The training yard was quiet in the early morning.
Mist clung low to the ground, curling around the worn dirt and wooden posts. The sun had barely begun to rise, casting faint light over the empty field.
Kofi stood alone in the center.
A sword lay at his feet.
He had been there for a while. Long enough for the cold to seep into his skin, long enough for his thoughts to circle back on themselves again and again.
Pick it up.
He didn't move.
His hands were in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched—not from weakness, but from something heavier. Something that hadn't left him since the outpost.
The memory of crimson eyes.
The sound of wings.
The feeling of being completely, utterly powerless.
It was still there.
It hadn't faded.
And it probably never would.
Kofi exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cold air.
Then, finally—
He bent down and picked up the sword.
The weight settled into his hand, familiar but different. Not comforting. Not reassuring. Just… there.
He raised it.
Paused.
Swung.
The motion was slow. Careful. Controlled.
Not the wild, desperate strikes from before. Not the confident swings from his early training either.
Something in between.
Something quieter.
He swung again.
And again.
No frustration.
No anger.
No shouting.
Just repetition.
—
"You're up early."
Darius's voice came from behind him.
Kofi didn't stop swinging. "Couldn't sleep."
Darius stepped into the yard, his movements slower than usual, but steady. His wounds were bandaged, his armor replaced with lighter gear. He watched Kofi in silence for a few moments.
"You're not putting your weight into it," he said.
"I know."
"Then fix it."
Kofi adjusted slightly. His next swing was stronger—but still not right.
Darius clicked his tongue. "Your stance is off."
"I know."
"…Then why aren't you correcting it?"
Kofi paused mid-motion. The sword lowered slightly.
"…Because I'm not trying to be perfect right now."
Darius raised an eyebrow.
Kofi continued, quieter now. "Last time, I kept pushing. Faster, stronger, better. I thought if I just worked hard enough, I could close the gap."
His grip tightened on the sword.
"I was wrong."
Silence settled between them.
Darius didn't interrupt.
Kofi resumed swinging.
"This time… I'm just trying not to fall apart."
The words were simple. Honest.
And heavy.
Darius watched him for a long moment before nodding once.
"…Good."
Kofi blinked slightly, glancing back. "Good?"
"You finally stopped chasing something you don't understand," Darius said. "Strength isn't about rushing forward blindly."
He stepped closer, adjusting Kofi's shoulder slightly.
"It's about knowing where you stand… and moving from there."
Kofi didn't respond.
But his next swing was steadier.
—
Later that day, Lyra found him sitting by the edge of the courtyard fountain.
He wasn't training.
Just sitting. Watching the water ripple.
"You didn't disappear," she said, approaching slowly.
Kofi gave a small shrug. "Didn't feel like running."
Lyra sat beside him. For a while, neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn't as heavy as before.
Still quiet.
But not suffocating.
After a moment, Lyra reached out and gently took his hand.
Kofi tensed instinctively—but didn't pull away.
A faint green glow surrounded her fingers as she focused.
"…Your energy's still there," she murmured.
Kofi frowned slightly. "It doesn't feel like it."
"It's not gone," she said. "Just… buried."
"Buried?"
She nodded. "Like a flame covered in ash. It hasn't disappeared. It just can't breathe."
Kofi stared at his hand as she released it.
"…So how do I fix that?"
Lyra hesitated.
Then shook her head. "You don't. Not directly."
He looked at her, confused.
"You can't force holy energy," she explained. "The more you try to grab it, the more it slips away. It responds to you… not the other way around."
Kofi leaned back slightly, processing that.
"So I just… wait?"
"No."
Lyra's voice was firm.
"You live. You train. You keep moving forward."
Her gaze softened slightly.
"And eventually… it will return."
Kofi looked down at his hands again.
They were still empty.
But this time… they didn't feel completely hollow.
—
The days passed.
Kofi trained every morning.
Not like before.
No endless pushing. No collapsing from exhaustion. No desperate attempts to force power out of nothing.
Just steady movement.
Step.
Swing.
Breathe.
Over and over.
Sometimes Darius joined him. Sometimes he didn't.
Sometimes Lyra watched. Sometimes she sat nearby, reading or resting.
There were no breakthroughs.
No sudden bursts of light.
No dramatic moments.
Just… progress.
Small. Quiet. Almost invisible.
But real.
—
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Kofi stood alone in the yard again.
Sword in hand.
Breathing steady.
He closed his eyes.
Not forcing anything.
Not expecting anything.
Just… focusing.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then—
A flicker.
So faint he almost missed it.
A tiny spark of warmth in his chest.
Kofi's eyes opened slightly.
He didn't move.
Didn't try to grab it.
Didn't push.
The warmth flickered again… then faded.
Gone.
Kofi stared at his hand.
Still empty.
But this time—
A small, almost unnoticeable smile appeared on his face.
"…It's still there."
The words were quiet.
But certain.
—
That night, Kofi lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling.
The darkness didn't feel as suffocating as before.
The memory of the crow man was still there.
Still sharp.
Still terrifying.
But something had changed.
Before, that memory had crushed him.
Now…
It steadied him.
A reminder.
Of how far he still had to go.
Kofi closed his eyes.
"…Next time," he whispered.
Not a promise.
Not yet.
But not despair either.
Just… something in between.
And for now—
That was enough.