Two weeks.
days of sweat, bruises, burned rabbit meat, and relentless sparring.
We had stopped measuring progress in clean cuts or perfect forms. Now, it was in breath control. Recovery time. How fast I could close the distance between us before he smiled and flicked my sword away like it was made of twigs.
I had grown stronger. Faster. My [Miðgarðr Rune] pulsed with new rhythm—one I could feel echoing in my bones.
And yet, through all of it… something had never come up.
We sat by the fire again. I was cleaning my blade. Gerald was chewing on a half-charred mushroom skewer with the same stoic dignity one might use to evaluate an ancient relic.
Then, mid-bite, he turned to me and said:
"What's your name, by the way?"
I blinked.
"…What?"
He gestured vaguely with the skewer. "You. Name. You know—'Hi, I'm ___'—the thing people usually lead with. I never got yours."
I stared at him, jaw slightly open.
"It's been two weeks."
"Yeah. But you were either trying to kill me or call me a monkey, so I figured I'd wait for the right moment."
I narrowed my eyes. Hard. The rag in my hand tightened around my blade.
"…Eva," I muttered. "Eva Lisgrimr."
His chewing slowed.
"Lisgrimr, huh?" he repeated. "So I was right. A noble." He nodded sagely, lips twitching into something smug and pitying. "Explains the attitude. I'm guessing you got kicked out for being useless?" He put a hand to his chest. "Don't worry. I sympathize."
I stood up without a word.
And with one clean motion—leapt across the fire and smashed my fist into his face.
"OW—HEY!" Gerald toppled backwards with a grunt, catching himself before he hit the ground. His skewer went flying into the bushes.
I towered over him, fists clenched, cheeks burning. "Take it back!"
He rubbed his jaw and looked up at me, still on one knee. "...Okay, okay. I take it back."
I narrowed my eyes further.
"Not because you scared me," he added quickly. "But because I didn't expect you to move that fast. Impressive."
"Gerald."
"Yes?"
"If you keep talking, I will strangle you with rabbit guts."
"…Understood."
He got back to his feet, brushing ash off his cloak. Then he flashed me a crooked smile—half amused, half impressed.
"Eva Lisgrimr," he said aloud, like testing the taste of the name. "Noble brat. Rune bearer. Surprisingly violent."
I rolled my eyes and turned back to the fire, but my mind was far from calm.
Lisgrimr.
A name that echoed through courts, battlefields, and academies. A name weighed down by expectations, legacy, and quiet threats spoken behind velvet curtains. The Lisgrimr family was second only to the royal bloodline in status. Our crest—a silver wolf beneath a starlit sky—was etched into marble halls and whispered in war councils.
And I was the youngest of them all.
The runt.
The disappointment.
I hadn't said my name to be polite.
I'd said it to test him.
To see how he'd react. If there would be a flicker of recognition—or worse—hatred. Enemies of the Lisgrimr name were never few. Politics, blood feuds, ancient debts. I watched him carefully, analyzing every twitch in his jaw, every flicker in his strange, unreadable eyes.
But there was nothing.
No fear. No reverence. No subtle tells.
Just… that damned smirk.
Gerald Weston looked at me like I was just Eva.
It was…nice
I tossed another twig into the fire, annoyed by how strangely comforting that was.
"So?" I said after a beat, my voice sharper than intended. "Never heard of the Lisgrimrs?"
He glanced at me over his shoulder, poking around in the bushes for his lost skewer. "I'm not really into tabloids or noble gossip. I don't keep a list of which spoiled brats are running what."
My brow twitched.
"…Besides," he added, returning with the half-dirtied skewer and dusting it off like it was a precious artifact, "I don't care about who your parents are. I care about whether you can hold your own when someone wants to tear your throat out."
I blinked.
Not the answer I was expecting.
And yet, it made something tighten in my chest.
He wasn't impressed by the name. He wasn't scared of it either. And in a weird, annoying, possibly infuriating way… I respected that.
Still.
Before I could fire back with a sarcastic remark, a new voice entered the clearing—smooth as silk and sharp as winter steel.
"Oh… that's an interesting answer you gave, boy."
The voice rang out from above, elegant and unhurried—yet every syllable carried weight.
My eyes snapped up to the treetops.
And there she stood.
Bathed in moonlight like some figure out of myth.
