Morning broke pale and cool. Mist hung between the trees like torn cloth, and the road turned to little more than a deer path. Brennar halted when the sun lifted a hand's width above the branches. He dropped his pack and pointed at a patch of flat ground.
"Lesson," he said.
Rowan's stomach fluttered, but he nodded and set his pack down. The harpoon felt heavy in his grip, awkward no matter how many times he adjusted it.
Brennar circled him, tapping Rowan's boots with the haft of his axe. "Feet under you. Not too wide, not too narrow. Hips soft. You don't win with arms. You win with weight."
Rowan shifted. Brennar grunted approval.
"Grip." He moved Rowan's hands. "Front hand guides, back hand drives. Short thrusts. No wind-up. Swing that thing like a scythe and you'll end up on your face."
Rowan thrust into a mossy stump. The harpoon bit shallow. He tried again, and the shaft wobbled.
"Better," Brennar muttered, though his tone was unimpressed.
From a fallen log, Ari chewed dried meat, saying nothing. Lyra sat on a rock, mending the strap on Rowan's waterskin. Nyx leaned against a tree, pale eyes steady, her silence heavier than any criticism.
Rowan tried again, harder this time. The tip buried deeper into the stump, but his arms shook. Sweat trickled down his neck.
"Too much," Lyra said quietly, not looking up from her work. "Water listens when you steady your breath. You're forcing it."
Rowan exhaled sharply, then drew back again. The harpoon slipped, scraping bark instead of biting.
Nyx finally spoke. "Loud," she said. "Sloppy. Any armour would laugh at you."
Rowan turned, bristling. "Not all of us can cut through shadows. Your blades just… ignore armour."
Nyx's gaze didn't waver. "They don't ignore. They slip through the gaps. Shadow is patient. Water should be the same."
She lifted her hand. Darkness coiled between her fingers, lengthened into a thin curved blade. She pressed it into the stump. The wood parted silently, no splinters, no sound. The blade dissolved back into nothing.
"You don't need force," she said. "You need form. Flow into what your enemy cannot answer."
Rowan stared, then uncorked his waterskin. He let a thin trickle run across the harpoon's prongs. He focused—not too hard, not too soft. He thought of her words: form, not force.
The water beaded, slid off. Nothing.
Brennar barked a laugh. "You'll freeze your own feet at this rate."
Rowan grit his teeth, tried again. Frost crackled faintly, then broke apart into nothing. His palms were clammy, his jaw tight.
"Breathe," Lyra said again. Her voice was calm, steady. "Not with anger. With focus."
Rowan inhaled slowly, exhaled. He steadied. The water stilled. Crystalline frost crept up the iron, gathering into a single edge along one side of the shaft. A long, pale blade shimmered there, solid and sharp.
Rowan gasped. "It's… a sword."
Nyx stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "Better. A blade. It will hold for one minute before it melts. Long enough to matter. Long enough to kill."
Rowan turned the weapon, the frost catching the sun. He gave it a cut through the air, and the sound was clean, almost sweet.
Nyx crouched, drew a line in the dirt with her finger. "Once you learn the principle, the shape is your choice. Edge. Point. Shard. Water remembers every form it has taken. Remind it."
Rowan tried again, shaping a short dagger in his free hand. It cracked apart after a few seconds, but it was there, sharp and real.
Nyx gave one small nod. "That is the beginning."
Brennar clapped him on the back hard enough to nearly topple him. "Careful, boy. You'll start thinking you're dangerous."
Rowan smiled despite himself. For the first time, he did.
---
They moved on at noon. The forest thickened, green giving way to darker shade. Birds fell silent. The air smelled heavy—wet earth and something sour.
Nyx lifted her chin. "Hear that?"
Rowan stilled. Thumps echoed through the ground, steady, weighty.
"Ogres," Brennar said. "Two, maybe three. Heavy steps." He rolled his shoulder. "We can go around."
Ari already had an arrow half-drawn. "Or through."
Nyx vanished into shadow before anyone could argue.
Brennar glanced at Rowan. "Stay with me. You see a knee, stick it. You see an eye, stick it. If you don't see either, don't be a hero."
Rowan nodded, throat dry.
The trees opened into a low clearing. Two ogres loomed there, gray skin thick as granite, arms like tree trunks. Their stench hit first—sweat, rot, meat turned sour. One tore grubs from a log, the other sniffed the air.
Ari's arrow flew before Rowan even breathed. It struck high in the chest. The beast roared, snapping the shaft. The second raised its club, teeth bared.
Brennar charged.
The clearing exploded into chaos. His axe met the club with a ringing crash, sparks flying. Ari loosed again, her arrow biting into the second ogre's throat. It bellowed and staggered.
Rowan darted forward, harpoon gleaming with ice. He drove it into the first ogre's thigh.
The blade bit — and then the frost spread. Ice raced outward in jagged veins. The ogre's roar choked as its whole leg stiffened, frozen solid. For three long seconds the beast was locked mid-step, eyes wide with panic.
"Now!" Brennar thundered. He swung his axe into the frozen joint, shattering it. The ogre toppled with a crash.
Rowan yanked the harpoon free. The frost edge steamed, already thinning, but the opening had been enough.
The second ogre lurched blindly, blood pouring. Nyx dropped from a branch, cutting its hamstring in a clean shadow-slice. Ari's arrow struck under the ear, and Brennar finished it with a brutal swing.
The fight was over in heartbeats.
---
Rowan knelt, gasping, the frost melting from his blade in thin rivulets. His hands shook, but he had done it. For three seconds, a monster had been helpless.
Brennar grinned, panting. "That's the way, boy. You made your moment. And in a fight, a moment is everything."
Ari crouched by the fallen ogre, drawing her knife. She pried free a tusk, slick with blood. "Tusks sell well in market towns. Ogre blood too, if you find an alchemist without shame."
Rowan flinched. "Blood?"
"For potions," Ari said simply. "Strength. Or madness, if brewed wrong. Either way, it fetches coin."
Brennar chuckled. "Ogres are worth more dead than alive. Keep that in mind when you see one charging."
Lyra came to Rowan and took his hand gently. The rope burn from training had split open again. She pressed two fingers to the line, eyes closing, and the heat cooled into a soothing numbness. "Wrap it tonight," she said.
Rowan nodded, voice soft. "Thank you."
Nyx wiped her blades on the grass, her gaze fixed on the treeline. "Three seconds," she said, her tone cold but certain. "That's all you bought. But three seconds can change everything."
Rowan looked at the harpoon, wet with meltwater and blood. For once, it felt less like a stranger's weapon and more like his own. Pride stirred in his chest, but so did fear. If water could freeze a creature that size solid… what else could it do?
The thought lingered as they gathered tusks and hide, Brennar hauling a strip of ogre meat with a grin. The forest swallowed the clearing behind them, and the sound of distant crows carried through the mist.
Rowan tightened the strap on his waterskin, replaying the fight in his mind. He knew one thing now: Nyx was right. Three seconds could mean life or death.
And next time, he promised himself, he would use them even better.