POV: Cain

  If there’s one thing Luna’s training regime didn’t have, it was mercy. Or breaks. Or water, sometimes. It was all wind, steel, and pain management through passive aggression.

  Day by day, my swordwork evolved — from clumsy stick-filing to something that resembled technique. She taught me stance, rhythm, breathing. Every movement was paired with a burst of wind: parries that deflected through force redirection, sshes that rode air currents for added speed, thrusts guided by streamlining mana through my limbs.

  I was improving. And hurting.

  Blisters lined my palms, thin welts danced across my arms, and my back had the satisfying stiffness of someone who just survived a training montage. My uniform was a mess. The academy’s cleaning staff had probably started a betting pool on how long I’d st before colpsing.

  And I hadn’t even started homework.

  So naturally, I did what any sleep-deprived, magic-bruised teenager with too much pride and too little healing knowledge would do:

  I went to the library.

  The Academy Library – That Glorious, Overbuilt Labyrinth

  The library was enormous — three floors of towering bookshelves, floating staircases, whispering wards, and enough magical texts to summon seventeen world-ending entities if someone mispronounced a vowel. Most of the noble kids avoided it unless a professor threatened their bloodline.

  Me? I was looking for a book on self-treatment. Maybe something like Healing for Idiots Who Refuse to Visit the Infirmary.

  I was scanning the titles along the third floor — holding a thick tome under one arm and grumbling under my breath — when I heard a soft voice behind me.

  “Um... excuse me.”

  I turned.

  And blinked.

  She stood a step below me on the stairs, hugging a stack of books to her chest. Blonde hair, long and slightly curled, fell over one shoulder. Her eyes were an earthy green — soft, wide, and unsure. She wore the standard academy uniform, but hers had the sleeves slightly rolled, as if she was too nervous to ask for a tailor.

  “Hi,” she said quickly, then shrank a little. “Sorry, I… just noticed your arm. You’re bleeding.”

  I looked down.

  Right. Sword nick. Still fresh. Whoops.

  “Eh. Just a scratch,” I said. “Adds character.”

  She frowned — not out of judgment, but like she was genuinely concerned.

  “Would… would you mind if I healed it?”

  I raised a brow. “You do healing?”

  She nodded quickly. “I, um, specialize in it. Most people don’t ask, but I… I like it. Helping, I mean. I’ve just never had—never been asked to... not that anyone has to ask me—sorry.”

  She blushed and looked down, her words tumbling like broken wheels.

  I smiled. Couldn’t help it.

  “Alright. I’ll let you heal me. But only if you promise not to apologize more than twice in one sentence.”

  She looked up, startled. Then nodded. “Okay. I mean—yes.”

  She set her books down, stepped closer, and held out her hands. Her fingers were warm. Delicate. She murmured something under her breath, and soft green light pooled around her palms.

  The pain faded immediately. The skin closed. The welt disappeared like it had never been there.

  “You’re good,” I muttered, flexing my fingers. “Like, actually good.”

  She blushed again, stepping back. “Thank you.”

  “I’m Cain,” I said. “Cain William.”

  “Oh… I’m Elira,” she said softly, folding her hands together. “Just… Elira.”

  “No surname?”

  She shook her head. “I’m from the low quarter of Aelthar. We don’t… really have family names.”

  So. Commoner. Elf. Healer. Shy. Pretty. And way too polite for a pce like this.

  Her body was delicate but curved — an hourgss figure, already developed for someone our age, which she seemed completely unaware of. Her uniform fit a bit too tightly around the chest, though it was clearly not on purpose. Her posture screamed “I hope I’m not bothering anyone” even while healing a bleeding idiot in a library.

  I tilted my head. “So, do you just roam the library looking for injured guys to patch up?”

  Her cheeks went crimson. “N-no! I just… I saw you. And I thought, maybe, if I helped, you wouldn’t—uh—hate me? Not that you would. You seem nice—well, not mean, but—ugh, I’m sorry.”

  I chuckled. “Okay. That’s one apology. You’ve got one more before I start charging per word.”

  That got the tiniest smile out of her. Victory.

  She picked up her books again, pausing as I tucked mine under my arm.

  “You’re a wind mage, right?” she asked.

  “Technically. Bonded to a high spirit. Self-trained. No clue what I’m doing.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re bonded to a spirit?”

  “Yeah. Luna.”

  Elira looked over my shoulder — where Luna stood, arms crossed, watching us from a distance like a suspicious chaperone at a school dance.

  “She’s beautiful,” Elira said softly.

  “She’s terrifying,” I replied. “But yeah. Also that.”

  There was a beat of silence. Comfortable, oddly.

  Then she smiled shyly. “If you get hurt again… you can find me. I’m usually here. Third floor. Healing section.”

  I nodded. “I might take you up on that.”

  She turned to go, then hesitated. “It was nice meeting you, Cain.”

  I offered a zy grin. “Likewise, Elira. Thanks for the arm.”

  And just like that, she disappeared around the corner, light footsteps fading.

  Luna walked up next to me.

  “She’s dangerous.”

  I blinked. “What? She’s a shy little healer with a voice made of warm tea.”

  “She’s kind,” Luna said simply. “People like her always see more than they say.”

  I stared after Elira, thoughtful.

  “…Good.”

  Later That Night – Sword Training, Luna Style

  I barely had time to eat after leaving the library before Luna dragged me back into our training space.

  “Today we intensify,” she said.

  “Great. Because I was really hoping to lose feeling in my spine.”

  She handed me the sword again. This time, she added a weighted cloak. Then had me run ps. Then practice cuts. Then mid-air wind dashes with mana surging through my legs.

  And when I colpsed?

  She had me do it again.

  “You’re not there yet,” she said, voice calm as always. “But you will be.”

  And as I dragged my aching limbs to bed, I couldn’t help but feel… yeah. Maybe she was right.

  Even if it killed me.