Small Mercies — five windows into warband life. Nothing heroic. Just home.
The sun wasn’t fully up yet.
Avelreese was already on her forty-third repetition.
Chest day. Again. Third time this week, which Avelreese would tell you was purely about combat readiness. Upper body strength. The functional demands of shield work. These were the reasons. Documented reasons. She had a list.
Lulureese appeared in the doorway at repetition fifty-one, hair still wild from sleep, holding a piece of fruit she’d clearly just bitten directly without washing.
“Avel! You’re up so early!” Genuine delight. “You work SO hard. What are you training for?”
A pause at the top of the movement.
“Strength,” Avelreese said. “Combat readiness. Shield integrity requires significant—”
“You do this EVERY morning though.” Lulu tilted her head, innocent as anything. “More than anything else. Is there a specific enemy that requires—”
“Functional,” Avelreese said firmly. “Purely functional.”
Lulu beamed. “You’re so dedicated! I think it’s working, your armor fits really differently than when you—”
“Thank you Lulureese.”
“—like especially across the—”
“THANK YOU.”
Brasskeese materialized in the hallway behind Lulu the way she always did, appearing from nowhere, coffee in hand, already dressed, already judging. She took one look at the setup. At Avelreese’s expression. At the very specific equipment arrangement.
She said nothing.
She sipped her coffee.
She walked away.
From down the hall: “Sure it is, kid.”
Avelreese did ten more. For combat. Obviously.