The forest lay thick and oppressive, mist curling between the gnarled roots of towering trees. Every snap of a twig made Kael's heart hammer, every gust of wind whispered like the mercenary's mocking voice. He tightened his grip on the cursed sword, feeling the familiar hum of shadows coursing along its edge.
Elara trudged beside him, staff at the ready, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She kept glancing behind them, scanning the misty underbrush. "Kael… we can't keep wandering blindly," she said, voice soft but firm. "He'll find us again. He's not done."
Kael's jaw tightened. "I know." His fingers itched to swing the blade, to lash out at the mercenary who had humiliated him in the Archivum. "I… I can't keep being weak. Every strike, every parry today… it's pathetic. I barely survived. If he comes again…"
Elara placed a hand lightly on his arm. "Then prepare yourself. But being strong isn't just about swinging a sword harder. You need technique, timing… patience."
Kael glared at her, frustration spilling from his chest. "Patience? I need strength now! He could have killed me today! He could have killed you!"
Elara's green eyes softened, though a flicker of pain crossed her face. "And that's exactly why you need patience. Strength without control is useless. You almost killed yourself swinging recklessly. You almost let him get to me too."
Kael pressed his lips together, silence answering her. He hated being lectured, hated the truth she spoke—but deep down, he knew she was right. Every mistake today had been his own. Every failed block, every poorly aimed swing had nearly cost them their lives.
The cursed sword vibrated faintly at his side, shadows flickering along the black steel. You could have let me take over. You could have won easily.
Kael gritted his teeth, ignoring the whispers. "Not yet. Not like that."
A bird screeched somewhere overhead, and Kael's senses sharpened instantly. The forest felt alive, every leaf and branch a potential hiding place. They moved cautiously, stepping over roots and rocks, the soft murmur of a stream guiding them deeper into the trees.
"Elara," Kael said quietly, after a long pause. "How… how do you survive in a world like this?"
She gave him a faint, wry smile. "By keeping my head down when I have to, and remembering who I want to protect when I don't. You… you're asking the wrong question. You're asking how I survived. You should be asking how you survive."
Kael frowned. "And how do I survive?"
"You train. You learn. You fight smart. You don't just rely on instinct or raw strength. You hone your swordsmanship. You… grow stronger every day, until you can't be beaten so easily."
He shook his head, muttering under his breath. "I've been swinging that sword since I could hold it. But… it's not enough. Every time I face someone skilled, I fail."
Elara's voice was calm, but firm. "Then don't just swing. Study. Watch. Practice. Every failure is a lesson, Kael. You're alive because of the sword… but also because you have the instinct to survive. That's your foundation. Everything else you build on top of it."
Kael exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. "I… I have to be ready next time. I can't let him humiliate me again."
"Elara, I—" he stopped suddenly, noticing a shadow slip between the trees. His muscles tensed, heart racing.
Elara's hand shot forward, staff glowing faintly. "Kael… someone's here."
The forest seemed to constrict, the mist thickening. Kael lifted the cursed sword, feeling the shadowy energy coiling along its length. He is coming. Soon.
A figure emerged: tall, broad-shouldered, face hidden beneath a hood. The mercenary.
Kael's blood ran cold. "He found us…"
Elara stepped closer to him, her staff raised. "Kael, stay calm. Focus. Remember what you've learned."
Kael's mind raced. Today, he had survived because of raw instinct and the cursed sword's guidance—but he knew instinct alone wouldn't be enough if the mercenary struck first. He felt the pulse of the blade in his hand, a quiet urging: Fight. Show me you are worthy.
"Stay behind me," Kael murmured to Elara. His voice was gruffer than usual, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
The mercenary's lips curved into a cruel smile. "Ah… the boy still clings to that cursed toy. And you… the little mage. How charming. Did you really think you could escape me?"
Kael's knuckles whitened around the hilt. "I'll fight if I have to. I won't let you harm her again."
The mercenary laughed, low and menacing. "You're strong-willed… but untrained. I'll enjoy testing your mettle."
He lunged suddenly, blade slicing through the mist. Kael barely raised the cursed sword in time, the shadows on its steel flaring as it absorbed the blow. Sparks flew, the air ripping with the clash of metal.
Elara shouted a spell, green light streaking from her staff. The mercenary deflected it with a deft flick of his blade, pushing both Kael and Elara back. The fight had begun.
Kael moved with a mixture of instinct and desperation. Each strike he blocked, each parry he forced, revealed his weaknesses—the wrong angles, the improper stance, the lack of timing. And yet… he survived.
The cursed sword pulsed, coiling shadows along its length. Good… your heart drives your strength. Let it flow, let it guide you.
Kael shook his head, grit flashing in his eyes. "Not yet. I will not give in."
The mercenary advanced relentlessly, forcing Kael to retreat step by step. Pain shot through his side as a shallow cut opened across his ribs. He swallowed hard, refusing to falter.
Elara's voice broke through his thoughts again. "Kael! Don't let him corner you! Move to the stream!"
Using the environment, Kael shifted, planting his feet in wet earth and using a fallen branch to deflect one of the mercenary's strikes. It bought him a brief moment, enough to reposition.
"Pathetic," the mercenary sneered, pressing forward. "Barely a match. That blade is wasted on you. One day, I'll take it from you—and it will obey me."
Kael's fists clenched. "Not… if I train. Not… if I survive."
The cursed sword pulsed violently now, shadows lashing along the air, almost whispering: Yes… fight. Show me. I will make you stronger… but only if you survive.
Breath ragged, muscles trembling, Kael realized: raw power alone wasn't enough. He needed mastery. Technique. Discipline. That was the lesson tonight. The mercenary wasn't just an enemy—he was the first real measure of Kael's limits.
Elara watched him quietly, eyes narrowed. "Kael… you're learning. Slowly. But you will be ready… if we can survive the night."
Kael nodded, staring at the mercenary, whose silhouette blurred through the mist. He knew the next clash could be fatal. But he also knew, deep down, that he had taken the first true step toward mastery: understanding his weakness. And acknowledging it.
The forest seemed to close in around them, shadows pressing from all sides. The whispers of the cursed sword were insistent, hungry—but Kael tightened his grip and whispered under his breath:
"I will grow. I will survive. I will protect her. No matter what it takes."
The mercenary lunged again, and Kael met the strike with every ounce of focus he had. It wasn't enough to win. Not yet. But it was enough to survive. And survival, he realized, was the first lesson.