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His worry, painted so plainly and loudly on his face - along with broad strokes of the care and tenderness he holds for you - touches you, but he needn't fret. You're no ordinary knight, after all. You're a sorcerer, which gives you an immediate advantage you'll readily use.

"Pff," you rap your fingers against one of your cuisses; it clinks a tinny, silvery sound drowned out by your overly self-assured snort. "Don't worry about me. I have magic after all!" To emphasize your point you hold up your index and let a small flame flicker there.

Accolon smiles and squeezes your arm. "It's a great asset," he admits, but the corners of his mouth drag down into a serious, tight line again. "That's why combining the two - the sword and your magic - could prove your greatest asset. I just need you to apply yourself, whichever you want to lean on more."