The cave was silent except for the endless roar of the waterfall. Mist clung to the air, dampening Alpha's skin as he stood barefoot on the cold stone. His sword weighed heavily in his grip, not because of its iron, but because of the task set before him.
One strike.
The Skeleton Knight stood opposite, its blade raised in a simple guard. It did not advance, did not taunt. Its hollow sockets fixed on him, steady as an eternal flame.
"You have one cut. Fail, and you will learn only pain. Succeed, and you will begin to see."
Alpha's heart hammered in his chest. His instincts screamed at him to rush, to swing, to break the silence before it crushed him. But the knight's words from yesterday echoed in his mind. 'Swing less. Watch more.'
He tightened his grip, then forced his hands to loosen again. His breath came quick, then slower, steadier.
The knight did not move. The waiting became unbearable. Alpha felt sweat slide down his temple, felt his shoulders twitch with pent-up tension.
'Patience cuts deeper than fury.'
He exhaled, lowering his stance, eyes fixed not on the knight's burning sockets but on its shoulders, its hands, the subtle tilt of its weight. He tried to feel the rhythm hidden beneath the silence.
The knight shifted. Just slightly—a faint movement of its blade, the creak of armor. Alpha's body twitched to react, but he stopped himself. Too soon.
Another shift. Another breath. His heartbeat slowed, heavy in his ears.
Then, the knight's sword twitched forward. A fraction. A whisper. Alpha saw it—not just the movement, but the intent that carried it.
His body moved before doubt could steal it. His blade cut upward in a clean arc, not wild, not desperate, but sharp, precise.
Steel met steel.
The sound rang through the cave like a bell. The knight's sword halted mid-swing, caught and turned by Alpha's single strike. For a heartbeat, the undead warrior stood frozen. Then it stepped back, lowering its weapon.
"Better."
Alpha's arms trembled. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his jaw. But his eyes widened as the realization sank in—he had seen. Not guessed, not flailed. He had chosen the exact moment, the exact line, and it had worked.
The knight's voice was low, almost approving. "That was a cut. Not perfect. But born from sight. Remember this feeling. Sharpen it."
Alpha let out a shaky laugh, almost disbelieving. "I… I did it."
"Barely."
The word stung, but not like before. This time, it felt less like mockery and more like a challenge.
The knight's sockets burned brighter. "Do not mistake one cut for mastery. A single flame is not a fire. But this is the spark. Feed it, and it will grow."
Alpha nodded, gripping his sword tighter. His body was still weak, his skill barely formed, but for the first time he felt more than emptiness. He felt a path.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, meeting the knight's hollow gaze. "Then I'll feed it. I'll grow it."
For the faintest moment, the silence seemed to hum, almost as if the bones themselves remembered. The knight turned away, returning to its shadowed corner. "Tomorrow, you cut twice."
Alpha sank to the ground, exhaustion washing over him like the mist outside. His arms burned, his body shook, but his spirit thrummed with something new. Not just survival. Not just freedom.
Purpose.
The waterfall roared on, endless and unchanging, but within its voice Alpha heard something else now. A rhythm. A beat. The faint whisper of a world waiting to be cut through.
And with it, a promise he made to himself:
This time, he would not break.