We all made our way to an unusually large field, a wide-open clearing that seemed too vast to exist in the heart of a forest. The canopy parted above, revealing a sky streaked with late gold, the air thick with the scent of moss and sap. Grass stretched out, soft underfoot but wild, untamed—like it''d swallowed secrets older than us all.


    "This," Petrus declared with an amused smile, his staff glinting in the fading light, "is where we''ll spend every day from sunup to sunset—training." At the time, excitement buzzed in my chest, a spark I couldn''t tamp down. Looking back now, I see how naive that was—how little I grasped the grind ahead.


    He strode to the center, robes whispering against the grass, and planted his staff deep into the earth with a thud. "Torglel. Solari. Both of you—come at me. Together."


    Torglel and I exchanged a glance, eyes locking in that wordless way we''d honed over years of blood and brawls. No need for talk—our rhythm was carved into muscle and bone. We nodded once, sharp and sure, then sprang into motion without a second''s pause.


    He went left, boots tearing divots in the dirt. I went right, the wind whipping past as we closed in. Each of us threw a punch, fists arcing from opposite angles, aimed square at Petrus.


    But Petrus leapt, graceful as a hawk, evading us in a heartbeat. His robes flared, a blur against the sky.


    I couldn''t stop my momentum. My fist slammed into Torglel''s jaw, bone crunching under my knuckles, and the force sent him flying across the field, tumbling like a barrel down a hill.


    He''s not going to let me live that down, I thought, wincing as he hit the ground hard.


    I barely had time to register it before Petrus crashed back down toward me, a streak of fur and fury. I threw my arms up, bracing, but his punch blasted through my guard like a battering ram. It knocked me flat into the dirt, breath punched out, tasting soil and blood.


    "You both have major weaknesses," Petrus said as I struggled back to my feet, spitting grit, Torglel already rising and dusting himself off, his beard streaked with dust.


    "Solari, you''re holding back. You''re not using your full speed," he pointed out, his gaze piercing. Then it flicked to Torglel. "And you—hesitating to use your fire magic. It''ll cost you."


    He wasn''t wrong. I felt it—the leash I kept on myself, the fear of what''d slip out if I let go.


    I walked over to Torglel, shaking the sting from my arms, the ache pulsing deep. "Wanna try the Cage the Beast maneuver?" I asked, flashing him a grin, adrenaline still humming.


    We had a slew of moves from our Shadow Hand days—tricks drilled into us through sweat and bruises. This one was my favorite, a dance of chaos and control.


    Torglel grumbled under his breath, rubbing his jaw where I''d clocked him. "Aye... anything to get one up on this furry little pain in my backside," he muttered, eyes glinting with mischief despite the scowl.


    We moved. I rushed Petrus again, legs pumping, but it still didn''t feel fast enough—something held me back, a weight I couldn''t name. His staff cracked across my ribs, a sharp snap of pain, slamming me back into the ground, grass flattening beneath me.


    Frustration boiled in my chest, hot and jagged. I climbed to my feet, teeth gritted, fists clenched so tight my nails bit my palms. Rage surged, and with it, sparks of lightning crackled around me, sharp and wild, snapping in the air like a storm breaking loose.


    Yesssss, my evil self whispered inside my head, his voice a hiss of delight, coiling around my thoughts.


    And then I moved. In a blink, I closed the gap, faster than I''d ever thought possible—faster than reason. Our fists and kicks collided in a blur, each strike a thunderclap too quick to track. Petrus blocked and countered, precise as a blade, matching my speed step for step.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The lightning crackled fiercer as the fight escalated, streaks of white-hot energy slashing through the clearing, searing the grass. My blood sang with it, alive and untamed.


    Then I saw it—an opening.


    Petrus swung a punch, but it lagged, just a fraction slower. I seized his wrist, twisting hard, and drove my fist into his face—bone meeting fur with a satisfying crunch. He flew across the field, tumbling through the air.


    I didn''t stop. I ran after him, boots pounding, catching him mid-flight before he hit the ground. I jumped, driving my fist into his chest with all I had, slamming him into the earth. The impact roared, a thunderous crash that shook the clearing, dust billowing like smoke.


    As it settled, Petrus climbed to his feet, shaking dirt from his fur, unfazed. Flames erupted around him, sudden and fierce, forming solid bars of fire. They rose from the ground in a perfect grid, encasing him in a cage that pulsed with heat—like standing too close to Thoringard''s forges, the air shimmering, thick with the stench of scorched grass and ash. It stung my nose, sharp and bitter.


    "Well done, boys," Petrus said with a smile, approval gleaming in his eyes as he stood within the blaze. "You both work extremely well together."


