Knight Training Manual-random chapter-et thing

Lee hadn’t been born a knight. She’d been born the daughter of a blacksmith; Calloused hands, ash in her hair, and the steady clang of iron for a lullaby.

When the Ember war came, she didn’t sign up to be a hero. She just wanted to keep her father safe, to make herself useful. 

But one skirmish turned into two, and by the time she realized what she’d gotten herself into, her name was being whispered through the barracks.

Years passed, and the girl in ill-fitting armor was gone. The woman who stood in her place was steady and strong, her muscles hardened from years of training and battles survived. She still carried softness in her frame; the kind that made her armor fit snug in places she wished it didn’t, nobody doubted the strength behind her blade. She’d learned to breathe where once she would have snapped, to wait where once she would have charged. The fire in her hadn’t dimmed; it had simply learned patience.

And still, even now, she flushed pink when the village kids called out “Golden Knight!”, or when Gareth, the prince, let his gaze linger a moment too long.

That blush was there now, heating her cheeks even as sweat dripped down her temples and stung her eyes. The dragon loomed ahead, its shadow swallowing the ruins of the village, the ground trembling with each shift of its massive weight. Somewhere beyond the smoke and chaos, Gareth was waiting, that thought alone steadied her hand.

She tightened her grip on her sword, her armor, smudges with soot, creaked with the movement.

“Alright, Lee,” she whispered to herself, the ground shook beneath her. “Don’t die. Not today.”, she moved forward towards the smoke and screams.

The words barely more than a breath, “Don’t stop. Don’t think. Just move.”

The lair stank of blood and smoke, the air thick enough to burn her throat as she forced herself forward, sword now slick in her hands. Every lumbering step of the beast, sent showers of dust and pebbles cascading from the jagged cavern ceiling.

She stumbled over a fallen shield, her boot skidding in something she didn’t dare identify, then froze. Just for a second. One of the king’s men, a knight she’d trained beside, lay twisted and broken in the glow of the dragon’s fire, his armor warped and blackened.

Her stomach lurched, bile bitter at the back of her throat. For a heartbeat, she wanted to turn back. Past the beast, past the coils of smoke, she saw him.

Gareth. Shackled but upright, his head lifting as if he could sense her even through the chaos. His face was streaked with soot, curls matted to his forehead, but his eyes… his eyes were steady, unflinching, fixed on her like she was the only hope left in the world.

Lee gritted her teeth, the burn of fear sharpening into something colder. She forced herself to look away, back to the beast, to the way its massive chest heaved after every blast of flame, to the split second where the scales along its ribs parted, just enough.

“There,” she whispered to herself, crouching low, steadying her grip. “That’s where you bleed.”.

The dragon’s tail lashed, sending a column of fire crashing across the cavern, the heat so fierce it seared her skin through her armor. The pain lit her nerves like tinder, but her feet moved before her mind could catch up. Forward. 

Toward the only chance they had. 

The dragon’s head swung toward her, a guttural snarl echoing through the cavern, enough to rattle her teeth. Lee didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. Her boots pounded the stone floor, her armor clattering in rhythm with her racing heart as she closed the distance. Fire exploded around her, so bright it turned the world white for a moment. Heat caught the ends of her braid, and she bit down hard on the panic clawing at her throat. move, Lee, now.

She dove behind a collapsed pillar just as the beast’s claws raked the ground where she’d stood. Stone shattered, chunks skittering across the floor. The impact knocked her onto her back, the breath punched from her lungs. She coughed, vision swimming. Trying to focus her vision, she sees something under the dragons arm. There.

The dragon’s ribs, exposed the moment between breaths.

Taking a deep breath, she lunged, sword raised. The blade sang as it cut through the air, biting into that sliver of vulnerable flesh. Hot blood, dark and smoking, sprayed across her armor, hissing where it met steel. The dragon screamed, a sound so raw it felt like the cavern itself might collapse.

The tail came out of nowhere. She barely saw the shadow before it slammed into her side, the force sending her crashing into the far wall. Stone bit into her ribs, sharp pain blooming as she crumpled to the ground. Her ears rang. For a moment, she couldn’t move.

Dragging herself to her knees. “Get up, damn it.” she croaked, tasting blood.

The dragon turned, one golden eye fixing on her.

She staggered to her feet, every muscle burned like fire, she planted her boots. This was it. One more strike before it finished her.

The next breath came, deep, the kind that meant fire, she ran. Faster than she thought she could. Past fear. Past pain. Just her, the blade, the impossible opening.

She drove the sword with every ounce of strength left in her, a hoarse scream tearing from her throat as steel bit deep. The dragon convulsed, wings beating wildly, and then with a sound like thunder, it collapsed, the cavern shuddering with its weight.

