Since then, the days bled into one another, bound by routine. Each sunrise brought the same rhythm. A duel with a raven or two, then a harsher trial at Anora's hands. When she was absent, others would fill in the void.
Sometimes, Elysia would come and challenge him, their blades clashing. Victory would either barely be obtained or it would end in a tie, with both of them collapsing from exhaustion.
Other times, he would wander around. He pestered Zike while he tinkered, drew knowing looks from the librarian at the Emberlight Atheneum as they argued over complicated subjects, or found himself among the Ravens, passing idle hours in their company.
The weeks folded into months, the months folding into years, and with them came growth. His body hardened, his reflexes sharpened, his thoughts quicker. But most importantly, he would come closer to having a body that could match others.
Now, Pheo was cutting across his own obstacle course beneath the late afternoon sun, sweat trailing down his brow. Targets rose and fell around him, and his hands never stilled.
A sling snapped taut, sending a stone whistling into a distant dummy's chest. A knife spun from his fingers into the gut of an "ambusher" lunging from cover. He pivoted with a sword in hand, the blade sweeping low to fell a line of straw soldiers before they could press closer.
Every weapon became an extension of him, and every motion bled into the next. Then, a sudden whisper broke the rhythm, the high-pitched hiss of metal slicing air. Needles. Dozens of them, fanning toward him in a deadly spread.
Pheo rolled aside, sand kicking up where the volley struck. Before he could rise fully, a shadow plunged down. Aeris, swift and merciless, her blade glinting with the promise of pain.
Instinct drove him. Steel met steel, his sword barely catching hers with a jarring clash. The impact sent vibrations rattling through his arms, dust rising in a puff around their feet.
Aeris' eyes narrowed, the weight of her strike pressing him into the ground. Then came Aero, sliding in from the flank with a blur of movement. Pheo twisted, his blade snapping free of Aeris' lock just in time to parry Aero's thrust.
Sparks spat where their weapons scraped. The twins wove around him in practiced rhythm, alternating blows, feints, and lunges meant to confuse and overwhelm. Pheo fought to match them, blocking one, countering the other, his body straining to keep pace.
They moved like predators circling prey, each strike testing his defenses, each step funneling where they wanted. Pheo hadn't realized what they were doing until it was too late.
A low rumble traveled through the ground, heavy and menacing.
The sand erupted upward as a massive shadow fell across him. Rocco stood there, his massive fists already arcing downward. Pheo barely threw himself back, the giant's strike hammering into the earth where he had stood.
The ground split under the impact, sand spraying in a stinging cloud that bit at Pheo's skin. The sand was still settling when Pheo straightened, brushing grit from his arms. His chest rose and fell with quickened breaths, but his eyes gleamed with something sharper than exhaustion.
"You'll need to try better next time if you want to catch me off guard," he said, forcing a grin as he leveled his sword toward them. Aero chuckled, lowering his weapon but not his smirk.
"Don't flatter yourself. You've just grown too used to us. We can predict each other's attacks now. It's basically routine. After years of fighting with each other, we can read you, and you can read us."
Pheo shook his head, denying it outright. "No. That's not it. You weren't taking this seriously. I know just how deadly it would be if you guys would fight normally."
Before Aero could fire back, Rocco's heavy steps shook the sand. His massive hand came down and mussed Pheo's hair like one would a younger brother's. "That's because our goal is to train you kid. Not to kill ya."
His grin widened beneath his beard, the kind that came with experience and mischief. Pheo scowled, jerking his head away and batting Rocco's hand off. "It wasn't like that the first time I fought any of you."
Aeris sheathed her blade, her movements measured and precise as always. "That's because it couldn't be," she said, her voice even but carrying a rare warmth. "You needed to experience for yourself the difference in strength. To feel how small you were against us."
The words struck something in Pheo, dragging up memories of those early duels. Each fight had been a storm. Blows that knocked the wind out of him, precision that left him gasping, speed that outpaced every desperate strike.
They hadn't pulled back then. They couldn't. If they had, he never would've understood how wide the gulf between them truly was, how much he had to fill to become as strong as them.
