The days turned into weeks, and for the first time since her arrival at the Sanctum, Elira felt her body hardening, her breath steadier, her sword arm less clumsy. What had begun with bruises, humiliation, and endless exhaustion had gradually become rhythm — a rhythm of survival, of training, of tasks that demanded more than fear.
Mira and Kael were with her now. Not always gentle, not always patient, but always there.
Their routine rarely shifted. At dawn, they would meet at the yard: Mira with her staff and sharp tongue, Kael with his stone-set jaw and twin-edged blade, Elira clutching her weapon as though it were the only anchor she had.
"Again," Kael would say, his tone more drill than encouragement. Earth cracked beneath his feet, sparks leaping from his knuckles. "Strike before the wave breaks."
Mira rolled her eyes more often than not, her magic circles glowing with the easy rhythm of practice. Flames roared and dissolved into torrents of water, both bending seamlessly into ice as she fused them into terrifying cascades. "Don't gape, Elira. Either move, or burn."
Elira moved. She failed. She fell. But each time, she rose again.
Beyond the training, they began to take missions together. Escorting merchants through monster-haunted roads. Clearing nests of wolfbeasts from abandoned farms. Chasing stray bandits who had mistaken the Sanctum's borders for easy prey.
Elira never carried the team — not yet. But she began to matter. Her wind cut open paths where Kael's soil-and-lightning traps could detonate, scattering enemies in bursts of rock and thunder. She bent water into shields that softened Mira's explosive fusion spells, keeping villagers safe from collateral fire. And once, when the three of them were surrounded on all sides, Elira dared to name her own move —
"Breeze Edge!"
The crescent slash of wind struck true, scattering the beasts long enough for Kael's vaulting strike to end the fight.
That night, when she fell into bed, she couldn't stop smiling through the aches.
The walls between them began to crack, slowly but surely. Mira, for all her sarcasm, began handing Elira her share of rations when she skipped meals after training too long. Kael, gruff and curt, once adjusted her grip on her sword without a word, muttering only, "That angle will break your wrist if you keep it."
They still weren't friends. But there were moments — fleeting, fragile — when Elira could almost believe they were.
During a patrol mission, Mira snapped at her after she nearly stumbled into one of Kael's traps.
"You'll get yourself killed charging like that," Mira scolded.
Elira flushed. "I thought—"
"You didn't think. Learn to pace yourself. Magic and swords don't forgive hesitation."
Yet later that night, when the fire was low and Kael had fallen asleep, Mira leaned closer and murmured, "That Breeze Edge… it wasn't bad. Don't let him see me saying that."
Elira's chest warmed in a way no campfire could.
Her wind was still unsteady, but it had begun to respond to her intent. A step forward became a gust that carried her further: Wind Step. A blade swing gathered pressure into a sharper edge: Breeze Edge. And once, when she tried to shield Kael from a falling strike, air coiled into a dome so thin it nearly collapsed — yet it held, for a heartbeat.
"Not useless," Kael muttered, almost as though admitting it pained him.
Each small victory stitched strength into her bones. Each lesson carried her further from the trembling girl who had first raised a branch against a monster.
By the end of the month, her muscles had grown leaner, her strikes more certain. The three of them returned to the Sanctum after a border escort, dust and ash still clinging to their cloaks. Elira expected nothing more than a meal and rest.
Instead, a high-ranked knight awaited them in the hall. His armor was bright with polished gold, his eyes unreadable beneath the helm.
"You three," he said, his voice like iron. "You are summoned."
Elira's heart skipped. Summoned? By the Sanctum?
They followed him to a chamber lined with banners of deep blue and gold. Torches flickered, casting long shadows across the floor. At the center stood a table marked with maps and sealed letters.
The knight spoke plainly, each word striking with the weight of command.
"There have been disturbances near the border town of Luthiel. Villagers vanish without trace. Soldiers return broken, their minds shattered, babbling of loved ones walking among them. The cause has been identified: a creature known as Fantomy."
The name rippled through the chamber like a chill draft. Mira's eyes narrowed. Kael's hands curled into fists.
Elira swallowed. "Fantomy…?"
The knight's gaze fell upon her.
"An apparition-class monster. Phantom affinity. It preys upon the living by taking the form of those already dead — not strangers, but those you once loved, those you long to see again. It strikes at the heart before the blade."
Silence.
Mira's usual sharp tongue did not rise. Kael said nothing, his jaw tight. Elira felt her pulse race, though she barely understood why. She had few memories of her parents, their faces long blurred. Who would Fantomy show her? Who had she lost deeply enough for it to hurt?
The knight sealed the command.
"Your unit is to depart within three days. Eliminate the threat. Failure is not an option."
That night, Elira lingered alone in the courtyard, her sword laid across her knees. Wind curled around her braid, whispering softly, but it did not calm the unease twisting her chest.
Mira and Kael had already retired. The words of the knight echoed still: those already dead… those you long to see again.
Her father. Her mother. She could not remember their faces. Could the monster give them back? Would it be a gift… or a cruelty sharper than any blade?
She clenched her fists, whispering into the empty night.
"No matter what form it takes… I won't falter. I can't."
The breeze stirred gently, as though answering her vow.