The days blend together in sweat, steel, and sore muscles.
At first, Kaida lost track of time. He only knew the rhythm—wake before the sun, collapse well after it had set. The palace grounds, once a daunting place of foreign stone and overwhelming expectations, now felt familiar. Maybe even… grounding.
It had been over a week and a half since his first lesson in mana. Since Temu had struck him in the gut and demanded he breathe through the pain. Since he felt that first flicker of wind deep in his chest.
And every day since then, that flicker had grown stronger.
So had he.
Mornings began with grueling strength drills in the armory courtyard. Kaida trained beside Alric, whose idea of a warm-up involved strapping thirty-pound weights to each limb and calling it “light mobility work.”
“You keep wincing,” Alric muttered one morning, effortlessly pressing a carved stone barbell overhead. “You trying to pull something or just embarrass yourself?”
Kaida groaned, struggling under the weight of his own bar. “I’m trying not to rupture a lung.”
“That’s fair,” Alric said with a shrug, lowering his bar with a metallic thud. “First time I did this routine, I passed out after six reps.”
Kaida paused, blinking. “Wait—you passed out?”
“Yep.” Alric smirked. “Woke up an hour later with Temu screaming in my face and a medic dumping water on me.”
Kaida wheezed a laugh. “Glad to know I’m not alone in the suffering.”
“You’re not. But if you collapse, I’m not carrying you. Just saying.”
The two grew closer through shared pain—grunts during deadlifts, groans during push-ups, and breathless bets on who would puke first during sprints. Alric, beneath his armored exterior, had a dry wit Kaida found himself drawn to. Their dynamic became something Kaida hadn’t realized he missed: the rough, teasing bond of an older brother figure.
Afternoons were quieter—mentally taxing.
That’s when Lorien stepped in.
Most days found them seated cross-legged beneath the colonnade of the east wing, surrounded by diagrams, books, and glowing scrolls. The palace steps became their classroom, the breeze rustling the pages as they studied.
Kaida squinted at a looping mana diagram. “So this swirl means… I’m about to blow up?”
“No,” Lorien replied, pushing up his glasses. “That swirl means your mana’s destabilizing. You’re about to blow up if you keep pushing energy into it.”
“Right. Totally different.”
“You’re lucky you’re charming enough to get away with being this dumb.”
Kaida snorted. “Who says I’m trying to be charming?”
“It’s the self-deprecating humor. Very effective on academics.”
Lorien’s teaching style was meticulous, borderline obsessive. But he never belittled Kaida, even when he struggled. They built a language of shared ideas—of formations, tactics, and spell theories. Kaida was no genius, but Lorien gave him the tools to understand his limits… and push past them.
Then there was Seraphina.
If sparring with Alric was training, then sparring with her was survival. Her twin daggers cut through the air like streaks of silver. She moved with speed, precision, and a dangerous kind of grace.
But her tongue was sharper.
“Come on, Samurai-boy,” she’d call during drills. “You gonna dance around all day or actually try hitting me?”
Kaida grinned, ducking a sweeping strike and using wind to vault behind her. “I thought you liked it when I danced.”
Her footing faltered—just slightly.
“Don’t get cute with me,” she growled.
“I’m always cute,” he replied with a wink, sending a gust to trip her momentum.
To his surprise, her cheeks turned pink.
That wasn’t the only time.
Seraphina teased everyone, but Kaida was the only one who gave it back—and he gave it well. Their banter became a staple of their sessions, drawing chuckles from the others and adding levity to the bruises. It reminded Kaida of Olivia—the way she used to mock him with love, test his patience just to see him smile.
Sometimes, when Seraphina rolled her eyes and turned away, Kaida caught her smirking to herself.
Evenings were slower. Calmer.
Lysara often invited Kaida to join her for meditation in the palace gardens, where soft blue fireflies hovered among ancient trees and the moonlight filtered through silver leaves. She sat cross-legged beneath the great willow, posture perfect, hands resting on her knees.
Kaida mirrored her… poorly.
“You’re improving,” she said one night, her voice a breeze on still water.
