Dawn at the royal training grounds was a different affair than at Carter Manor. Here, soldiers trained in precise formations before the sun was fully up. Swords clashed in rhythmic patterns. Arrows thudded into targets with mechanical regularity. Commands were shouted and obeyed instantly.
General Marcus waited at the center of the grounds, looking every inch the military man. His uniform was crisp, his posture rigid, his expression grim. He stood like a statue, unmoving, unblinking. Beside him stood Ross, looking uncharacteristically serious—a golden retriever trying to be a guard dog.
"Lord Carter," the general said, his voice like gravel being crushed. "Her Majesty informs me you've agreed to a demonstration."
"I agreed to show you what I can do," Evan corrected. "Not necessarily what you WANT me to do."
The general's eyes narrowed slightly. "Semantics. Show me."
Ross stepped forward. "We've prepared several test subjects. Standard issue equipment. Nothing too... sensitive." He gestured.
Soldiers brought forward a rack of swords, a stack of shields, a set of armor on a stand. All looked well-used but serviceable—the kind of equipment that had seen actual combat.
"Start with the sword," the general ordered.
Evan picked up a sword. It was heavier than it looked, the blade nicked and scratched from use. The edge was dull. The balance was off. It was a tool, not a treasure.
He focused. Not on improving it. On understanding it. On having a conversation.
What do you want to be?
The sword shivered in his hand. The nicks smoothed out. The edge sharpened until it gleamed. The metal darkened, becoming harder, more resilient. The hilt reshaped itself to fit Evan's hand perfectly—and then adjusted further, becoming something that would fit any hand perfectly.
He handed it to the general. "It's better."
The general took the sword, testing its weight. He swung it, the blade cutting the air with a sharp whistle. He brought it down on a practice dummy, cleaving through it like butter. He examined the edge—still perfect.
"Lighter. Stronger. Perfectly balanced." He looked at Evan. "Can you do that to a hundred swords? A thousand?"
"I don't know. Probably. It might take a while."
"Interesting." The general set the sword aside. "The armor."
The armor on the stand was chainmail over leather, standard issue for infantry. Evan touched it. The leather became suppler, stronger, more flexible. The chainmail links tightened, each one perfect, interlocking seamlessly. The whole suit seemed to... breathe, becoming lighter, more comfortable.
"A soldier wearing this," the general said, examining it, "would be faster. More protected. Less fatigued. They could march farther, fight longer."
"That's the idea."
"Now the shield."
The shield was wood reinforced with metal bands, standard issue. Evan improved it. The wood hardened until it was nearly stone. The metal bands fused with it, becoming part of a seamless whole. The shield grew slightly, its surface becoming slightly concave to deflect blows better. A leather strap appeared on the inside, perfectly positioned.
The general was silent for a long moment. Then: "Can you do this to a LIVING soldier?"
Evan froze. "What?"
"Improve them. As you did Lord Marten. Make them stronger. Faster. More resilient. More effective."
"I... that was different. He was dying."
"Semantics again." The general's eyes were hard. "A soldier improved is a soldier who survives. A soldier who wins. A soldier who comes home."
Ross stepped between them. "General, we agreed—"
"I agreed to see what he could do. I'm SEEING." The general didn't look away from Evan. "Well? Can you improve a living person intentionally? Or only when they're at death's door?"
Evan thought of the letters. The requests. The hunger in people's eyes at the Twilight Court. "I don't know. And I'm not sure I want to find out."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
For a moment, Evan thought the general would press. Would order. Would demand.
But then the man nodded, once, sharply. "Understood. For now."
He turned to Ross. "Prepare a report. Specifications, limitations, potential applications. I want it by week's end."
"Yes, General."
The general gave Evan one last assessing look. "You have power. The question is whether you have the WILL to use it. History is made by those who do."
He strode away, his boots crunching on the gravel, leaving a wake of silence behind him.
Ross let out a long breath. "Well. That could have gone worse."
"Could it?" Evan stared at the improved equipment. The perfect sword. The impeccable armor. The flawless shield. "He wants me to make super-soldiers."
"He wants what every general wants: an ADVANTAGE." Ross picked up the sword, testing its balance again. "But you're right to be cautious. Improving objects is one thing. Improving people... that's COMPLICATED."
"Complicated how?"
"Ethically. Magically. Practically." Ross set the sword down. "What if you improve someone's strength but damage their mind? What if you make them faster but shorten their life? What if they become dependent on you for maintenance? Magic has costs, Evan. Especially this kind of magic."
Evan looked at his hands. They'd healed a man. Improved a sword. What else could they do? And at what cost?
"Come on," Ross said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let's get breakfast. I know a place that does eggs so perfect they're practically magical. And nobody will ask you to turn them into super-eggs."
As they left the training grounds, Evan glanced back. The improved equipment sat where they'd left it, gleaming in the morning sun. Perfect. Flawless.
And, for the first time, he wondered if perfection was really such a good thing.
***