Ostrava looked once more off the edge of the Nexus' second floor. It was a long enough way down that he knew he would not survive should he meander there.

Though, would that really be so bad?

In reality, he was a failure. To his father, to his kingdom, and to Alvira. A miserable wretch, unfit even to be ash. Yet he dawned the mantle of "knight" and carried his pride as if he was deserving of it.

He scooted closer to the edge, allowing his feet to flirt with the precipice of death, though he did not let them sway. It was true that ending his life this way would be cowardly, but what was perhaps even worse than that was that he feared falling.

He was scared to live, but he was also scared to die.

The irony of it all was not lost on him, and he laughed, a frigid, monotonous sound, before burying his face in his hands to hide his shame as fresh tears came forth, another reminder that he was not a man. He tried to stifle them, but the repressed sobs soon found their way out of him.

"Ostrava…?"

His tears were choked off with a strained gasp. He tilted his chin up slightly, just enough to peer out above his fingertips; Alvira was there, human once more with nary a scratch upon her skin, her exquisite silver armor replaced by too-large beggar's rags. She was frowning at him, concern creasing her brow. Ostrava grimaced, turning his face away lest he recall her neck torn open by jagged claws, or her chest run-through by a needle-like appendage.

"Are you angry with me?" Alvira asked, scarcely above a whisper. Ostrava's fingers curled over his knee guard, threatening to squeeze.

"No," he managed weakly, voice thin and stretched. "I could never be angry at you…"

She was by his side then, sitting so close that her leg rested against his. She looked over the edge, one foot swinging off the side. Ostrava's stomach twisted in sympathetic anxiety.

"Are you not afraid?" he mumbled, not meaning to ask the question aloud. Alvira stared down to the cold coddle of death that awaited her below.

"Of course I am," she said, low and soft. "Death is a frightening prospect, even if I can't truly be killed. It's only natural, right?"

Ostrava's fingers began to quiver as he clutched his knee in a white-knuckle grip. He sawed his teeth together, fighting back the urge to scream out his sadness and resentment. A hand settled upon his back, and he went still.

He dared once more to glance at Alvira, and she was smiling.

"How do you do it, Alvira?" he asked quietly, subtly, the words raw against the back of his throat. "How can you fight knowing that you will die at any moment?"

Her gaze shifted and her green eyes met his blue ones. He was captivated now, unable to look away. Her expression was so warm, so inviting, like she was drawing him in. "Because I have something worth defending." Ostrava's eyes went wide, and his heart gave a sharp thump against his chest, though it was anything but painful; it made him feel light, and heat began to spread throughout him as she conveyed words unspoken to him.

You are worth defending.

"Alvira…" Ostrava's fingers finally loosened around his knee, and he reached for her, before he realized the mistake he was about to make and stuffed his hands back into his lap, averting his gaze instinctively to hide the embarrassment rising on his already visored face. Though before he could recoil any further, Alvira closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace.

Ostrava couldn't breathe; not because of her sturdy grasp, but the words she funneled straight into his ear:

"I will always protect you."

Sobs wracked through him once again, but there was no longer any pain to accompany them, only affection and determination. In this dark, evil world overrun by demons, there was still light to be found, and he found it in her. He pulled her closer, crying against the fraying cloth upon her shoulder as he took in her scent, like lilies and rain. She was so precious, so beautiful, and it was in that moment that he understood. Yes, his home and his kingdom were definitely worth defending, but there had been something lacking, spearing doubt within his core. He had always been surrounded by people, but he had been alone. No family, no comrades, had truly cared for his existence; he had been a means to an end. But now, in his arms, cradled closely to his heart, was the missing piece.

"I will defend you, too," he whispered thickly, nuzzling his armored cheek against the side of her face. "I will not be weak anymore."

"Ostrava, you aren't-" Alvira tried, but he shushed her with a finger to her lips.

"I am weak," he said, pulling his head back so that he could look into her eyes once more. "But by my honor, I shall not remain so."

Reluctantly, Ostrava let go of her, and backed away. He stood, and Alvira looked up at him, watching him almost reverently. He knelt beside her, head bowed respectfully, and held out his upturned palm as if he were pleading.

"I am no true warrior, and thus far I have been nothing but a burden to you." Ostrava held up his hand when he heard her inhale, preparing once more to argue. "That is why I wish to be a proper knight. Alvira, I implore of you…"

Ostrava extended his hand, wrapping his fingers around hers, his larger palm easily swallowing her own. For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was their combined breathing.

"… teach me the ways of the sword."

He stayed rooted as Alvira contemplated his words. It was a strange request, one that she thought she'd never receive, but she knew intimately the feelings driving this sudden change within the knight. Alvira nodded, unsure if Ostrava could actually see the gesture, so she said, "I would be honored to teach you."

Ostrava squeezed her hand gratefully, allowing the touch to linger briefly before releasing her. He rose to his feet once more, unwilling to waste any more time.

"Shall we begin?" he asked, and Alvira grinned at the confidence in his tone, something she had never heard from him before.

