“Wrong!”

  Zaek shouted, casually picking at his ear. His voice cracked like a whip.

  Aelira flinched, startled. Her control over mana slipped instantly.

  With her strength vanishing all at once, her vision swam under pressure, and she collapsed—barely catching herself with both hands.

  “You’re burning through your mana too fast,” Zaek scolded, his tone flat but firm. “If you keep doing that, you’ll be lucky to just collapse.”

  He raised a hand, offering it to Aelira.

  “I’m telling you—you can’t pull mana all at once. You have to do it slowly. Why do you keep pushing past your limit?”

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  She always tried to either forcefully pull mana all at once or scatter it too randomly—inevitably leading to collapse.

  “Well, enough for today, I guess,” Zaek sighed, brushing snow off his shoulder.

  “Sensei… why aren't you angry?”

  “Hm? Because you failed?”

  He gave her a smirk. “I’m not. If you’re having trouble learning, that means I’ve failed to teach you properly. But still… I don’t think there’s anyone stronger than you at your age.”

  She blinked, surprised. Her eyes lit up with hope, and she quickly stood up straight.

  Well, he thought, she learns some things fast, others slow—but we’re making progress. I guess.

  “But that doesn’t mean you can relax,” he added. “Keep pushing.”

  “I will!” she said, clenching her fists, determination blazing in her eyes.

  Damn… Zaek mused. I want to tell her to rest and take it easy, but…

  Suddenly, the sharp clash of steel echoed from the training grounds.

  “What was that?”

  They glanced at each other—and without a word, began walking toward the sound.

  ***

  On the sparring ground, Lysric and Telgit were locked in combat.

  “Arrgh!”

  With a shout, Lysric lunged at Telgit from the right. Telgit deflected the blow, forcing Lysric’s blade upward—leaving a wide opening. But Lysric sensed the danger just in time, stepping hard and flipping backward out of range.

  “Nice move,” Zaek murmured, placing a hand on the railing, observing closely.

  Aelira looked down, her brows furrowed in concern.

  Telgit pressed forward. Their blades clashed again and again, the sharp ring of iron sparking in the air. But Lysric was holding his own—his form, quick and deliberate, met every strike with confidence.

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  “ARGHHHH!”

  A roar tore from Lysric’s throat. His speed surged—his attacks became faster, more erratic, more forceful. Telgit’s footing began to falter as he was forced on the defensive.

  But after a few more exchanges, Lysric’s breath began to give out. His arms slowed.

  Telgit seized the moment, deflecting the next blow and bringing his blade to Lysric’s throat.

  “Well fought, young lord,” Telgit panted. “That was excellent.”

  Lysric said nothing. He stood motionless, head lowered, his ragged breathing the only sound.

  Lysric… Aelira watched him, worry rising in her chest.

  “…One more.”

  “Young lord,” Josef spoke carefully. “That’s enough for today. You’re exhausted. And Master Telgit too, surely.”

  “He’s right, young lord,” Telgit nodded. “You’ve done more than enough. I recommend you rest—”

  “How long are you going to be my nanny, Josef?”

  The venom in Lysric’s voice sent a chill through the air. His eyes—dark and heavy—seemed to pierce straight through one’s soul.

  Many wouldn’t have been able to meet that gaze.

  “P-Pardon, my lord?” Josef stammered.

  “You heard me,” Lysric said coldly. He picked his sword up from the ground and pointed it straight at Josef. “I said one more. Telgit, raise your sword.”

  Telgit hesitated, visibly uneasy. “I-I… I understand, my lord.”

  The sparring resumed. Steel met steel again, and the courtyard rang with sparks and fury.

  Zaek narrowed his eyes.

  “…That kid… he didn’t used to have eyes like that.”

  “He doesn’t look good,” Aelira whispered. “Should we talk to him?”

  “You shouldn’t,” Zaek said without looking at her. “Not now, at least.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. He won’t listen to a word I say. And if I show up beside you, he’ll close himself off even more.”

  He turned his gaze back to Lysric. “Don’t forget this—that’s the face of someone being led by hatred.”

  His tone dropped, low and heavy. “And that never ends well.”

  He looked her in the eyes. “If you leave him like this, he’ll turn into something unrecognizable. You might be the only one who can save him.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you and he aren’t so different. I don’t know what his problem is, but I know it’s somehow tied to you. So you’d better pick a good time to talk to him.”

  Aelira looked again at Lysric. There was something burning behind his eyes—like a soul slowly consuming itself.

  ***

  Later that night, Lysric lay curled on his bed, eyes wide open, thoughts spiraling.

  For a week now, his father had been visiting him every morning after breakfast. Yet… it only made him feel worse.

  “Just leave me alone…”

  He curled deeper under the blanket, wishing time would stop—or that everything would simply end.

  That night, unable to sleep from thirst, he reached for the water carafe. Empty.

  “Ugh… I’m so thirsty.”

  Why can’t I just sleep?

  He rose slowly and made his way toward the faucet to refill it.

  As he rubbed his eyes, he noticed a light beneath his father’s door.

  Is he still awake?

  He heard voices from within.

  “You’re telling me—”

  He leaned closer.

  Cassian? What are they talking about at this hour?

  “If Uncle wastes this chance, we won’t have a Hero at all. Do you want to leave the seat empty until someone else claims it—years later?”

  Uncle? No… don’t tell me Father’s thinking—

  “We can’t do that…”

  “Yes, we can’t,” Cassian said firmly. “And if Aelira becomes the next Hero, then the family head will be Aunt Miriel, without question.”

  “…”

  “Father, if you want to survive, Lysric has to be the Hero. You have no other choice.”

  Survive…? What do you mean with that?

  “It’s my son. Can’t I even give him time to mourn his mother?”

  “No. You can’t. The sword already chose Aelira. He may even have to defeat her while she still holds it.”

  Lysric gasped quietly—but too loud.

  “Is someone there? ”

  Cassian walked to the door and flung it open. The hallway was empty.

  After checking both directions, he closed it again and returned inside.

  “I thought someone was there.”

  “...”

  Lysric, holding his breath, waited until the door clicked shut—then ran back to his room, diving under the blanket.

  The sword… chose Aelira? What’s that supposed to mean? And what did he mean Father can’t survive if I’m not the Hero?

  What do I do? What can I even do?

  Cassian’s voice echoed in his mind:

  “He may even have to defeat her while she still holds the sword.”

  I don’t want to lose Father too. No… I won’t lose him.

  If I have to bury Aelira to protect him… then so be it. I’ll bury her.

  He pulled the blanket tighter and stared at the mirror across from his bed.

  The same look burned in his reflection—the one from the training grounds.

  “Arghhh…”

  I won’t let Father down!