Look a squirrel

Deyran straightened, the weight of her words settling into his chest. His fingers lingered on the hilt of the sword, but his gaze lifted to meet hers, steady despite the rush of emotions stirring beneath his calm exterior.

I won’t disappoint you, Lady Madeline, he said, his voice low but unwavering. The truth of it was there, deep within him, almost instinctive. But he couldn't deny the weight of what those words meant—I must prove myself. To her. To me. He felt the responsibility now pressing against him like the very blade before him. I am ready, he thought. Am I?

Deyran’s fingers tightened around the sword’s hilt, and for a moment, he felt the hum of magic pulse through him, as though the blade recognized his resolve. The sensation was foreign, yet comforting. It was the promise of power—and the burden of it. Could he live up to it? He didn’t know, but the choice had already been made, hadn’t it? The path was laid out before him, sharp and unforgiving, and he could feel it calling to him.

Not just for you, but for myself. This is... this is the path I choose. The words slipped from his mouth, and for the first time, they felt true. His eyes met hers with a quiet challenge, but there was no defiance in his gaze—only the weight of his commitment.

I won’t let doubt hold me back. Not anymore.

The silence stretched between them, but it no longer felt heavy with uncertainty. The quiet in the room was different now, a stillness that resonated with the magnitude of the moment. It felt like the first step into something that had always been waiting for him, something he had once feared. Could he carry the weight of this responsibility? He wasn’t sure, but he would find out.

A flicker of determination passed through his eyes as he took a steadying breath. I will prove that I am worthy.

And even if he failed, at least he would have tried.