"Yes," she said, hoping that Thomas would have a spare weapon for her while Boldwin worked. She would be remiss to keep the eager knight waiting.

"Argh!" Ostrava yelped as Alvira once again knocked his sword loose of his grasp. She twirled on her toes dexterously, bringing her proffered longsword back around to her front before cocking her head at the thrice disarmed knight. He fumbled momentarily before meekly gathering his weapon from the floor, shoulders drooped in a defeated stance. Alvira clicked her tongue disapprovingly at him.

"Have faith in your abilities or you will be less apt to learn," she scolded, albeit gently. Ostrava sighed and grumbled something incoherently under his breath. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. He took the battle stance Alvira had shown him prior to beginning his lesson.

"No," she started. "Your posture is off again." She laid down her longsword and adjusted the angle of the elbow and wrist of his sword arm. "Hold it there," she instructed before returning to her spot and readying her weapon.

"Now, attempt to hit me." The last word had barely left her mouth before Ostrava was upon her again, pummeling at her side fiercely. She parried the blow with her sword and once more sent the knight's weapon flying from his grip.

Ostrava looked sullenly to the ground where his weapon lay and huffed, "This is hopeless. I cannot even begin to land a strike upon you."

Alvira eased her weapon and raised an expectant brow at him. "Do you wish to end the lesson?"

"No," he carped.

"Then stop pouting."

"I am not pouting!" he rebutted with an obvious pout. Alvira chortled lightly, causing his pout to deepen. "Do not laugh!"

"I'm sorry," she responded, attempting to reel in her amusement for the sake of his pride, but ultimately failing. "Perhaps we should take a different approach," she suggested after collecting herself.

"How do you mean?"

"I'll try to strike you, and you defend. Ready?"

"I-"

"Now!"

Alvira was assaulting him with speed he never could have anticipated; he had just barely managed to raise his shield before the Temple Knight's weapon impacted with it, denting the weak metal before, much to Ostrava's chagrin, knocking it from his palm. "Oh, come on!" he groaned as he threw his hands up in frustration. Alvira walked over to his shield, plucked it from the ground, and examined the material. She took it in both of her hands and applied pressure, barely straining her muscles before it gave and bent further. She shook her head and turned to Ostrava, stating, "This weapon set won't do. They would be useless in a real fight."

"These are very sentimental to me," Ostrava argued.

"What do you value more, your weapons or your life?" she countered. To this, Ostrava visibly deflated. "As I figured."

"And just what do you propose I do? I have nothing else."

Alvira turned her borrowed sword over in her palm before offering it to him. "Try this."

Ostrava balked. "And what does that leave you? You expect to fight me armorless and weaponless?"

"Give me your sword."

"But you just said-"

"That they would be useless in a real fight," Alvira reiterated. "This is practice and you're learning. It will suffice for this single session." Alvira smiled reassuringly at him, showing that she meant no offense by her words. Still, Ostrava's posture stiffened slightly. He tossed the sword to her, having no doubt that she would easily catch it, which she did. She held up Ostrava's sword and braced herself. "Come."

While Ostrava was panting, sweat dripping down his face and neck, Alvira was showing no signs of fatigue. His new sword, though plain and well-used, was reliable in his grasp, making it feel like an extension of himself. He was invigorated in both mind and body. Perhaps it was the protection his new weapon offered bestowing on him a sense of ease, or even the fact that after so short a time he was seeing improvements (slight though they were), he wasn't sure, but he reveled in the feeling.

As Alvira held his old sword high and hammered it down upon him, he almost reflexively raised his above his head, taking care not to bend his back unnaturally or strain his wrist in anticipation of the coming collision. He caught the blow, the metal clanging loudly together as he put forth the strength to deflect the weapon. Alvira spiraled on her heels, his sword flipping in her hand as she repositioned it and thrust the sharp tip of the weapon at him like a spear. The maneuver caught him off guard and broke through his defense, though the dull gold failed to pierce through his breastplate. Alvira twirled and brought her weapon back around with the grace of a dancer as Ostrava dropped his sword and placed his hands on his knees in a show of exhaustion.

"I yield," he panted.

Alvira smiled and holstered her weapon. "You're learning quickly. Though I would suggest you keep your attention first on your enemy's hand. That way you're better able to read their movements. Given more practice, I daresay you will make a mighty warrior, Ostrava."

While Ostrava wished to take pride in her comment, he simply could not. It wasn't nearly enough, not yet. He wouldn't be satisfied until he could hold his own; until he was no longer a burden. Until he could defend her like he ought to have been able to from the start.

"Give me five minutes and I will be ready to continue," he breathed. Alvira frowned at that, coming close to place a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't overdo it," she comforted, smoothing her palm over his pauldron. "It will come in time, and you're already doing so well."

The taut muscles in his shoulders relaxed at her words. He sheathed his sword, rising to his full height once he caught his breath. Alvira smiled at him, and he melted inside.

"Thank you." A smile tugged at his own lips, and Ostrava allowed himself to be led by the hand down the stairs, listening happily as Alvira chided him to get some sleep.