The roar of fire around. Sagging to her knees, Lee’s arms hung useless at her sides, her sword clattering to the ground. Every part of her screamed, her ribs sharp with pain, her vision tunneling, her ears ringing so loud it drowned out everything else.

She tried to move, to find Gareth, but her legs barely obeyed. The world tilted, black creeping at the edges of her vision. Through the haze, a figure moved, not Gareth. Broader, armored, the outline blurred by smoke. She blinked hard, tried to focus, but her body refused. A hand reached for her, a gauntlet, dark with soot and blood.

The ground rushed up to meet her as everything went silent.

⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩

The first thing Lee noticed was the quiet. No fire, no screaming, just the muted hum of voices somewhere nearby and the ache of her body pressed into a too-soft mattress.

She blinked against the light filtering through canvas walls, realizing she was in a healer’s tent. Her armor was gone, her tunic stiff with dried blood, and her ribs were wrapped tight, every shallow breath sharp with pain.

“You’re awake,” a voice said, and she turned her head, slowly, carefully, to see one of the older captains, his weathered face softening in relief.

“You scared the hell out of us,” he added. “You and the prince both. We thought…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

Lee swallowed, her throat raw. “Is he...?”

“Safe,” the captain said quickly. “Resting in the royal camp. The healers say he’ll be fine.”

Relief hit her so hard it nearly hurt more than the bruises. She let out a breath, slow and shaky, and closed her eyes...

When Lee woke the second time, the tent was quiet. The clatter and shouting from the camp had faded to a dull hum, and only the steady flicker of a lantern lit the space.

She shifted and winced, everything hurt, ribs bound tight in fresh bandages that ran across her torso. Her arms and shoulders were a map of bruises, the kind that throbbed even when she stayed perfectly still.

In the corner, her tunic and armor lay in a neat pile, scrubbed clean but battered, a sword nick here, a cracked strap there. The sight of it hit her like a memory; the roar, the heat, the flash of claws. She forced her gaze away.

Someone had left a fresh shirt and trousers folded beside her bedroll, plain but clean. She tugged them on slowly, every movement pulling at the deep ache in her ribs. By the time she laced her boots, sweat clung to her hairline and her hands trembled faintly from the effort.

“You don’t have to go,” the healer murmured from the tent’s entrance, her tone firm but not unkind. “The council will wait another day.”

“They called for me,” Lee rasped, reaching for her scabbard. Her sword felt heavier than it ever had, but she buckled it at her hip all the same. “I’ll stand for as long as I need to.”

The path to the war council was short, but it felt longer than any battlefield march. The camp was still in motion, soldiers moving supplies, horses stamping in their lines, and everywhere she walked, heads turned.

“Golden Knight,” someone whispered as she passed, a name she’d never gotten used to. She kept her eyes forward, her stride even despite the way her ribs pulled with every breath.

The council chamber was warmer than the morning air, filled with the low murmur of voices and the scent of parchment and wax. Lee straightened her back and stepped inside, the bandages under her shirt pulling tight with the movement.

She took her place along the wall, quiet and unobtrusive,  tried to focus on the maps and markers scattered across the central table.

The war council droned on around her , borders, supply routes, troop losses, but the words were little more than noise under the steady pound of her own heartbeat. She kept her posture sharp, hands clasped loosely behind her back, eyes fixed on the map spread across the table.

And then she felt it.

That quiet pull, a thread tugging somewhere in her chest. She looked up before she could stop herself.

Across the room, beyond the half-circle of officers and advisors, Gareth stood beside his father. His curls had been washed and combed, his fine coat pressed, but there was still a faint bandage peeking from the collar of his shirt.

His gaze caught hers instantly, like he’d been waiting for her to look. For a long, unbroken moment, the room faded. He didn’t smile. There was something in his expression that rooted her where she stood: gratitude, relief, and something softer that tightened her throat and made her hands curl into fists.

Heat crept up her neck, threatening her careful composure, and she forced her eyes back to the table, jaw tight. 

The meeting broke like a tide, voices spilling into the hall, boots and cloaks brushing past her as the chamber emptied. Lee stayed where she was, letting the tide of nobility and commanders flow around her until the space was nearly silent again. She exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging just enough to ease the pull of the bandages across her ribs. Her hand hovered over the edge of the table.

“Sir Lee.”

The voice ,quiet, polite, pulled her head up. Gareth stood a few paces away, one hand folded neatly behind his back. He looked different up close; not less princely, but smaller somehow, quieter. The lamplight caught the faint bruise on his temple, the bandage at his collar.

She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come.

He gave her the barest nod, something warm flickering in his eyes for just a heartbeat, and then he was moving past her, his cloak brushing her sleeve as he left the chamber with his attendants.

Lee stood there a long time after, her throat tight, her hand resting on the table like she could hold herself steady by sheer force of will.