Aero tilted his head, smirking again. "And yet, look at you now. Standing after we came at you together. Not bad for someone your age, runt." Pheo sheathed his sword and muttered, "I'm not a runt anymore, Aero. I'm 15."
That earned him a laugh from Rocco, booming and carefree, while Aeris simply regarded him with a nod that carried more weight than words. From then on, the pattern became clear.
Each Raven fought him differently. Testing him, frustrating him, teaching him in ways Pheo only noticed after the bruises healed. Rocco crushed him with raw force until he learned to move light in his feet. Aero hounded him with speed and feints, drilling the art of reading intent. Aeris punished every lapse in precision until his movements became sharp and exact, leaving no room for error.
Whenever he collapsed, panting and beaten into the dirt, a hand would always reach down to pull him back up, to remind him that the lesson wasn't over. And as time blurred, measured less by days than by the scars he carried and the victories that he began to earn.
And slowly, the boy who was once struggling to keep his footing in the dust grew steadier, stronger, sharper. In return, the Ravens shifted around him. They no longer saw him as the child Anora had brought in.
They saw him as kin, someone raised by their own hands, someone shaped by their flock. They sparred with him, corrected him, teased him mercilessly, but beneath it all, there was pride.
Pheo might have been bruised, battered, and worn thin by their trials, but he was theirs. And for all the harshness of their lessons, he wouldn't have had it any other way.
Snapping him back, they told Pheo to hurry before Elysia's meeting ended. At once, Pheo glanced up at the sun, gauging the hour by its position over the horizon. His stomach dropped at the realization, bolting from the camp and towards The Free City.
The sight that met him made him falter for a bit. At first glance, the city looked almost indistinguishable from when he had first arrived, its skyline still a jagged forest of stacked buildings that climbed over one another in uneven tiers.
Narrow bridges still spanned the gaps, and the air still thrummed with the same restless energy that had first greeted him. But as he moved closer, the differences began to reveal themselves.
The rickety scaffolds that once held neighborhoods together had been replaced with sturdy stone and timber frameworks. Bridges that had swayed underfoot now stood solid, reinforced to bear greater weight.
The clustered blocks of homes, once looking ready to topple, now carried the lines of reinforcement and care, their edges sharper and foundations braced. It was the same city in spirit, loud, bold, chaotic. But its chaos was now cradled in order, as though the city had grown into its own skin.
Pheo slipped into the maze of alleys, weaving through the city's veins as though retracing an old memory. Around him, daily life surged with the vibrance of a place alive. Children tore through the streets in a blur of laughter, one of them nearly colliding with him before vanishing into the crowd.
Merchants barked their prices over one another, waving hands over baskets of fruit, bolts of cloth, and salvaged tools. A cart rolled past, its driver cursing as Pheo darted aside just in time.
In shaded corners, artisans plied their crafts. A smith hammering molten metal, the steady rhythm cutting through the clamor. A weaver with fingers flying over a loom, colorful threads spilling into patterns. An old woman stinging beads into charms said to guard against misfortune.
From nearby windows, the smell of bread and spiced stew drifted down, mingling with smoke from forges and the tang of leather. Everywhere, life pressed close. Gambling shouting over dice, performers drawing circles of onlookers with tricks of flame, Concordist patrols pacing with practiced order.
The Free City was still itself. Untamed, unrelenting, but now steadied, like a wild current guided by unseen banks. Pheo pressed on, navigating the twists of the alleys until a last he broke into an open square.
There, rising above the surrounding rooftops, stood a tall building marked by the banners of The Concordists. Its walls gleamed with clean-cut stone, its sharp lines speaking of intent and permanence.
He entered the building, the Concordist personnel at the desk barely lifting their heads before offering a nod of recognition. Pheo had been here often enough that his presence no longer drew suspicion.
The attendant, a wiry man with a clipped tone, looked up only when Pheo approached the desk. "Elysia?" Pheo asked, leaning forward slightly. "Still in session," the man replied, not unkindly, but with the weariness of someone repeating the same phrase for the fifth time today.
