Time passed. 

Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. And just like that, six whole months have gone by. 

Throughout those six months, Mother trained me as if my life truly depended on it. Sword drills until my arms trembled. Eidra control until my head ached. Arcis absorption until my core felt overwhelmed.

It wasn’t wasted effort.

Not long ago, my core finally pushed past its limits, entering the third phase.

I wasn’t the only one training anymore.

Valmira trained alongside me as well.

Compared to mine, her regimen was gentler, less about strain, more about repetition and control. She was still early in her growth, her core not yet fully settled, so the focus was simple: stability before anything else.  

I was surprised she was still here. Six months was a long time. Too long. Just how grave had the goblin situation become?

I wandered near the dirt road, my steps slow and unhurried, until my gaze drifted toward a column of soldiers marching toward the elven lands. Their armor caught the light as they moved in tight formation, banners low, expressions grim.

After Letharion’s departure six months ago, the traffic hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had grown worse. More soldiers crossed into elven territory with each passing week, and fewer returned the same way.  

I heard footsteps crunching against the dirt behind me.

“You’re spacing out again.”

I turned to see Valmira walking toward me, hands clasped behind her back, her pace unhurried. She stopped beside me and followed my gaze toward the road, where the soldiers had already passed.

“They’re loud,” she said after a moment. “Even when they try not to be.”

“They want to be noticed,” I replied. “Just not questioned.”

She hummed, clearly unconvinced, then looked at me instead. “You always look like that when you’re thinking too hard.”

“Like what?”

She squinted, tilting her head. “Like an old man trapped in a child’s body.”

I frowned. “Hey.” She wasn’t wrong.

She smiled immediately, satisfied. “See? That face.”

I let out a quiet sigh and looked away again. “You shouldn’t wander this close to the road.”

“And you shouldn’t wander alone,” she shot back. “Yet here we are.”

I glanced at her. “You’re not scared?”

She shrugged. “Of soldiers? No. They’re boring.” Then, after a pause, she added, “Goblins are scarier.”

“That’s… fair.”

She kicked a small stone off the road, watching it tumble into the grass. “Do you think they’ll stop soon?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Valmira noticed. She always did.

“…They won’t, will they?”

I shook my head. “Probably not.”

She frowned, then puffed her cheeks. “That’s annoying.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. “That’s one way to put it.”

She glanced up at me, eyes bright again, as if the heaviness hadn’t lingered at all. “Race you back?”

“What?”

She was already moving.

“Last one there has to clean the training yard!”

“Hey—!”

I took off after her, her laughter carrying ahead of me as the road, the soldiers, and the looming border faded into the background, if only for a little while.

She was already halfway down the path by the time I realized she was serious. 

“Hey! That’s not fair!” I shouted, sprinting after her. 

Valmira laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, echoing around as she glanced back at me. “You hesitated! That counts!” 

“I didn’t agree to the rules!” 

“You didn’t ask!” she shot back, somehow picking up speed.

She was fast. Faster than she had any right to be. Her steps were light, almost bouncing, while mine were longer but heavier, kicking up dust as I ran. For a moment, I actually had to try. 

“How are you this fast?!” 

“I’m not fast, you’re just slow!” Her giggles vibrated through the air. 

Then she tripped.

Not badly. Just enough for her to stumble forward with a small yelp. 

I reacted without thinking, reaching out and grabbing her sleeve, pulling her upright before she could fall. We both lost balance anyway and tumbled into the grass, rolling once before stopping.

For a second, there was silence. 

Then Valmira burst out laughing. 

I blinked, lying flat on my back, staring up at the sky. “You did that on purpose.”

She rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand. “Maybe.” 

“That was cheating.”

“You caught me,” she said smugly. “So I still win.” 

“How does that make sense?” 

“It just does.” She stuck her tongue out at me. 

I sat up with a groan, brushing off my clothes. “You’re impossible.”

She grinned. “You’re slow.” 

“That is objectively false.” 

“Then why am I winning?” 

I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped. 

She had that look again. Bright eyes. Messy hair. Completely unbothered by soldiers, borders, or goblins. Just a kid enjoying the moment. 

I looked away first. 

“…Rematch,” I muttered. 

Her eyes light up immediately. “Really!?” 

“Yeah. But this time, no tripping.”

She stood up and held out a hand to help me. “Deal!” 

I took it. 

We lined up again, feet in the dirt, both leaning forward. 

She glanced at me. “On there.” 

“One.” 

“Two.”

She bolted. 

“Hey!” 

Her laughter rang out again as I chased after her, the world shrinking down to nothing but the sound of footsteps, grass, and breath. For a little while, there was no future to worry about. 

Just the race.

I pushed harder, lengthening my stride, ignoring the burn in my legs. Valmira was quick, but she wasn’t built for endurance yet. Little by little, the gap closed. 

She noticed. Her laughter turned into short huffs as she glanced back. “Hey. You’re not supposed to catch up.”

“I am now.”

I surged forward, brushing past her just as the path curved toward the house. My foot hit the stone near the steps first. I stumbled, caught myself, then spun around with my hands raised.

“I win.”

Valmira skidded to a stop beside me, hands on her knees, breathing hard. She stared at me for a second, then frowned. “You cheated.”

“I did not.”

“You ran faster.”

“That is how races work.”

She straightened and crossed her arms, clearly offended. “Rematch.”

“Later,” I said, still catching my breath.

She opened her mouth to argue when the door creaked open behind us.

“Having fun?”

We both froze.

Mom stood in the doorway, arms loosely folded, her expression soft in a way I did not see often. Her gaze moved between us, taking in the flushed faces and messy clothes.

Valmira nodded enthusiastically. “We were racing.”

Mom smiled faintly. “I could tell.”