    For a moment, it felt like being back at the Shadow Hand, training with Torglel—sweat-soaked days of sparring and laughter. It almost made me forget the horrors of my family history, the shadow of Zolphan lurking in my blood. Almost.


    From the sidelines, Alythiel clapped, her silver hair catching the firelight. "Impressive teamwork!" she called out, her voice bright against the crackle of flames.


    Torglel released the fire cage with a flick of his wrist, the bars dissolving in a rush of heat that washed over us, embers winking out in the grass.


    "Teamwork''s solid," Petrus continued, stepping through the fading glow, his staff tapping the ground. "But now you''ll train individually to strengthen yourselves. Build your own power, and your teamwork will be stronger for it."


    "Then nothing will stop us," Torglel added, flashing me a cheeky grin, his beard still dusted with dirt. "Unless you punch me in the face again."


    I knew he wouldn''t let that go—I don''t think he ever did. I smirked, shaking my head.


    Petrus gave a curt nod, his gaze steady. "Teamwork can make you unstoppable," he said. "But even Achilles had a weakness."


    Over the next weeks, Petrus worked with Laboritus and Alythiel on hand-to-hand combat, his staff a blur as he drilled them. Seluvia took Torglel and me, her tiny frame belying the power she wielded, training us in magic fighting. Turns out Petrus was right—I''m adept at lightning magic, the sparks coming easier each day, though they carried a weight I couldn''t shake.


    Any other magic would''ve been a welcome twist—fire, ice, anything. Unfortunately, not.


    The first day was brutal. By the end, I was more sore and beaten than I''d ever been—muscles screaming, bruises blooming like dark flowers under my skin. Torglel and I discovered we could build resistance to elemental magic... if we were willing to get hit with it enough times. Lightning lashed me, fire seared him—pain became our teacher. Not something I''d ever recommend, trust me.


    A month passed, time blurring in the forest''s warped flow. Then came the test to measure how far we''d come, pushing our weakest spots.


    Alythiel went first. She attacked Petrus with a fluid grace that barely looked like a fight—more a dance, deliberate and smooth. She shifted from offense to defense with perfect timing, never missing a step, her silver hair swaying like a metronome. She gave him no openings, exploiting every slip he showed.


    Petrus leapt at her with a powerful kick, staff twirling, but she sidestepped effortlessly, a shadow sliding past. As he flew by, she drove her fist into his side—crisp, controlled—sending him crashing into the dirt. She followed without pause, standing over him before he could blink, her stance calm, unyielding.


    "Well done," Petrus exclaimed, clearly impressed, brushing off dust with a grin. "You''ve improved tremendously." His pride gleamed as he rose. "To further your hand-to-hand skills, you''ll start each day sparring with Solari until you can beat him."


    Where my fighting was intense, a storm of fury, hers was calm, calculated—a perfect counterweight to have at my back.


    "Don''t think I''ll go easy on you just because you''ve healed me a few times," I said with a chuckle, flashing her a grin, the ache in my ribs a faint echo.


    She laughed, eyes bright with challenge, sharp as her healer''s touch. "I wouldn''t expect you to."


    Petrus turned to Laboritus. "Now, Laboritus. It''s your turn."


    Laboritus approached with a cool, steady focus, his massive frame moving silent as a predator. Without a word, he launched into a full-on assault—fists cutting quick, brutal arcs through the air. Faster than I''d ever seen a Thuumar move, faster than most could dream, his strikes a blur of raw power.


    But Petrus was faster still.


    The old raccoon dodged each blow with effortless precision, weaving through them like he saw them coming a mile off. He waited, watched, his staff loose in his grip.


    Then, as Laboritus pressed harder, Petrus spoke, voice calm amid the storm. "You''re faster than ever," he said. "I''ll give you that. But you still fight like a Thuumar—all offense, no defense."


    And as if to prove it, he spun his staff low in the same breath, sweeping it hard against the back of Laboritus''s knees. The Thuumar crashed down with a grunt, legs buckling, the ground trembling under his weight.


    Before Laboritus could react, Petrus stepped onto his chest, standing atop him like he''d scaled a peak—fearless, unshaken by the height. He rested the base of the staff lightly against Laboritus''s throat, a quiet end to the test.


    Laboritus exhaled slow, frustration flickering in his eyes, but he stayed silent, jaw tight.


    Petrus''s masked face tilted, his ringed tail flicking with faint amusement. "You''ve improved greatly," he admitted. "Learning enhancement magic to boost your speed was smart. But if you don''t have the skill to back it up, those enhancements won''t save you."


    With that, he stepped down, letting Laboritus rise, the Thuumar''s pride bruised but intact.


    "You''ll train with me every day until you can beat me," Petrus said, nodding once in approval. "And you will. Eventually."


    This was the easy part of what was to come—a warm-up for the real grind ahead.