As Laboritus stepped off the field, Torglel hollered, "The bigger they are, the harder they fall!" His voice boomed across the clearing, brash and bright, echoing through the forest.


    Laboritus said nothing as he passed, his eyes distant and cold, looking right past us as if we were ghosts. He joined the sidelines, shoulders squared but heavy, the weight of his fall still clinging to him like damp earth.


    Torglel cracked his knuckles, the pop sharp in the quiet, and glanced at me, his grin as cheeky as ever, a glint of mischief in his blue eyes. "Oi. Don''t go punching me in the face again, eh?"


    I smirked halfheartedly, the jab already wearing thin. "No promises," I shot back, though my heart wasn''t in it—I was tired of that reminder, the sting of it lingering like a bruise.


    Torglel gave a chuckle—lighter than his usual boisterous laugh, softer around the edges. "Just keep it calm. We''ve been training harder than an ogre''s backside is tough." Looking back, I see it now—he was looking out for me, his way of pulling me from the edge I didn''t even know I was on.


    Seluvia''s voice sliced through the moment, crisp and no-nonsense. "Whenever you two are done, let''s get started."


    We shared one last glance—silent understanding, a mutual nod, years of trust packed into a flicker—then stepped forward onto the field, grass crunching underfoot, the air thick with the scent of charred earth and scorched ozone, remnants of the magic still clinging to the grass.


    Seluvia wasted no time, launching a barrage of fireballs our way, streaks of orange roaring through the dusk. Torglel smashed his fists together with a heavy thud, and a shield of flame burst to life before us, a wall of searing heat that shimmered like molten glass. The fireballs hammered it, sending ripples across its surface, the crackle loud in my ears.


    I glanced at him, grinning despite the chaos. "Dwarf baseball?"


    Torglel returned it, broader than ever, teeth flashing. "Aye. That little mouse won''t know what hit her."


    A plan born of sweat, sparks, and a touch of madness—one we''d cooked up during forest training.


    Without missing a beat, I scooped Torglel under my arm, his weight solid but familiar. I held my breath, lungs burning as he let the shield fall, flames winking out in a rush of hot air. The instant it dropped, I bolted forward, legs pumping against the earth.


    The air around me crackled and popped, sparks trailing in my wake like lightning-struck dust, sharp and wild. I pushed my speed beyond its limits, the world blurring at the edges, my pulse a drumbeat in my skull.


    Seluvia reacted fast, switching to lightning strikes—jagged bolts lancing down, trying to catch me mid-sprint. But I was faster still, instinct guiding me. I felt where each would land, dodging before they struck, the ground sizzling behind me.


    The gap between us vanished in a heartbeat, a rush of wind and power.


    Seluvia threw up a wall of wind, a howling gust meant to shove me back. I didn''t hesitate, didn''t slow—kept my eyes locked ahead.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Instead, I threw Torglel with all my might, muscles straining as I hurled him like a javelin.


    As I let him fly, I channeled lightning through my arms—a surge that snapped and burned, giving his launch an extra jolt. He wrapped himself in a fiery blaze, a dwarf-shaped missile of heat and fury, cutting through the wind wall like a blade through cloth, shredding it before it could touch me.


    Torglel''s battle cry exploded from his lungs, a roar that echoed through the forest, raw and triumphant. "I got ye now, little one!"


    Seluvia''s eyes widened in panic, her tiny frame tensing as she threw up an earthen wall—dirt and rock surging from the ground. Too slow.


    Torglel smashed through it like it was nothing, stone crumbling in his wake. The impact sent Seluvia flying backward, a blur of fur and robes, but Petrus darted in, swift as a shadow, catching her before she hit the earth.


    Meanwhile, Torglel kept going... and slammed into a tree with a solid whump, the trunk shuddering under his weight.


    A string of Dwarven curses spilled from his lips—sharp, colorful, and from the little Dwarven I could speak, downright explicit even for him, painting the air blue.


    I winced, the memory of my own tree collisions flashing back. Maybe too much lightning, I thought, brow furrowing—though part of me was sure it''d been just enough.


    Torglel groaned and pushed himself upright, muttering, "Who put that tree there..." as he shook leaves from his beard, his voice a mix of pain and gruff humor.


    A moment later, Seluvia, Petrus, and Torglel made their way back to the field''s center. Torglel rubbed his shoulder, wincing. "I''ll be feelin'' that in the mornin''," he grumbled, but a smirk tugged at his lips.


    Petrus crossed his arms, fur ruffling faintly in the breeze. "You two are as unpredictable as the wind''s direction," he said, a faint smirk lurking beneath his calm. "That can catch your enemies off guard. But it also increases the risk of things going wrong for you."


    Alythiel cheered loudly from the sidelines, her face beaming with pride, silver hair glinting in the fading light. "That was incredible!"


    He gave a slow, almost approving nod. "Regardless, it worked today. You both pass with flying colors." He paused, his gaze sweeping over us all, steady and sure. "Rest today. Tomorrow, the training gets even more difficult for you all."


    Alythiel and I went to grab some food, the scent of roasted meat drifting from a nearby stall in Magicae Hollow. Torglel wandered off with Laboritus, giving him a hearty nudge in the ribs, his laugh ringing out again.


    "Let me tell you about how dwarves fight," he said, grinning as he led the way, his energy a force of its own.


    Laboritus shot Torglel a look of gratitude, a flicker of warmth breaking through his earlier frost. He''d been beating himself up after failing Petrus''s test, his pride dented deep, but Torglel''s infectious spirit was dragging him out of that pit.


    This was the start of us feeling like a real family—comrades in arms, bound tighter than blood.


    I shook my head, smiling to myself as we walked. I''d gotten that same lecture the first time Torglel and I trained together—his eager ramble about Dwarven brawls, all fists and fire. He was just as keen to tell me then as he was with Laboritus now, a constant I could lean on.


    Alythiel stopped at the stall, gathering bread and meat, her hands quick and practiced. We walked together in silence for a while, the air warm with the forest''s breath, but a tension crept in—subtle, heavy, like a storm brewing far off.


    "Solari..." she said softly, her voice cutting through the quiet, gentle but weighted. "Are you truly okay?"


    I glanced at her, her moonstone eyes searching mine. "Finding out about your father... about your people..." She shook her head slightly, silver strands swaying. "I can''t imagine anyone holding up after that."


    I forced a weak smile, lips tight. "Family isn''t always about blood," I said, voice rougher than I meant. "It''s about who you choose. Tolgarn raised me as one of his own. He''s my father. Not Zolphan."


    Alythiel studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable, piercing through my bluff. "Yes," she said quietly, "but that doesn''t mean you''re alright."


    But deep inside, in that dark corner of my mind, he laughed—a low, mocking rasp. "Your demon blood runs deeper than the other Drydalis," my darker self whispered, his voice slithering like smoke. "Do you really think you can fight your true nature forever?"


    I clenched my jaw, shutting him out, the effort a physical ache.


    When I looked at Alythiel again, she opened her mouth as if to press further but closed it. Instead, she gave me a smile that didn''t reach her eyes—soft, strained—and placed her hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, her touch warm but fleeting.


    And in that moment, I realized I wasn''t just trying to convince myself—I was trying to convince her too.


    "As long as I have you, Torglel, and Laboritus by my side supporting me," I said, my voice quieter, rawer than before, "I''ll be okay."


    She nodded slowly, but doubt lingered in her gaze, a shadow I couldn''t dispel. For the first time, I wasn''t sure who I was reassuring—her or me.


    I should''ve taken Alythiel''s concern more seriously then. That whisper in my head wasn''t just noise—it was a warning, one I''d ignored too long.