It had been three weeks since that chaotic rescue in the village square.
Ariel still remembered how Aron's hand felt when he grabbed hers—warm, rough, and slightly sweaty. Not very princely, but… somehow, she didn't mind.
Now, Aron was everywhere.
He showed up at their home the next day, uninvited, eating their bread like he'd been part of the family for years. Her older brother, Ron, nearly knocked him out the first time.
"You dragged my sister through the dirt, shouted nonsense about demons, and broke into our pantry," Ron had said, glaring.
Aron only grinned. "You should've seen me swing my sword, though. I was this close to summoning lightning!"
Ron raised an eyebrow. "It was a stick."
"An enchanted stick."
Despite everything, they became fast friends.
Ron was a year younger than Aron, quiet, serious, and constantly annoyed—but Ariel noticed something shift in him. Maybe it was the way Aron never cared about bloodlines or names. Maybe it was how his eyes lit up whenever he talked about his dream: joining the Guild, traveling the continent, slaying the Demon King.
Or maybe it was just the way Aron always believed anything was possible.
Even when he fell flat on his face.
---
"Okay!" Aron shouted one morning, standing proudly in front of a crudely built scarecrow he'd set up behind their house. "Today, we train with advanced demon-slaying techniques!"
"It's a sack of straw," Ron deadpanned.
"It's a Level 42 mimic in disguise. One wrong move and boom—your soul's forfeit."
Aron charged, tripped on a rock, and faceplanted into the dirt with a muffled thud.
Ariel laughed so hard she dropped her laundry basket.
---
Despite his clumsiness, Aron worked harder than anyone. He trained every day, swinging that same wooden sword until his hands blistered. He took odd jobs around the village, helping with repairs, delivering goods, even scaring off wild dogs with loud battle cries.
He messed up constantly. He burned food, forgot names, and once got stuck in a well trying to retrieve a "sacred pebble." But he always got up. Always smiled.
And somehow, Ariel loved that about him.
She didn't know when it started—maybe it was the way he never looked at her like she was different. Maybe it was how he talked to Ron like they'd known each other forever. Maybe it was the way he believed in heroes.
In her eyes, Aron already was one.
---
One evening, after a long day of "training," Aron, Ron, and Ariel sat on the rooftop of their home, legs dangling over the edge. The stars glittered above them like scattered fireflies.
"You really think you'll become an adventurer?" Ron asked.
"I know I will," Aron said, clutching his wooden sword like a promise. "We'll join the Guild, explore forgotten ruins, fight dragons, and… maybe save the world."
Ariel hugged her knees, smiling quietly.
"And me?" she asked softly. "What about me?"
Aron blinked at her, then grinned. "You'll probably end up saving us all the time."
She rolled her eyes. "That's already happening."
They all laughed.
None of them knew how fleeting that laughter would be.