Days became weeks. Weeks blurred into months. Months stretched into the first full year of our training in Adrasteia''s warped time. The forest''s hum had become a constant in my bones, its magic a weight I carried daily. By then, Alythiel wielded two new ebony daggers, their edges gleaming like midnight—she''d turned into a terror with them, swift and lethal. Laboritus stocked his quiver with an arsenal of arrows, each fletched for a purpose: barbed, blunt, piercing. He told me once, voice low over a fire, he liked to be prepared for any situation—classic Thuumar pragmatism. Torglel and I earned more than a few nasty scars from our magic backfiring—jagged lines across my arms, his chest. Some still ache when the weather turns, a dull throb under my skin like a memory that won''t fade. Seluvia said Infernal was the best way to channel my magic, tied to my demonic blood—a truth I wasn''t ready to embrace, not then. Alythiel and I started the morning the way we usually did—with fists flying, the air sharp with sweat and steel.


    Seluvia''s advice still echoed in my head, a persistent nag, but I shoved it down deep and focused on the fight, the rhythm of it grounding me.


    As I blocked, dodged, and countered Alythiel''s strikes, I realized her precision and speed had nearly doubled since we''d first sparred. Her battle sense was razor-sharp—almost on par with Laboritus now, every move deliberate, honed. I found fewer openings to exploit, her attacks tighter, smarter. More often than not, she kept me on the defensive, her fists a blur I could barely track.


    I smiled despite myself, a flicker of pride cutting through the strain—impressed by how far she''d come, how she''d carved strength from grace.


    Then I saw my chance.


    She threw a punch, quick and sure, and I ducked low, sweeping in with a kick meant to knock her off balance, my boot slicing through the air.


    But to my surprise, she caught my leg mid-motion, her grip iron-tight, and drove me onto my back with one smooth twist. I hit the ground hard, breath jolting out, pinned under her weight.


    I let out a short, surprised laugh, dust stinging my eyes. "You feinted that opening. You wanted me to go for the low kick."


    The realization settled fast—she''d been in control the whole damn time, playing me like a lute.


    "Looks like Laboritus isn''t the only calculated mind around here," I said as she helped me to my feet, her hand firm in mine.


    She smiled warmly, reaching down to grab my hand, pulling me up with ease. And for just a second... Her smile lingered, as did her hand—just a second longer than needed. Or maybe that was just me. A fleeting warmth, soft against the calluses—a moment I couldn''t pin down.


    Before I could dwell, she gave me a playful nudge, her elbow light against my ribs. "Well, I learned from the best when it comes to fighting."


    I unsheathed my daggers, their weight familiar, steel catching the morning light. "Ready to practice with your blades?"


    "Oh, absolutely," Alythiel said, drawing her ebony daggers with a fluid ease, a spark flaring in her eyes. "I''m going for back-to-back victories here."


    The moment her blades cleared their sheaths, I launched forward, the grass crunching beneath my boots.


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    Her movements were precise, fluid—like a deadly ballet, each step a note in a song of steel. Our daggers flashed and clashed, the ring of metal sharp and clear, echoing through the clearing. She parried one of my slashes, her blade a whisper of shadow, and countered—her dagger narrowly missing my ribs, the air hissing where it passed.


    I tried to knock her off balance with a low kick, aiming for her stance, but she blocked it with her forearm and countered with a strike of her own, fast as a viper. I moved to block—but I was a second too slow, reaction dulled by the morning''s grind.


    Her blade glanced off mine and cut into my arm, a hot sting blooming under my skin.


    Her eyes widened in shock, breath catching. "I''m sorr—"


    I didn''t let her finish. In one swift motion, I flipped her onto her back, pinning her to the dirt with a thud, her gasp sharp against the silence. She hit the ground hard but didn''t lose her grip on her blades, her knuckles whitening around the hilts.


    "That wasn''t fair," she protested, breathless, chest heaving under my hold.


    "Training isn''t fair," I said, keeping her pinned a moment longer, voice steady despite the burn in my arm. "It''s to prepare us for enemies who won''t fight fair, either. It''s kill or be killed."


    She sighed, relenting, and took my hand as I offered it, her grip strong as I pulled her up. "You''re right," she said, dusting off her tunic, "but you''re cut pretty deep."


    Her brow furrowed, concern softening her sharp features. She raised her hands, and that familiar green glow radiated from her palms, warm and steady as she pressed them gently into my arm. The wound closed under her magic, the sting fading to a dull ache, leaving another scar—a jagged line I''d wear like a badge.


    A small price for getting stronger. It became one of my fondest memories of a scar earned—her touch tying it to something more than pain.


    As she worked, I caught the faintest mutter under her breath, barely audible over the forest''s hum. "And I thought Torglel was the reckless one between you two."


    I should''ve told her I learned it from him, that reckless streak we shared, but I pretended not to hear, letting the moment slip by.


    Torglel strolled over, eyeing us with a smirk, his boots scuffing the dirt. "Aye, lass, don''t worry yourself too much over a little nick," he said, waving it off like it was nothing, his tone light. "Those are common in training."


    He clapped me on the back. A grin wide enough to split his face. His hand landed with a heavy thud. "It''s when you hit a vital area you gotta worry. Solari nearly took my family jewels clean off once during a match."


    I shook my head, a chuckle escaping despite myself, the memory flashing sharp. "Wasn''t my fault you forgot to block."


    Torglel barked a laugh, loud and rolling. "Good thing I jumped back quick enough. Fastest I ever moved to this day." The only time he moved faster was when he bolted to relieve himself after too much ale—a tale he''d never live down.


    I turned my gaze toward the clearing where Petrus and Laboritus sparred, their figures a strange dance against the trees. If anyone wandered by and saw a raccoon fighting a giant, they''d think they were hallucinating—Petrus''s staff twirling, Laboritus''s fists a blur.


    But Laboritus wasn''t the same fighter he''d been a year ago. He moved with confidence now, blocking and countering Petrus''s strikes with a steady ease, his massive frame lighter on his feet. Torglel''s lessons had clearly sunk in, sharpening him beyond brute strength.


    Petrus went for a flashy uppercut, his staff arcing high, but Laboritus leaned back just enough, the blow whistling past. As Petrus came down, Laboritus stepped in, driving a solid punch into his chest—a deep thud echoing. The raccoon flew through the air, robes flapping, and hit the ground hard.


    He popped right back up, brushing himself off, dirt clinging to his fur. He gave Laboritus an approving nod, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth, rare and earned.


    He approached the Thuumar, tone steady as stone. "Very well done. You pass."


    Then he turned, nodding toward me, his gaze sharp. "From this moment on, you''ll spend every morning training hand-to-hand with Solari."


    I gave Laboritus a nod, respect in the gesture, and he returned it—calm, but a flicker of pride glinted behind his eyes, a quiet fire rekindled.


    Petrus turned to address us all, voice cutting through the clearing''s hum. "Listen up, everyone."


    The space quieted, even Torglel''s chuckle fading under his breath, the air stilling with his words.


    "It''s been a good first year," Petrus continued, "but we have six more to go. From this point forward, training will intensify as we prepare for the final test—fighting as a unit." He let that hang, heavy and deliberate, before going on. "You''ll need to use your individual strengths and abilities to work as one."


    He scanned the group, eyes locking on each of us, ensuring we felt the weight. "No one can ever be truly ready for anything," he said, tone calm but firm, unyielding as the forest itself. "But trust in each other, and you can be prepared for whatever may come."