Adrasteia Forest was even more breathtaking than I''d ever imagined. As I stepped beneath its ancient canopy, everything sharpened—leaves glowed with an emerald fire, bark shimmered with veins of silver, even the smallest wildflower pulsed with life, vivid as a heartbeat. It was as if the forest had jolted awake some buried part of me—colors burned brighter, details etched in crystalline clarity. An electric charge hummed in the air, a raw magic that thrummed through the branches overhead, tingling against my skin. Laboritus and Torglel had broken off to scout a town a mile back, leaving me and Alythiel to press on alone.


    I wandered a winding path for nearly a mile, eyes wide at the kaleidoscope around me. Each step unveiled wonders—a cluster of luminous mushrooms glowing like stars, a spiderweb glistening with dew like strung pearls, the gentle trickle of a hidden stream weaving through roots. The atmosphere buzzed with an ancient, feral energy—thick and alive and watching. Back then, I didn''t grasp how potent that magic was—or what it''d demand of me down the line.


    Then, the serene quiet shattered. A voice rumbled like distant thunder, shaking the forest floor beneath my boots. "I HAVE GUARDED THIS FOREST FOR SIX HUNDRED YEARS. LEAVE NOW OR DIE BY MY HAND!" The words echoed through the towering trees, a roar that set my pulse racing. I froze, scanning for the source, hand twitching toward my swords.


    In a small clearing twenty yards ahead, I spotted it—a raccoon. But no ordinary beast. Draped in forest-toned robes—moss green and earth brown—he clutched a mahogany staff carved with swirling runes. His eyes blazed with a fierce, curious intensity, and as he bellowed, "Assem whoopus!" his voice carried menace laced with a strange mirth.


    Before I could wrap my head around this absurdity, he bounded across the clearing, fast as a lightning strike. In a blink, he closed the gap. His staff swung in a wide arc, aimed straight for my skull. Instinct kicked in—I ducked, the whoosh of air grazing my hair as it passed.


    Without hesitation, I drew Celerius and Mors, their blades catching the dappled light in flashes of black and white. I lunged, swinging both in a rapid, fluid arc toward his neck. But he wasn''t fazed—his staff flicked up, intercepting my swords with a sharp clack, knocking them aside like they were twigs.


    He leaped back, graceful as a dancer, voice rising with glee. "In my six hundred years of guarding this sacred grove, only a few have ever managed to challenge me. I do enjoy a good challenge!" The playful edge in his tone clashed with the threat, throwing me off.


    I recovered fast and charged, matching his agility. We fell into a dazzling dance of combat—steel and staff blurring, every parry, thrust, and counter weaving into a single, relentless rhythm. To an untrained eye, it''d be flashes of light and color, too quick to follow. We attacked, defended, circled—neither gaining ground. Fighting him was like battling the forest itself, wild and unyielding.


    Then, in a split second, his foot slammed into my chest, a mule''s kick of force. I hurtled back, air punched from my lungs, and crashed against a tree. Bark scraped my spine as I slid down, dazed. How many trees did I hit that day? Too many to count. He bellowed triumphantly, "Whoopitus maksimum!"—like my tumble was a grand jest.


    My head cleared slow, vision steadying on my foe. He descended from above, staff arcing down like a guillotine. I rolled aside, the blow smashing the tree into a spray of splintered wood. Chunks flew—sharp, jagged—I fended them off with sweeping slashes, steel singing. The onslaught was brutal; one slip, and I''d be skewered by nature''s wrath.


    I regained my footing, but he was on me again, landing a fierce punch to my gut. I doubled over, gasping, and his uppercut followed, launching me skyward. My back slammed another tree, and I thought, half-laughing through the pain, that if I kept this up, the trees''d hold a personal grudge. I still dislike them, even now.