Pheo gave a small nod, then drifted toward the lobby's benches. The room was simple, dressed in clean lines and muted tones, but his restless hands found ways to busy themselves.
He tapped a bronze ornament fixed to the wall, turned a decorative globe half a rotation, and idly traced the carved pattern on the armrest until the sound of boots on stone snapped his attention forward.
The meeting doors swung open, and there she was. Elysia stepped into the lobby, her stride carrying the crisp authority of her station, though her face lit the instant she saw him.
Behind her marched several guards clad in the capital's insignia, their armor polished to a blinding sheen, their every motion steeped in formality. Their eyes locked onto Pheo as though he were an inconvenience in their path.
"Pheo!" Elysia's voice broke through the stiffness like sunlight through storm clouds. Her expression softened, brightened, then bloomed into a smile that made the long meeting she had endured seem weightless.
She ran forward, skirts brushing against the polished floor, ignoring the startled flickers in her escorts' eyes. The guards shifted, shoulders squaring, lips tightening as if this display was beneath her station.
Pheo rose to meet her, his grin tugging up at the corner of his mouth. "About time you showed up," he said lightly, though his chest eased with relief at the sight of her. The nearest guard stepped forward with a faint sneer.
"You'll watch your tone in her presence, boy." His voice dripped with disdain, each word coated with the superiority of someone who believed their badge elevated them above all others. Another added, quieter but no less sharp, "Unfitting company."
Elysia's eyes narrowed. "That's enough," she said, her warmth vanishing into steel for just an instant. The guards faltered under her gaze, silenced, though her scowls lingered like shadows at the edges of the room.
Then, just as quickly, her brightness returned as she turned back to Pheo, her eyes sparking with familiarity. "Ready for another duel?" Pheo chuckled, brushing a thumb across his knuckles, his body already remembering the weight of their past sparring matches. "Always."
They held each other's gaze for a beat, the kind of moment steeped in unspoken history. Elysia smirked. "Try not to trip over your own feet this time. I don't need a repeat of last week."
"That wasn't a trip," Pheo shot back, narrowing his eyes. "You shoved me."
"I barely touched you."
"You used both hands."
"That's called skill." She grinned wider, the same grin she used when they were children sneaking out past curfew to the Crimson Hall, daring each other to do something reckless.
Pheo shook his head, though his lips betrayed him with a crooked smile. "We'll see how much 'skill' you've got left after today."
"Oh, I'm counting on it," she said, her tone playful yet sharp, like she already anticipated the rhythm of their next clash.
Without waiting for permission or explanation, Elysia tugged at his arm, guiding him down the hall. The guards moved to follow, but she raised a hand, her command sharp and unquestionable. "Stay here."
They hesitated, their pride bruised but bound by duty, and Elysia didn't wait for their compliance. She pulled Pheo along, their steps quick and familiar, weaving through corridors and side passages until the buzz of the lobby faded behind them.
At one point she paused, slipping into a smaller side chamber lined with racks of training gear. Without ceremony, she unpinned her formal cloak and set it aside, then loosened the clasp of her polished uniform.
Beneath, she wore a lighter tunic and trousers already fitted for movement, a subtle reminder that she always came prepared. She laced her gloves tight, testing the grip before flashing a grin.
"What?" she asked when she caught him watching. "Expect me to duel you in full regalia? I'd win anyway." Pheo chuckled. "You'd trip on the cloak before you even raised your sword."
"Spoken like someone who would definitely trip," she fired back, shouldering past him as if to emphasize her point. By the time they reached their haven, she no longer carried the weight of her station, only the lightness of a fighter ready for a challenge.
It was a secluded courtyard, hidden from prying eyes and unreachable by the daily bustle of the Concordist building. A canopy of climbing ivy softened the stone walls, and the ground bore the faint scuffs of their countless sparring matches.
Sunlight filtered down in broken beams, catching on the worn edges of practice dummies and scarred stone tiles. It was their place, untouched by formality, by politics, by the weight of the capital's presence.
