Six months later, Kaelith's progress was a mix of triumphs and frustrations. Mornings found him hunched over Torvyn's borrowed scrolls, ink smudging his fingers as he grappled with Elvish syntax and Dwarvish runes. The languages twisted his brain into knots, but he pressed on, driven by the ward's thinning glow against his skin.
Afternoons, he trained in the shaded grove behind the cottage, casting Ember Veil until his mana ran dry.
The spell shimmered briefly—a warm, protective haze—but it collapsed too soon, his reserves too shallow to hold it. Lirien practiced beside him, her new sword—a simple steel blade Talren had forged—flashing with fire as she wove mana into her strikes.
She'd grown fiercer since the ogre, her limp long gone, but even her encouragement couldn't lift Kaelith's growing doubt.
"I'm not getting anywhere," he muttered one evening, slamming a bestiary shut. Its pages detailed wyverns, goblins, and more, but the ogre's anomaly remained unsolved. The sunlight problem loomed larger, the ward's protection fraying like old cloth.
Lirien looked up, sweat beading on her brow. "You'll figure it out," she said, her voice steady. "You always do."
Kaelith wasn't convinced. He needed more—someone with deeper magic, broader knowledge. Seraphine was gone, off in the capital, and Torvyn's lessons were hitting their limit. He needed a breakthrough.
A sharp knock jolted the cottage, cutting through the quiet. Veyra, kneading dough at the table, wiped her hands and opened the door. She froze, a gasp escaping her. "Seraphine?"
Kaelith's head snapped up, his pulse quickening. There she was—his mentor, her red hair a fiery cascade, her robes threaded with ember-like light. She smirked, stepping inside with a swagger. "Miss me, kid?"
"Seraphine!" Kaelith leapt up, the bestiary tumbling to the floor. "You're back?"
"Shocked, are you?" She raised a brow, her eyes catching the faint welts on his hands. "Torvyn sent word about your sun problem. Said you're in a bind."
Talren rose from his chair, nodding. "Good timing. He's struggling."
Seraphine's smirk faded, her tone turning serious. "I'm not here by accident. Someone in the capital—anonymous—paid me to come back and train you. Said you've got potential, Kaelith. Advanced fire magic might save your hide."
Kaelith frowned, hope warring with confusion. "Who'd pay for me?"
"No clue," she said, shrugging. "But they've got coin and faith in you. We start tomorrow. Be ready."
Kaelith nodded, a spark flaring in his chest. With Seraphine's help, he might finally outpace the sun. The twin suns of Aerithas hung low in the sky, their golden light filtering through the cottage's window, casting long shadows across the wooden floor.
The air inside was thick with the scent of Veyra's morning bread, a yeasty warmth that mingled with the faint tang of woodsmoke from the hearth.
Kaelith sat at the table, his small hands wrapped around a clay mug of herbal tea, the steam curling upward in lazy spirals.
His silver hair was still mussed from sleep, red eyes glinting with a mix of determination and lingering exhaustion from the ogre fight.
Seraphine stood by the door, her crimson cloak draped over one shoulder, the fabric catching the light like a living flame. Her dark eyes flicked to him, sharp and assessing, as she adjusted the sword at her hip. "Finish that and move," she said, her voice a low command. "We're burning daylight."
He gulped the last of the tea, the bitter herbs stinging his throat, and set the mug down with a clink. Veyra glanced over from the hearth, her storm-gray eyes soft with worry. "Be careful," she said, her hands dusted with flour as she kneaded dough. "And don't push too hard."
"I'll be fine," Kaelith replied, forcing a smile. He stood, wincing as his shoulder twinged—the spot where the ogre's teeth had torn into him still ached, even with his vampiric healing. The memory of the fight flashed through him: the ogre's rancid breath, Lirien's scream, the taste of its blood on his tongue. He shoved it down, focusing on the task ahead.
Lirien waited outside, her new steel sword strapped across her back, the blade gleaming in the morning light. Her auburn braid swung as she stretched, her green eyes bright with a restless energy. The scar on her cheek—a jagged line from the ogre's claw—stood out against her pale skin, a mark she wore with defiance. "Ready to train?" she asked, grinning. "I'm not letting you slack off today."
He smirked, adjusting the spellbook under his arm. "You're the one who needs to keep up."
They followed Seraphine to the shaded grove behind the cottage, a familiar spot where pine trees formed a natural canopy, their branches weaving a lattice that blocked most of the sunlight.
The air here was cooler, heavy with the scent of sap and damp moss, the ground soft underfoot.
Kaelith felt the ward on his skin hum faintly, a comforting buzz that kept the sun's bite at bay—for now. Seraphine stopped near a row of straw dummies propped against a fallen log, their burlap faces smeared with charcoal grins, mocking him with their stillness.
"Listen up," she said, planting her hands on her hips. "Mana's a muscle, Kaelith. Right now, yours is a twig. We're gonna make it a tree. Start with Fireball. Hit those dummies until you can't."
Kaelith stepped forward, planting his feet wide. He raised his hands, palms tingling as mana surged through him, a warm current that coiled in his chest. "Ignis spherus," he intoned, voice steady. A sphere of flame erupted, streaking toward the first dummy with a whoosh. Straw ignited in a burst of orange, embers spiraling upward like fireflies.
He cast again, then again, each fireball draining him like water from a cracked jug. By the ninth, his arms trembled, sweat slicking his forehead, the grove tilting as his vision blurred.
He pushed for a tenth, the spell wobbling midair, barely scorching its target before he crumpled to his knees, hands sinking into the moss.
Seraphine loomed over him, her shadow a cool relief against his fevered skin. "That's your baseline," she said, voice firm but not unkind. "Tomorrow, you'll do eleven. Rest now."
He flopped onto his back, chest heaving, the canopy spinning above. A deeper ache pulsed beneath his ribs—a cold, gnawing hunger, his vampiric nature rousing from the strain.
Bread wouldn't sate it; he'd need something else soon, something warm and pulsing.
The thought made his stomach twist, but he buried it beneath the exhaustion.
Lirien sank down beside him, her red hair spilling over her shoulders as she grinned, her tunic clinging to her frame, damp with sweat.
The fabric outlined the curve of her waist, a sight that made Kaelith's throat tighten before he forced his gaze back to the sky.
"You look like death," she teased, nudging his arm. "But not bad for a start."
"Shut it," he muttered, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. The grass beneath him was cool, a soft bed that smelled of earth and pine. He let himself breathe, the ache in his body a strange comfort—a sign he was growing.