted more.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
I adjusted one more time.
“Better.”
It should not have mattered.
It did.
Aqua sat quietly on the bench, hands folded over the folder. Fang’s head turned between us.
Dylan lifted one hand.
Green light gathered around his fingers.
I drew in a breath.
Fire answered.
Not wild.
Not clean either.
Mine.
Dylan moved first.
A thin band of Arcanum light snapped toward my shoulder.
I twisted and lifted flame along my forearm, deflecting it with a burst that cracked against the air and scattered sparks across the field.
Dylan was already stepping in.
He always did that.
He made one attack look like a question, then punished me for answering too loudly.
I ducked under the second strike, pushed fire into my heel, and moved faster than I would have a month ago.
Not fast enough.
Dylan’s green shield caught my wrist before my flame reached him.
“Too much shoulder,” he said.
I pulled back.
“You say that like my shoulder is personally offending you.”
“It is.”
He swept low.
I jumped back, fire flaring beneath my feet.
For half a second, I felt it.
The timing.
The balance.
The heat moving with me instead of dragging me after it.
I landed lighter than usual and threw a small controlled burst toward Dylan’s side.
He blocked it.
But he had to block it.
That counted.
His eyes sharpened.
“Again.”
So I did.
We moved across the field, fire and green light cutting bright lines through the warm afternoon air. Dylan did not go easy on me.
He also did not crush me.
That balance was very him.
Every time I got sloppy, he corrected it with one word.
“Breath.”
I breathed.
“Hands.”
I fixed them.
“Anger.”
I almost argued.
Then realized he was right and swallowed it.
My next flame came out steadier.
Dylan’s expression did not change, but his next attack came faster.
That was his version of praise.
Probably.
Maybe.
I hoped.
Sweat gathered at the back of my neck. My arms ached. My core warmed in that dangerous way it did when fire wanted more than I had agreed to give.
I heard Fang hiss softly from the bench.
Not loud.
Not alarmed.
A warning.
I stepped back before Dylan told me to.
His eyes flicked to Fang, then back to me.
Something like approval passed over his face.
Barely.
I held on to it anyway.
Dylan lunged.
I blocked.
Green light slid against red fire, hissing where they met. My feet dug into the dirt. For one breath, two, three, I held against him.
Then his wrist turned.
My balance broke.
The world tilted.
I hit the ground on my back with a grunt, staring up at the sky like it had personally witnessed my humiliation.
Dylan stood over me.
“Better.”
I blinked up at him.
“I am on the ground.”
“Yes.”
“And that is better?”
“You stayed aware while falling.”
I breathed hard.
“That is the saddest compliment I have ever received.”
“It was a useful one.”
From the bench, Aqua said, “He is right.”
I lifted my head just enough to look at her.
“You too?”
Her smile was soft. “You did stay aware.”
Fang’s tail tapped against the wood.
Do it again without falling.
I dropped my head back onto the grass.
“My support system is brutal.”
Dylan held out a hand.
I took it, and he pulled me up.
The field spun slightly.
Only a little.
I hid it badly.
Dylan noticed immediately.
So did Aqua.
So did Fang, because Fang was a traitor with excellent eyesight.
Dylan released my hand.
“That is enough.”
I wiped sweat from my forehead. “I had one more.”
“I know.”
That was all he said.
No lecture.
No warning speech.
Just I know.
Like the problem was not whether I could keep going.
The problem was that I would.
I looked away first.
The silence stretched for one heartbeat too long, then Dylan turned toward the bench.
Aqua stood and carried the folder to him.
For a second, I thought he was going to take it back.
Instead, he took it from her, looked down at it once, then handed it to me.
The leather was warm from the sun and from Aqua’s hands.
“Use it,” Dylan said.
I stared at him.
“That is the farewell speech?”
“It is the useful part.”
I tried to smile.
It almost worked.
“I was expecting something more dramatic.”
Dylan looked at me. “From me?”
“Good point.”
Aqua came to stand beside me. Fang climbed down from the bench and slid across the grass until he reached my shoe, then pressed his head against my ankle.
It was not dramatic either.
But I felt it.
Dylan looked at Aqua.
“Keep him honest.”
I frowned. “I am standing right here.”
“That is why I said it to her.”
Aqua’s eyes warmed. “I will.”
“Wow,” I said. “Marriage is beautiful.”
Fang’s tongue flicked.
She is more reliable.
I looked down. “I heard that.”
Good.
Dylan picked up his bag from beside the bench.
For a second, he only stood there with it over his shoulder, damp hair drying in the sun, sleeves still rolled to his forearms, shoes dusted now from the field.
He had walked in like he had time.
Then his hand lifted.
Green Arcanum light gathered in the air behind him, spinning into a clean circle.
The portal opened wider, bright and sharp-edged, showing a glimpse of somewhere else beyond it.
Not the path.
Not the trees.
Not the long walk away from the field he usually took after training, when his mind seemed heavier than his steps.
A portal.
I looked at him.
“No dramatic walk into the distance this time?”
Dylan glanced at the portal.
“Walking was for thinking.”
“And portals?”
He looked back at me.
“For when I already know I have to leave.”
The words hit quietly.
Harder because he did not try to make them soft.
I tightened my grip on the folder.
“Right.”
Dylan’s gaze held mine for a moment.
There were probably a lot of things he could have said.
A lot of things I wanted him to say.
That I was ready.
That I would be fine.
That I would not mess this up the second he was gone.
But Dylan had never been good at giving comfort that sounded like comfort.
Maybe that was why I believed him when he finally said, “You have improved.”
My chest tightened.
“That almost sounded nice.”
“Do not make it strange.”
“Too late.”
His mouth twitched.
Barely.
Then he nodded once to Aqua, glanced down at Fang, and stepped into the green light.
The portal closed behind him.
No thunder.
No grand sound.
Just a clean fold of magic, a flash of green, and then nothing.
The field went quiet.
The kind of quiet that came after someone important left and the world had the nerve to keep existing.
Aqua stood beside me.
Fang stayed near my ankle.
Neither of them spoke first.
I appreciated that.
I looked down at the folder in my hands.
Drills.
Notes.
Corrections.
Pages full of Dylan’s careful handwriting, as if structure could be folded, tied, and left behind for me to hold.
My personal tome.
Not ancient.
Not inherited.
Not Salvatore in the way Dad would have meant it.
But mine.
The leather edge pressed into my palm.
I wanted to believe it was enough.
I wanted to believe I was enough to use it right.
The training field stretched around me, bright with afternoon sun and marked by all the places I had fallen, burned too hot, gotten up, and tried again.
Dylan thought I had improved.
Aqua believed I could keep going.
Fang had not bitten me yet.
That should have counted for something.
Still, the green light was gone.
And without Dylan standing across from me, the field suddenly looked much bigger.
I held the folder tighter.
And hoped he was right.