Soren woke before dawn.
Grey light pressed through the narrow academy window, turning the stone walls pale and cold. Most of the dormitory still slept. Slow breathing. Occasional shifting blankets.
He was already sitting upright.
The system window lingered faintly in his mind.
Level: 4.
The number still felt strange.
Not because of the strength it promised.
Because the system still didn't know what he was.
Class: ERROR - Not Found.
Soren exhaled slowly and dismissed the window.
Movement mattered more than answers.
He stood, dressed quietly, and slipped from the dormitory before the others woke.
The training grounds at dawn were empty.
Mist clung to the packed dirt arena. Wooden practice dummies waited in silent rows. Weapon racks stood untouched.
Perfect.
Soren stepped into the center of the yard and drew the academy practice sword from the rack.
The blade was dull and slightly warped.
Good enough.
He began with simple strikes.
Vertical cut.
Reset.
Horizontal cut.
Reset.
Thrust.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The movements were basic. Crude, even. But Soren paid attention to the details most students ignored.
Weight shift.
Foot angle.
Balance at the end of the strike.
His hidden interface flickered quietly at the edge of thought.
Not a window.
More like outlines.
Patterns.
The sword arc left faint lines in his perception, as if the motion had structure beneath it.
Edges of possibility.
He adjusted slightly.
The next swing flowed smoother.
Then smoother again.
Minutes passed.
A voice spoke behind him.
"Your shoulders are too tight."
Soren stopped.
He didn't turn immediately.
Instructor Halvern rarely visited the grounds this early.
Soren lowered the blade and faced him.
Halvern stood near the gate, arms folded across his broad chest. The older man's beard caught the morning light, streaked with gray. His eyes were sharp as ever.
Observing.
Always observing.
"Again," Halvern said.
Soren lifted the sword and repeated the strike.
Halvern stepped closer.
"There," the instructor said quietly. "See it?"
Soren didn't answer.
Halvern pushed lightly against Soren's shoulder.
"You're forcing the cut. Power comes from the ground. Feet first. Then hips. Shoulders last."
Soren reset his stance.
Feet.
Hips.
Then shoulders.
The blade moved faster.
Cleaner.
Halvern's brow lifted slightly.
"Better."
Wind drifted across the yard.
After a moment Halvern asked, "Why are you training alone?"
"Quieter," Soren said.
Halvern studied him, long and thoughtful.
"Good answer," he muttered.
He walked to the rack and picked up another practice sword.
"Attack me."
Soren stepped forward immediately.
Their blades met with a crack of wood.
Halvern deflected the strike with minimal movement.
"Again."
Soren attacked a second time.
Deflection.
"Again."
The third strike came faster.
Halvern tapped Soren's wrist.
The sword dropped from numb fingers.
"Too committed," Halvern said. "If the attack fails, you die."
Soren retrieved the weapon.
"Understood."
"Show me."
They moved again.
Strike.
Deflect.
Step.
Tap.
Reset.
The exchange repeated faster each time.
But the repetition wasn't empty.
Each pass revealed something new.
Halvern's feet barely lifted from the dirt.
His balance never broke.
His blade moved only as much as necessary.
Nothing wasted.
Soren adjusted.
The next strike curved slightly off-line.
Halvern's block arrived where the blade should have been.
It wasn't.
Soren redirected mid-swing.
The wooden sword stopped a finger's width from Halvern's ribs.
Silence filled the yard.
Halvern knocked the blade aside and stepped back.
Not hard.
Just enough to end the moment.
"Where did you learn that adjustment?" he asked.
"I saw the opening," Soren said.
That wasn't entirely a lie.
Halvern's gaze sharpened.
"Again," he said quietly.
This time Halvern attacked.
Fast.
Soren barely raised his blade in time.
Wood slammed against wood. The impact rattled through his arms and forced him back a step.
Halvern didn't pause.
Another strike.
Lower.
Soren shifted.
The blow skimmed past his guard instead of breaking it.
A third attack followed immediately.
Too quick to think.
So Soren didn't think.
The faint lines returned to his vision.
Angles.
Movement.
Possibilities unfolding half a heartbeat ahead.
He stepped.
Turned.
Redirected.
Halvern's blade slid past his shoulder instead of into it.
For a brief instant Soren saw it clearly.
The gap.
He moved his sword to claim it
and stopped.
Halvern's practice blade rested against his throat.
Soren hadn't even seen the final motion.
The yard went quiet again.
Halvern lowered the sword slowly.
"Interesting," the instructor murmured.
Soren said nothing.
Halvern walked a slow circle around him, studying the set of his shoulders, the position of his feet.
"You move like someone who's been corrected," Halvern said. "Not someone guessing."
He stopped in front of Soren.
"But no one here has taught you that step."
Soren held his gaze.
Halvern watched him for several long seconds.
Then the instructor sighed.
"Relax," he said. "If I thought you were cheating with a skill, you'd already be in the headmaster's office."
That did not feel reassuring.
Halvern planted the practice sword in the dirt.
"Talent is rare," he continued. "But instincts like yours? Those are rarer."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Which means two things."
Soren waited.
"Either you're hiding something," Halvern said, "or someone has been training you very carefully."
A pause.
"And I don't like mysteries inside my academy."
The morning bell rang in the distance.
Students would start arriving soon.
Halvern picked up his sword and handed it back to Soren.
"Tomorrow," he said.
Soren frowned slightly. "Instructor?"
"Dawn. Same place." Halvern's voice was calm.
Too calm.
"If you're going to practice in secret," the instructor added, "you might as well do it properly."
Soren stared at him.
Halvern's mouth twitched faintly.
Not quite a smile.
"And Soren," he said as he turned toward the gate.
"Yes, instructor?"
Halvern glanced back.
"If you lie to me again," he said mildly, "I'll make you regret it."
He left the yard without another word.
Soren stood alone in the morning mist, the practice sword still in his hand.
Somehow…
Training alone had just become impossible.
And tomorrow, Halvern would be watching.