Kaida peeked open one eye. “You think so?”
“I know so,” she said. “Your breathing is steadier. Your presence is calmer.”
He let out a long breath. “Weird. Didn’t think I’d find peace in a place like this.”
“Peace is found where we allow it,” she replied. “Not where we expect it.”
Their conversations were simple, honest. In her presence, Kaida didn’t feel like the outsider. He didn’t have to prove himself. She listened—not just with her ears, but with her whole being.
By the end of the second week, Kaida was no longer the new recruit.
He was part of something.
They fought as a unit now. Alric stood unshakable on the front line. Lorien’s voice rang out with crisp battlefield directions. Seraphina wove in and out of combat like a flame, and Lysara supported with perfect timing, deflecting spells and protecting allies.
Kaida moved like a shadow through the gale—faster than he had any right to be. Wind magic coursed through him like a second heartbeat. His dodges became glides. His lunges became dashes. He weaved through strikes, propelled by air, redirecting his weight with precision.
Temu, watching from the sideline, clicked her tongue. “Fast little runt,” she muttered. “Might be the quickest of the lot.”9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPXzxkwKY7f
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That night, the team gathered in the war chamber, standing before a glowing projection of the lands beyond the Crystal Empire. A forest flickered into view, its many rings shifting in shades of green and gold.
Temu stood before it, arms crossed.
“The Enchanted Forest,” she said. “Tomorrow at dawn, you enter the outer ring.”
Silence.
“It’s saturated with mana. Even the air will feel different. You’ll face low-tier beasts—slimes, goblins, twisted forest creatures. Not smart. But still dangerous. Stay together, move smart, and don’t get cocky.”
Lysara stepped forward. “What’s our mission?”
“Field assessment,” Temu said. “You’ve trained in safety. Now it’s time to see how you hold up in real danger.”
Her voice dropped slightly.
“I don’t enjoy killing. Not even when it’s justified. I sure as hell don’t train you to enjoy it either.”
She looked them over, her amber eyes resting on each face.
“If you can spare a life—do it. But if it’s you or them?” Her gaze hardened. “Make damn sure it’s not you.”
She turned to leave.
Then paused.
Her eyes locked on Kaida.
“You, Come with me.”
She led him down a quiet corridor and out onto the open balcony. Moonlight bathed the stone in soft silver. The wind whispered between columns, cool and gentle.
Without a word, Temu dropped to a knee—just enough to bring her face level with his.
She rested both hands on his shoulders.
Kaida’s heart skipped.
“Listen to me, ru—…Kaida,” she said softly.
He froze. She never used his real name.
Her feline ears drooped slightly. Her gaze was steady but filled with something he hadn’t seen before: fear.
“No amount of training prepares you for what comes next,” she said. “Taking a life—even to protect your own—is a scar you carry forever. It can change you. Break you. Harden you into something you’re not ready to be.”
Her voice lowered to a whisper.
“Can you carry that? Can you look death in the eye and still stand—shoulders up, head high?”
Kaida looked down, swallowing the lump in his throat.
The weight of her words settled heavy in his chest.
Then—
A breeze stirred behind him. Light. Gentle.
It brushed his neck and tousled his hair.
The clouds shifted. The moon spilled its glow across the balcony, washing everything in silver clarity.
Kaida lifted his head.
And smiled.
Not a grin. Not a smirk.
A quiet, genuine smile.
“I was made ready,” he said. “Maybe not in the usual way. But I’m here. And I’m not running.”
He placed his hand gently over hers.
“And it’d be a shame if I couldn’t bounce back after my teacher poured so much energy into me.”
Temu blinked.
Her eyes widened slightly. A faint flush touched her cheeks. A small tear pricked the corner of her eye.
She stood quickly, turning away.
“I—You better not,” she said, her voice flint once again. “I don’t waste time on lost causes.”
She walked off, boots echoing against the stone.
Kaida watched her go.
He couldn’t see her face.
But he didn’t need to.
He already knew—
She was smiling.
And that was enough.