For a moment, she simply watched us with a fond expression.

Then the softness faded.

“Kairon,” she said calmly, “you’re late.”

I sighed. “I figured.”

She stepped aside, gesturing toward the yard. “Stretch. Five minutes.”

My shoulders slumped. “Yes, Mom.”

Valmira blinked. “Am I training too?”

Mom glanced at her, considering. “Light drills only. Control work.”

Valmira’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yes. And no racing during it.”

Valmira groaned. I laughed.

Mom raised an eyebrow, amusement still lingered in her expression.

We moved into the yard, the warmth of the moment giving way to familiar routine. Wooden swords waited where they always did. The ground was already worn from countless sessions.

Dad was already there; he waved at us. 

Valmira waved back with both hands raised high. She’s way too energetic. 

I picked up a wooden sword, testing my grip on it.

As I took my stance, I glanced sideways.

Valmira caught my eye and smiled, small and bright.

For just a moment longer, the race lingered.

Then training began.

Mom stepped onto the packed dirt, rolling her shoulders once as if she were about to stretch rather than fight. She picked up the wooden sword resting against the fence, testing its weight in her hand.

“Same rules as always,” she said. “No rushing. No forcing strength.”

I nodded and took my stance, tightening my grip.

Valmira moved to the side with Dad, sitting on the steps with her hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on us.

Mom lifted her sword and tapped the ground lightly. “Come.”

I stepped forward and swung.

She did not move her feet. Her wrist turned just enough for her blade to meet mine, redirecting the strike to the side with a dull knock. The force of my own swing carried me past her, and I had to adjust quickly to avoid overstepping.

“Too wide,” she said gently.

I turned and came again, this time aiming lower, adjusting my angle. She tilted her blade and caught it again, the impact traveling up my arms and into my shoulders.

“Better,” she said. “But you’re thinking about winning.”

I gritted my teeth and circled her, trying to find an opening. She stood relaxed, posture loose, as if she were waiting rather than defending.

I lunged.

She stepped half a pace to the side and pressed her sword against my wrist. I felt the pressure immediately, firm but controlled, forcing my grip to loosen.

I stepped back, shaking out my hand.

Mom lowered her blade. “Breathe first. Move second.”

I inhaled slowly and nodded.

This time, I advanced carefully, testing her defense with smaller strikes. Each one was met and turned aside with minimal movement. A shift of the wrist. A slight angle change. She barely adjusted her stance, yet every attack failed to land.

“You’re stronger now,” she said, watching me closely. “But strength doesn’t replace balance.”

I adjusted my footing and tried again, slower, focusing on my center. My next strike landed closer, close enough that her sleeve brushed my arm before she redirected it.

Her lips curved upward. “There.”

I felt a small spark of satisfaction.

She finally stepped back, just one step, and raised her sword again. “Again.”

We continued like that, strike and deflection, my movements growing steadier while hers remained effortless. She corrected me as we went, never raising her voice, never striking with intent to hurt.

When she finally tapped my shoulder with the flat of her blade, she smiled apologetically. “You left yourself open.”

I exhaled and lowered my sword. “I know.”

She reached out and adjusted my grip herself, her touch light and familiar. “You’re doing well,” she said quietly. “Don’t rush yourself.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle in.

From the steps, Valmira clapped softly, eyes shining.

Mom glanced over at her and smiled. “Your turn next. Just the basics.”

Valmira jumped to her feet, excited.

I stepped aside, breathing hard but steady, watching as Mom shifted her focus without losing that same warmth.

Training continued, quiet and unhurried, the afternoon stretching on as the world beyond the yard stayed far away.

Valmira sat cross-legged on the grass, hands resting on her knees as Mom knelt in front of her. The air around them felt calmer somehow, less strained than during my training. Mom placed two fingers lightly against Valmira’s forehead.

“Close your eyes,” she said gently. “Don’t pull. Just listen.”

Valmira obeyed immediately, her shoulders relaxing as she took a slow breath. The arcis around her stirred, faint and pale, gathering in uneven wisps that drifted toward her chest. It was nothing dramatic. No glow. No pressure. Just a quiet draw, like water seeping into dry soil.

“Good,” Mom murmured. “Let it settle. Don’t rush it.”

Valmira’s brow furrowed in concentration. The arcis hesitated once, then steadied, sinking into her core little by little. Her breathing evened out as the energy stopped resisting, becoming part of her rather than something separate.

I watched silently from the side. Compared to my own training, this felt almost peaceful.

After a few minutes, Mom withdrew her hand. “That’s enough for today.”

Valmira opened her eyes and blinked. “Already?”

“Yes,” Mom said, smiling. “Stability grows slowly. Forcing it only cracks what you’re trying to strengthen.”

Valmira nodded, satisfied, and stood up, brushing grass from her clothes. She looked pleased in a quiet way, like she had done something important even if no one else could see it.

Mom turned toward me. “Kairon, hydrate. Then stretch.”

I groaned but obeyed, reaching for the water jug near the steps.

The yard settled into an easy silence, broken only by the wind passing through the trees.

Then someone entered the backyard.

Mom’s head lifted instantly. 

Valmira froze. 

Dad crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. 

I felt it too. A familiar presence, steady and unmistakable. 

Letharion had returned.

{Author’s Note}

Hello, readers! Alamvex here.

I wanted to let you all know that I’ve slightly changed my writing style, starting with this chapter. The main reason is pretty simple: I realized that most of you are probably reading this on your phones, while I usually don’t. When I went back and reread my chapters on mobile, the paragraphs felt way too long 😭

So, to make the reading experience smoother and easier on the eyes, I’ll be sticking to this chapter’s writing style for future chapters.

As always, let me know what you think. Your feedback in the comments really helps and is always appreciated.