Here, they weren't royalty and wanderer. They weren't bound by meetings, by adults, or expectations. Here, they were just Pheo and Elysia, two friends who had never stopped challenging each other, who laughed even as they struck, who carried a trust too deep to be shaken.
The courtyard carried the familiar weight of their history, the stones beneath their feet bearing the scars of countless bouts. Pheo stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders, while Elysia twirled her blade once before settling into a stance.
"Don't hold back," she teased, raising a brow. "Wasn't planning to," Pheo replied, grabbing a training sword from the rack. With a sly grin, he also slid a small knife into his belt and tucked a sling into the cord around his wrist.
They circled each other, the tension stretched taut until Elysia struck first. Her blade cut down in a sharp arc, quick and precise. Pheo parried, the impact ringing out across the courtyard.
She pressed instantly, chaining another strike, then another, her rhythm fluid and relentless, each motion slowing into the next like water. "You've gotten sharper," Pheo said, deflecting one strike with the flat of his sword, then ducking under another that skimmed too close to his shoulder.
He rolled forward, drawing his knife in the same motion and flicking it toward her side, though she twisted just in time. "I'd hope so." Elysia swung in low, forcing him to hop back. "We spent two hours debating the Ember Pact's remnants. If nothing else, I've learned how to keep my patience, and sharpen my edge."
Pheo spun his sling and released a stone that cracked against the tiles at her feet, making her skip aside. "The Ember Pact? I thought they were gone as soon as Elion met his end."
"Gone?" She scoffed, stepping in with a sudden three-strike flurry. Pheo blocked the first, barely redirected the second, and had to use his knife to knock the third wide. "They were never gone. The pact was just a mask. Underneath it all were radicals waiting for someone to stir them up."
"Sounds like fun," Pheo muttered, lunging forward with his sword. Their blades collided, sparks spitting where steel kissed steel. "Of course you'd call it fun," she said with a laugh, twisting away.
He dropped the sword with one hand and whipped the knife again, angling it for her ribs. She twisted out of reach, answering with a sharp kick to his side. He stumbled back, grinning.
"You're still full of tricks," she said, catching her breath. "And you're still as predictable as ever," he shot back. Her eyes narrowed in mock offense. "Predictable?" She surged forward, chaining high, low, then a sudden spin that nearly clipped his shoulder.
"Fine," he admitted, narrowly avoiding the last strike. "Less predictable. Still slower than me though."
"Bold words," she countered, knocking his sling stone from the air with her blade, "for someone who forgot his own birthday." Pheo hesitated at her words, his grin faltering.
"You think I wouldn't notice?" Her tone softened as she reset her stance, though her eyes never left his. "Your awakening. It should be seen, shouldn't it? You once told me your birthday was the first of January. Yet when that day came, you treated it like any other."
"No celebration, no sign you even remembered. And really, of all the dates you could've chosen, you picked the start of the year? Typical for someone like you, really." Pheo's lips twitched at her remark.
Then, without a word, he lunged, his sword flashing as if her jab had been the spark he'd been waiting for. Elysia met his strike with a laugh, the clash ringing through the courtyard. "Oh, did I hit a nerve?"
"You talk too much," he growled, driving her back with a flurry of blows. He switched weapons mid-strike, tossing the sword to his left hand and slashing with the knife in his right, forcing her to adjust her rhythm.
But she adapted quickly, her blade spinning to meet each feint. She slipped inside his reach and chained two strikes in rapid succession, then a third that nearly knocked the knife from his hand.
"And you hide too much," she countered, her tone steady even as she pressed him hard. "Forgetting your birthday, pretending like it doesn't matter. It does."
He twisted free, rolling behind her and loosing another sling stone that whistled past her cheek. "It's not like I forgot on purpose," he said, panting now. "I just… I don't remember when it really is. I only know that it's this year."
Elysia stopped her forward rush, her eyes flickering with something gentler. She shifted back into stance, blade poised, but her words were softer than her strikes. "Then I guess we'll just have to keep dueling until it happens."
