Legacy of The Enchanted

A New Feeling

(Taryun's P.O.V.)

Training the recruits had become a routine, a part of the daily grind that I both loved and dreaded. On one hand, seeing them improve daily gave me a sense of pride and purpose. On the other, it was exhausting—physically, mentally, emotionally. But I pushed through because I had to. Because we all had to. We were building something important here, and every drop of sweat was worth it.

Archer and I had developed a rhythm in these sessions. He would demonstrate a move, his posture always perfect, his form impeccable, and I would follow up with the corrections, adding in the details that would turn a good move into a great one. We worked well together, and our strengths complement each other. I'd never thought too much about it before; it was just how we operated. We were a team, a well-oiled machine.

But today...today was different.

We were working with a small group of recruits, some of them still struggling, others showing real potential. Archer was demonstrating how to knock an opponent off their feet and pin them down—a move that required precision, speed, and a good deal of strength. He made it look effortless, of course, but the recruit he was working with wasn't having the same luck.

"No, not like that," Archer said, his tone patient but firm. "You need to use your opponent's momentum against them. Here, try again."

The recruit—a young elf with more enthusiasm than skill—tried again, but it was clear he wasn't getting it. His frustration was palpable, and I could see Archer's patience beginning to wear thin.

After another failed attempt, Archer turned to me, his signature smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Taryn, think you could show them how it's done?"

I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow at him. "You mean, show you how it's done?"

His smirk widened into a full grin, one that was equal parts challenge and mischief. "Care to prove it?"

Oh, it was on. I stepped forward, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline that always came with a challenge. The recruits watched with wide eyes as we squared off, their earlier frustration forgotten in the face of what was going to be an interesting match.

We started slow, each of us demonstrating the basic moves, explaining as we went along. But it didn't take long for the demonstration to shift into something else. The familiar competitive edge that always simmered between us began to bubble to the surface. Archer would push me back a little too hard, and I'd counter with a move that was a little too aggressive, and before long, it wasn't a training exercise anymore—it was a full-on fight.

"Getting tired yet?" Archer taunted, his voice breathless but filled with that infuriating confidence he always had.

"Not a chance," I shot back, twisting out of his grip and aiming a kick at his legs. But he was quicker than I anticipated, catching my leg mid-air and using my momentum to flip me.

I hit the ground hard, the impact sending a jolt through my body. Before I could react, Archer was on top of me, pinning me down with a precision that left no room for escape. His body was solid and warm against mine, his hands gripping my wrists with just enough pressure to keep me in place without hurting me.

I should have been mad—frustrated that he had bested me in front of the recruits. But as I lay there, the breath knocked out of me, all I could focus on was how close he was. His raven-black hair, which had grown longer over the past month, fell forward slightly, framing his face in a way that softened his usually sharp features. His ice-blue eyes, which were always so cold and calculating, were now focused entirely on me, a mixture of intensity and something else swirling in their depths.

His pale skin was flushed from the fight. I could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath warm against my cheek. My heart pounded in my chest, but it wasn't just from the fight. There was something else, something I couldn't quite put my finger on, something that made my breath catch in my throat and my thoughts scramble.

Why was I noticing this now? Why did it matter that his hair was longer, that his eyes had that strange light in them? Why did the feel of his body pressed against mine make my pulse race in a way that had nothing to do with the fight?

Archer's gaze flicked down to where our bodies were practically molded together, then back up to my eyes. For a split second, his expression shifted—surprise, confusion, maybe even the same strange awareness that was making my thoughts a jumbled mess.

Neither of us moved, the moment stretching out impossibly long. The sounds of the camp, the murmurs of the recruits, the distant clang of metal on metal—it all faded away until the world had narrowed to just the two of us. Then, as if some invisible string had been cut, we both scrambled away from each other, the awkwardness of it all making the situation even more confusing.

I got to my feet quickly, brushing the dirt off my clothes with a little more force than necessary. My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. What was that? Why had I frozen like that? Why had I let myself get distracted, thrown off balance by...by what? By him? By Archer?

Archer stood up as well, running a hand through his hair in that casual, careless way he always did. But there was something different in his posture, a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before. He was avoiding my gaze, which was...odd. Normally, he would be gloating, teasing me for losing, for being the one who ended up on the ground. But now, he was silent, his usual cockiness replaced by something I couldn't quite place.

"Good work," he said finally, his voice a little too casual like he was trying to pretend that nothing had happened, that everything was normal.

"Yeah, you too," I muttered, still not looking at him. I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes, not when my thoughts were still spinning, trying to untangle the mess of emotions that had suddenly surged to the surface.

I should have let it go, should have brushed it off as just another sparring match. But I couldn't. I couldn't stop thinking about the way his hair had fallen over his eyes, the intensity in his gaze, the way my heart had raced for reasons that had nothing to do with the fight. Why did I care? Why did it matter?

The recruits were starting to disperse, their attention shifting back to their own training now that the unexpected spectacle was over. But I was still standing there, rooted to the spot, my thoughts a tangled mess.

What was happening to me? I had never felt this way before, had never been so...aware of someone, so distracted by something as simple as a look, a touch, a breath. This wasn't like me. I was always in control, always focused. But now, I felt like I was on shaky ground, like something had shifted, and I didn't know how to right it.

Archer glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. Was he feeling the same thing? Was he as confused as I was? Or was this just another game to him, another way to throw me off balance?

I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts that were threatening to overwhelm me. I couldn't afford to get distracted, not now. Not when there was so much at stake. We were training for war, preparing for a battle that would determine the fate of our world. I couldn't let...whatever this was...get in the way of that.

But even as I told myself that, even as I tried to push the feelings down, I knew it wouldn't be that easy. Every time I looked at Archer, every time I thought about that moment when our eyes had locked when the world had narrowed to just the two of us, I felt that strange, confusing pull again.

And I didn't know what to do about it.