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    I struggled up, refusing to fold. He moved like a storm—bouncing branch to branch, a blur against the foliage, too fast to track. From my right, he surged again, staff swinging. I redirected it with Mors, landing a swift kick to his chest. He crashed into a boulder, stone cracking under him. I rushed in, swords flashing, but he dodged—my blade bit a tree instead, lodging deep. I grumbled inwardly; these damn trees were turning my fight into a grudge match. I ended up with a love-hate bond with that forest.


    He rebounded off another tree, launching back. I sidestepped, snatching his staff mid-swing. With a surge of strength, I swung it wide, slamming him into the dirt. I tossed it aside, drew my dagger, and poised for the kill.


    But a voice boomed, "Prestani!" A strange paralysis seized me—muscles locked, breath caught. I stood frozen, dagger mid-air, the battle slowing to a surreal crawl. Magic this raw was a cruel slap—I knew so little of its depths.


    My mind raced—what power could bind me like this? From the underbrush behind him, a tiny field mouse emerged, almost laughable after that clash.


    The raccoon rose, brushing dirt from his robes, and grumbled, "I told you I didn''t need your help," irritation mixing with amusement.


    The mouse bristled. "Looks to me like you did need my help," she retorted, her firm voice sharp for her size. Their banter—his rumble, her squeak—filled the clearing, a bizarre echo to our fight.


    A sting pricked my neck. My vision blurred, then cleared as Alythiel appeared, swift and silent as a shadow. Her presence broke the spell, freeing me. I pulled a dart from my neck, frowning at it.


    "What was that you shot me with?" I asked, voice shaky but curious.


    "Boletus Tempus," she explained calmly, a glint in her eye. "It''s a rare mushroom that cancels paralysis."


    I chuckled, rubbing my neck. "Well, maybe they know who Petrus is," I said, recalling the note.


    Alythiel raised a brow. "Didn''t you just attack him, though?" she teased.


    "Hey, he attacked me first—I was only defending myself," I shot back, brushing off her jab as we approached the duo.


    The raccoon turned, grinning slyly. "I haven''t had a fight that fun in years," he declared, admiration in his tone. "I''m going to guess you''ve been expecting me."


    I studied him, realization hitting like a spark. "How did you know I''d seek you out?" I asked, suspicion flaring.


    It struck me like lightning. "You''re Petrus," I stated, surprise and relief mixing.


    He laughed heartily, nodding. "Yes, I am. And if you''re looking to hone your skills, I''m the one you need." His eyes gleamed with challenge.


    Eager and wary of Zolphan''s shadow, I asked, "Will you train me? Zolphan''s strong—I need to be ready for whatever he throws at me."


    "Then let us train!" Petrus exclaimed, brimming with excitement.


    I paused. "How long do you intend to train me for?"


    With a mischievous smile, he replied, "We need to compress your training into one week. Time''s of the essence, after all."


    I stared, incredulous. "A week?! How can a week of training possibly teach me enough to face what lies ahead?" The stakes loomed—every delay risked Zolphan''s plans unfurling.


    A tiny voice cut in. The field mouse stepped from a thicket, clutching a spell tome. She flipped its pages with precision. "Sanctus orbis terrarum," she chanted, soft but firm.


    A brilliant blue light erupted, swallowing the clearing in radiance. The world paused, wrapped in a glowing cocoon. As it faded, I blinked, awed.


    "What did you do?" I asked, voice hushed, scanning the shifted air.


    Her eyes shone with pride. "I slowed time outside this forest," she explained. "One day out there equals a year here. So, a week''s training will be seven years'' worth."


    I stood awestruck. Years in a week—exhilarating, daunting. Every moment here would amplify my growth, a rare edge against the storm brewing.


    Petrus clapped his hands, grinning. "It''s time to get started then! We have no time to waste!"


    Determination surged through me. I nodded, resolve hardening. Adrasteia had become our crucible—every second a forge for my skills. I''d push myself to the brink, learn fast, and steel myself for what''s next. My training would be relentless, my progress swift, my will unbreakable. When I emerged, I wouldn’t just be ready—I’d be dangerous.