Her stance tightened. Then, without warning, she surged forward in a full frontal assault. No more playful testing, this was pressure. Each strike drove Pheo back a step, her blade chaining attack after attack with near-perfect rhythm.
High, low, diagonal, thrust. There were no pauses, no hesitation in her strikes. She was pushing him, making him react instead of think.
Good, he thought.
Because reacting was when he was at his best.
He kept giving ground, drawing her forward, letting her think she had him cornered. She pressed even harder, sensing an opening, raising her blade for a final decisive arc until–
He slipped his foot out just as she lunged.
Her momentum betrayed her.
She stumbled forward–
And crashed right into him.
They both hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, breathless. But neither hesitated, her blade snapping up to his neck as his knife already pressed to hers. They stared at one another, breaths mingling, tension thick, but not from the weapons.
"When's yours?" Pheo asked, smirking despite the cold steel at his throat.
Elysia blinked. "My what?"
"Awakening."
She huffed. "Secret."
"That so?"
"If I don't get to know when you awaken," she said, pressing her blade just a hair closer, "Then you don't get to know mine." A beat of silence between them. Their blades dangerously close.
Which was exactly when someone cleared their throat from above them. "Well," came a dry, amused voice, "I leave for two days, and I return to find lovebirds in my courtyard."
Both froze. Slowly, they turned their heads to see Anora standing with her arms crossed, dusty from travel, eyebrow raised like she was witnessing the funniest thing she'd seen all week.
It took them another solid heartbeat before they realized the exact position they were in. Elysia was squarely on top of Pheo, blades still crossed between them. They launched apart like startled cats.
Elysia scrambled to her feet so fast she nearly tripped again, turning away with her face burning. Pheo dusted himself off aggressively, refusing to make eye contact with either of them.
Anora snorted. "Relax. I've walked in on worse positions than that."
"That doesn't help," Pheo muttered under his breath. She ignored him though, her gaze dropped to the weapons scattered around him. The sword, the knife, the sling. "When," she asked flatly, "are you going to decide on a weapon?"
Pheo blinked at her. "...Do I have to?"
"Yes," Anora said without hesitation. He frowned. "Why? Elysia learned every weapon. Why can't I stay like that?" Elysia looked over, still flustered but curious to hear her answer.
Anora sighed, "A path like hers can be mastered, but it's also the one that strains you the most." She stepped closer, her tone shifting from amused to instructive. "Someone who rises to the peak using all weapons…"
She tapped Pheo's sling with her toe, then flicked her gaze to his sword. "...will never reach the same height as someone who ascends using just one." Pheo's fingers closed slowly around the hilt of his sword, thoughtful.
He stared at his scattered weapons as if one of them might answer for him. Elysia, still brushing dirt off her sleeves, looked equally uncertain. "...Someone who dedicates their entire life to one weapon can surpass everyone else?" she muttered skeptically. "Even someone like Elion?"
Anora's gaze didn't waver. "Easily." Both Pheo and Elysia looked at her like she'd just claimed she could punch the sun. "Come on," Pheo scoffed. "Elion's practically a force of nature. And you're saying someone with just one weapon could take him down? That's–"
"Ridiculous," Elysia finished.
Anora sighed. "Believe what you want. But there is someone from the same group as us working under The Director who's walked that path. A man who's used one weapon his entire life."
That made them pause.
Pheo's brows furrowed. "How come I've never seen him then?"
"He's stationed in the main camp. Eventually, you'll be able to see firsthand what true, absolute mastery looks like." Anora told him. Silence settled for a moment before she clapped once to get their attention.
"But before that, pick a weapon already. Later today we're heading to a weaponsmith I know. You're getting something forged properly instead of those makeshift weapons you have on you."
Pheo froze like she'd just asked him to solve a life-defining equation. "Right now?"
"Yes. Now." She turned and started walking toward the exit with casual finality. "I'll be in the camp preparing for our departure. Don't take too long, I'm not waiting forever." He slowly turned toward Elysia. "...Help."