Her eyes, golden as the sun at high noon, gleamed with quiet pride and divine command. Her skin—pale as freshly fallen snow—glowed softly under the stars. Hair like golden silk spilled down past her shoulders, catching the breeze and dancing like threads of light.
She wore a simple brown cloak over her form, but it did little to mask the radiance.
And on her forehead, shining like a crown wrought of ancient light—was the [Ásgarðr Rune].
My breath caught.
My master.
"Master!" I called, standing up quickly, a strange relief blooming in my chest. "You're early—!"
But beside me, Gerald had already moved.
Fast. Too fast.
His eyes narrowed the moment he spotted her.
"Eva—GET BACK!" he barked, his tone sharper than I'd ever heard it.
Then he leapt.
An explosive gust of wind kicked up as Gerald launched himself upward like a cannonball, his fist cocked back and glowing with violent energy.
"Gerald, WAIT—!"
I reached out, but it was too late.
My master didn't flinch. She didn't even blink.
She merely raised a single hand.
A rune shimmered into existence in the air—a radiant glyph of layered golden threads—and a translucent shield formed instantly before her.
BOOM—!
Gerald's punch collided with the light-barrier, and the forest lit up like lightning had struck.
A shockwave blasted through the trees, bending trunks and scattering leaves like birds fleeing a predator.
But the shield held.
Not a crack. Not a flicker.
Gerald hovered midair, arm still extended, caught mid-motion.
His expression twisted—not in rage—but in the cold, analytical calm I was coming to recognize in him.
He disengaged, flipping backward and landing smoothly beside me.
Dust settled. Leaves drifted back to earth.
And above us, my master began to descend, graceful as falling snow.
She touched the forest floor without a sound.
Her golden eyes scanned Gerald. Not hostile. Not impressed. Simply... curious.
"That punch would've flattened a drake," she said mildly. "But you aimed to disable. Not kill."
She tilted her head slightly, intrigued. "Interesting restraint… for someone so ready to strike."
Gerald said nothing. His stance relaxed—barely. Shoulders still taut, eyes still sharp.
"Gerald, that's my Master!" I snapped, stepping between them with my arms outstretched. "What were you thinking?!"
He looked at me, blinking once.
"That's your master?" he asked, voice flat with surprise. His gaze drifted back to the glowing woman hovering calmly above us.
Then he curse under his breath, "…Shit."
He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, not lowering his guard completely. "I apologize. I genuinely thought she was a high-tier monster—y'know, the kind that seduces you and then tears your spine out with a smile."
I groaned. "She's literally glowing with divine authority and wearing the Asgard Rune."
"And that makes her less suspicious?" Gerald quipped, raising a brow. "That just confirms she's dangerously powerful, beautiful, and floating. That's three red flags. I don't trust women like that."
"You don't trust anyone," I shot back.
"Exactly. Keeps me alive."
My master chuckled lightly above us, descending slowly to the earth as her brown cloak settled around her. Her presence alone seemed to quiet the wind.
"It is rare to be mistaken for a monster," she said, her voice lilting with amusement. "I must be aging well."
"I mean that with the utmost respect," Gerald replied, trying to sound dignified, though I could see his eye twitch from the embarrassment.
My master's golden eyes turned to me, her expression softening. "You've grown. Your form, your stance, even your presence… all more refined. And yet"—her gaze flicked toward Gerald—"your choice of company is... unexpected."
"He just kind of... showed up," I said, gesturing helplessly. "Like a moldy mushroom with fists."
Gerald smirked. "Flattered."
My master studied him for a moment longer, as if weighing his soul.
Then she smiled. "Strange… I don't sense a Rune in you. Not even a flicker."
"That's what I've been saying!" I shouted. "He does all this insane stuff, blows monsters apart, trains me like some ancient war veteran, and he doesn't even glow."
Gerald held up a finger. "I glow with sarcasm and regret. It's more subtle."
She tilted her head, intrigued. "Perhaps you're more than what you seem, Gerald. Or far less."
He shrugged. "I get that a lot."
My master glanced back at me. "Pack your things, Eva. The next phase of your training begins now."
I blinked. "Wait. Already?"
She turned away. "You've survived, improved, and learned. That's enough for now. Besides…" She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. "Your... moldy mushroom companion is clearly having an influence."
Gerald looked offended. "I prefer 'fermented combat fungus.' It's classier."
I sighed and started gathering my things.
It was going to be a long day.