The forest lay in a heavy, uneasy silence as Kael and Elara finally collapsed in a small clearing, bodies battered, hearts pounding. The moon cast silvered light through the canopy, painting mottled patterns across their bruised faces and torn clothing.
Kael sank to the ground, gripping the cursed sword tightly. Every muscle in his body ached; cuts on his arms and legs burned, blood slicked his hands. The taste of iron filled his mouth with each labored breath. For a moment, he felt hollow—like the fight had drained more than his body, but the very essence of him.
Elara knelt beside him, her staff pressed to the ground as if grounding herself, and her gaze flicked to his wounds. "Kael… you're bleeding badly. We need to rest." Her voice was calm, yet a tremor of worry lingered beneath the surface.
Kael shook his head weakly. "No… not yet. I can't… I can't just sit here and recover. I—" He pressed a hand to his chest, grimacing as pain lanced through him. "I'm weak. I wasn't ready. I couldn't fight him properly."
Elara's emerald eyes softened, resting on him with quiet understanding. "Kael… fighting him today… you survived. That's not nothing. You defended yourself. You defended me."
He looked away, jaw tight. "It doesn't feel like surviving. It feels like barely clinging to life. He could have killed me ten times over. I couldn't… I couldn't even land a proper strike. Every move I made was sloppy, untrained."
The cursed sword pulsed against his thigh, shadows writhing along its black steel. Its voice coiled in his mind, silk and venom: You did well… but imagine if you let me take control. Imagine the power you could wield.
Kael clenched his teeth, refusing. "No. Not like that. Not yet. I will control it… on my own terms."
Elara placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing it with quiet determination. "You don't have to do it alone. You have me, Kael. And we'll find a way to make you stronger. You can't fight blindly forever."
Kael's fingers trembled around the hilt. He wanted to agree, wanted to lean on her comfort, but pride and frustration twisted his heart. "I can't just rely on others. If I want to survive, if I want to protect… I have to learn to fight properly. Not just swing a sword and hope for the best. I have to train, really train."
Elara's lips curved in a faint, tired smile. "Then let's figure out how. There's a lot we don't know—about the world, about swords, about monsters. But I have a feeling we'll find the answers, as long as we stick together."
Kael's gaze drifted to the cursed sword. Shadows coiled softly around the black steel, pulsing like a heartbeat. Its whispers were insistent now, teasing, coaxing. You are mine. Let me guide you. The mercenary… he is nothing compared to the power I offer.
Kael shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "I don't care what you offer. I'll grow stronger… my way. And when he comes back, I'll be ready."
The forest around them seemed to press in, the silence heavy with foreboding. Kael's body ached from every cut, every bruise, but the weight of failure pressed heaviest. He couldn't ignore it—he needed training. Discipline. Mastery.
Elara's voice broke through the gloom. "Kael… there's a prestigious academy not far from here. They train swordsmen, mages… all kinds of warriors. If we could get in, maybe you could learn what you need—proper swordsmanship, control over that… cursed blade."
Kael froze, thoughts turning over like storm-tossed waves. "An academy? You mean… with actual training? Not just survival lessons in the forest?"
Elara nodded. "Yes. But it won't be easy. They don't care about birth or status—talent is the only thing that matters. But some nobles resent commoners attending, so… it'll be a challenge."
Kael let the idea sink in, the possibility igniting something like hope in his chest. For the first time since the mercenary attack, he imagined a path forward. Real training, real mastery, a chance to control the cursed sword instead of fearing it.
He looked at Elara, her face pale but steady, and he realized how much he depended on her—not just for survival, but for guidance, for companionship. He had barely known her, yet the thought of losing her had shaken him to his core during the fight.
"I'll do it," he said finally, voice low but firm. "I'll train. I'll get stronger. And I'll be ready next time… next time, I won't fail."
Elara reached over, squeezing his hand gently. "Good. We'll face it together. But for now… rest. You're still injured."
Kael nodded reluctantly, finally allowing himself to lean against a tree, the cursed sword resting across his lap. Its shadows writhed gently, almost contemplative, as if acknowledging his resolve.
The night pressed on, stars twinkling faintly above. The forest remained quiet, but Kael knew the mercenary had not vanished. He would return. And when he did, Kael intended to meet him not as a frightened boy with a borrowed sword, but as someone who had trained, learned, and grown into a warrior capable of standing on his own.
The cursed sword hummed softly against him, and for the first time, Kael felt a spark of understanding. He couldn't let it control him—but he could learn from it. He could let it guide him without surrendering his will. And one day, he would surpass the one who had stalked him in the shadows.
For now, all he could do was prepare. Rest. Heal. And remember the promise that burned in his chest: never again would he be so weak.