Dancing Blades.
Kaelen meets Kieran, and the training isn’t just about technique… it’s about trust, flow, and maybe a little curiosity. 🖤
Author’s Note: I had so much fun writing this! If something in the scene caught your attention or made your heart skip a beat, I’d love to hear which moment was your favorite. ❤️
Kaelen POV:
Something in me agitated while I watched the stranger dance with his claymore. The way his blade cut through the air, effortlessly yet deliberately, made my hands itch, wanting to feel the rhythm.
He noticed, tilting his head, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Do you want a lesson or a view?”
My heart skipped hearing his voice. It was deep and smooth—not flirty like Elias’ but comforting and confident without even trying. Like silk wrapping around me.
“Maybe both,” I admitted, stepping closer without realizing it, the weight of my own sword heavy in my hands.
He rested his sword on the ground, allowing me to see the flexion of his toned muscles. Now that I was closer, I could appreciate it better. His scars reminded me of my own, and though he wasn’t bulky, I could clearly see the V in his abs—a bothersome, good kind of distraction.
“I’m Kieran Montreal,” he introduced himself, offering me his hand.
Sweat ran over his naked torso, making my throat dry. I studied his hand, skeptical, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu.
“I’m Kaelen Terynholde. Nice to meet you.” I took his hand—no trick this time. His handshake was firm and warm.
I mirrored his movement, resting my blade on the ground, and clumsily took his heavy claymore. Its weight grounded me and challenged me.
“Relax your shoulders,” he instructed, demonstrating a swing that seemed to flow with the wind itself. “The blade is part of you, not an enemy to fight.”
I tried to follow, feeling slow and sluggish compared to his fluid, almost aquatic movements. Steel felt wrong in my grip, but Kieran’s grey eyes—keen, sharp—never left mine.
“Better… but still tense. Loosen up, Kaelen. Trust the motion.”
I laughed nervously; the sound mingled with the clang of metal on metal.
“Easier said than done.”
“Then we’ll take it slow.” He stepped beside me, guiding my hands, adjusting my stance. The closeness made my pulse thrum. “See? Not about strength alone—it’s about flow.”
I nodded, absorbing his words. The rhythm of his movements seeped into mine. For the first time, training felt like a dance rather than a burden—and maybe… I was learning more than just technique.
