"All's fair," he shot back, heart pounding.
Talren paused mid-swing, lowering his sword. "Hold up. Let me tell you something." He wiped sweat from his brow, his tone shifting to something graver. "Back when I fought for the king's guard, it wasn't always strength that won. Cunning—using every trick—kept me alive. You've got that instinct, Kaelith. Hang onto it."
Kaelith absorbed the words, a thread of connection tightening between them. They resumed, the clash of wood and magic filling the air. At one point, Lirien's fist came close, and Kaelith's vampire instincts flared—fangs aching, vision sharpening. He clenched his jaw, channeling the surge into a burst of flame that forced her back. The hunger retreated, tamed for now, woven into his fight.
As the suns dipped lower, they collapsed onto the grass, breathless and grinning. Lirien sprawled out, her laughter bright. "That was amazing! We're doing this again."
Talren ruffled her hair, a rare smile breaking through. "You've got spirit, girl. Keep it up."
Kaelith leaned back, soreness settling into his bones but his spirit soaring. For once, things felt right—Talren's guidance, Lirien's fire, his own growth. The shadow of Kazu's past lingered, but it was fainter now, overshadowed by the life taking root here.
As the sky bled orange and violet, a traveler trudged past the clearing, his cloak dusted with road grime. He paused, nodding to Talren. "Heard the king's health is failing," he said, voice low. "Princes are circling already."
Talren's face tightened. "Aye, dark times coming."
The man moved on, leaving a chill in his wake. Kaelith glanced at Talren, then Lirien, who'd gone quiet. Beyond Talsara, the world was stirring—unrest brewing like a storm. But here, in this moment, they had each other. Family, fragile but growing. For now, that was enough.
The forest beyond Talsara buzzed with life as Kaelith and Lirien trekked toward their training spot, a secluded clearing nestled deep within the woods.
The twin suns hung high, their golden light piercing the dense canopy to paint the ground in shifting patterns of shadow and glow.
Cicadas droned a relentless chorus, their hum blending with the rustle of leaves stirred by a warm breeze.
Lirien strode ahead, her wooden practice sword slung casually over her shoulder, her auburn braid swinging with each determined step. She was a bundle of energy, her green eyes bright with anticipation.
Kaelith trailed behind, Seraphine's spellbook pressed against his chest, its worn leather warm from his grip. His mind churned with half-formed questions about mana and magic, a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
The clearing opened before them—a wide, grassy circle framed by ancient oaks and pines, their branches forming a natural roof.
The air carried the earthy tang of moss and the sharp bite of pine sap, a scent that had become as familiar to Kaelith as his own heartbeat. Lirien dropped her sword onto the grass and stretched, her arms reaching skyward as she let out a satisfied groan. "Perfect day for this," she said, flashing him a grin. "No interruptions, just us and the trees."
Kaelith settled onto a flat rock near the clearing's edge, laying the spellbook across his lap. "Let's make it count, then," he replied, his tone dry but warm. He flipped open the book, its pages yellowed and crinkled, and scanned a passage he'd read a dozen times: Mana flows from within, a wellspring unique to each mage.
Its depth cannot be charted, only sensed through use and exhaustion.
The words gnawed at him. In his past life as Kazu, mana was a simple stat—a blue bar on a screen, depleted and refilled with predictable precision. Here, it was a mystery, a force that defied measurement. He'd felt its edges—the heaviness in his limbs after a spell, the faint vertigo when he pushed too hard—but how much could he truly wield? The book offered no clarity, just poetic riddles.
Lirien, oblivious to his brooding, positioned herself before a scarred oak, its trunk pocked from weeks of her practice strikes. She gripped her sword with both hands, her stance wide and rooted, and drew a deep breath.
"Here goes," she muttered. With a sharp swing, the blade sliced through the air, and for a fleeting second, a spark of fire flared along its edge, kissing the bark before winking out. She scowled, lowering the weapon. "Come on, why won't it hold?"
Kaelith glanced up, resting his chin in his hand. "You're pushing too hard," he said. "Magic's not just muscle—it's rhythm. Let the fire follow your motion, not fight it."
She shot him a skeptical look but adjusted her grip, her fingers tightening around the hilt. "Easy for you to say, Mr. Fireball." Still, she swung again, slower this time, her brow creased with focus. A thin ribbon of flame trailed the blade, curling against the oak before fading. Her eyes lit up, a triumphant laugh bursting from her. "Ha! Did you see that?"
He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Progress. Keep going—make it last longer."
Her grin widened, and she fell into a steady rhythm, each swing coaxing a flicker of heat from the wood. Kaelith watched, half-impressed, half-distracted. Lirien was relentless—raw talent wrapped in stubborn determination.
In the weeks since they'd started training together, she'd sharpened her strikes, her movements growing more fluid, her spirit unyielding.
He envied that fire sometimes, the way it burned through her doubts. His own past—centuries as a vampire, a second chance in this strange world—left him wrestling with shadows she'd never understand.
He shook off the thought and returned to the spellbook, tracing the lines about mana pools with a finger.
Maybe the limits weren't fixed. Maybe they stretched with belief, or willpower, or something less tangible.