The morning sun streamed through the open window, painting golden streaks across Hazel's bed. Her body ached in places she didn't know existed, reminders of the sword lessons from the day before. No matter how many times she tried to mimic Lilith's movements, her grip had been wrong, her stance too stiff, her reflexes sluggish. The sword felt like an extension of someone else's body, never her own.
She sighed, dragging herself up. "If this is just the beginning, how am I supposed to survive the rest?"
Lilith was already waiting for her in the clearing behind the house. Her long dark hair shimmered faintly under the light, and her calm expression carried the weight of centuries. Hazel tightened her fists, determined not to let her frustration show.
After taking a quick bath, she headed straight to the dining room so she could eat breakfast,she didn't eat much though due to loss of appetite.
After breakfast she went straight to the open yard. When she got there she met Lilith practicing
"Good morning Lilith" Hazel greeted, "good morning how was your night hope u had a great sleep cause today we're going to continue with sword fight is that okay?
"Yes it is" replied hazel even though she was tired and her muscles aches.
The clang of metal rang out across the training ground, sharp and unforgiving. Hazel gritted her teeth as the wooden sword slipped from her sweaty palms and clattered against the dirt for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.
"Again," Lilith's voice was calm, but firm, her long dark hair swaying as she circled Hazel like a hawk. "You won't always get the chance to drop your weapon in a real fight. If you can't keep your grip, you're already dead."
Hazel bent to retrieve the sword, her muscles aching. Her arms burned from the endless drills, and her palms stung where the wood had bitten into her skin. Each swing felt clumsy, heavy—like her body wasn't her own.
"I don't get it," Hazel muttered under her breath. "It's just… swinging a blade. Why does it feel like I'm dragging a mountain?"
"Because you're fighting the sword instead of letting it flow through you," Lilith said, stepping behind her. She adjusted Hazel's stance with a tap of her foot and a firm grip on her shoulders. "Strength isn't enough. The blade is an extension of your will. Until you trust it, it won't obey you."
Hazel raised the sword again, her frustration bubbling. She wanted to scream, to hurl the stupid weapon across the yard, but she bit it back. Swing after swing, she forced herself to push forward, only to stumble again when Lilith blocked with effortless precision.
By midday, Hazel collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving. "I can't," she whispered, her pride stinging more than her aching muscles.
Lilith crouched beside her, eyes softening for the first time. "No one masters a sword in a day. You'll bruise, you'll bleed, and you'll hate it. But one day, you'll hold this weapon, and it will feel like breathing. Until then… patience."
Hazel nodded weakly, though a part of her doubted she'd ever get there.
That afternoon, Lilith shifted the lesson. Instead of steel, Hazel found herself standing barefoot in the garden, the warm sunlight pouring down on her.
"Close your eyes," Lilith instructed. "Feel the sun. Its fire, its endless light. Reach for it, not with your hands, but with your spirit. Let it pour into you."
Hazel obeyed, tilting her face toward the sky. At first, she felt nothing but heat warming her skin. But slowly—like a heartbeat beneath the surface—she sensed something deeper. A pulse. A rhythm.
Her breath hitched as warmth spread through her veins, bright and alive. It was intoxicating, powerful, but heavy. Too heavy. The light grew hotter, searing, until she gasped and stumbled back, clutching her chest.
"Good," Lilith said, not at all alarmed. "You touched it. That's more than most do on their first try. Tomorrow, you'll learn to hold it without burning."
Hazel wiped sweat from her brow, her hands trembling. The energy still hummed faintly inside her, like a spark that refused to die.
Later, when the sun dipped lower and shadows stretched across the floor of their home, her mother took over the training. Unlike Lilith's sharp commands, her mother's voice was gentle but firm, guiding Hazel with patience.
"You won't always fight with a blade or with fire," her mother said, setting a small clay bowl on the table. "Sometimes, words are the sharpest weapon you'll wield. Spells are about focus, intent. Nothing more, nothing less."
Hazel leaned closer, curiosity sparking despite her exhaustion.
"Try this," her mother continued. She handed Hazel a small candle and whispered a short incantation, showing her the rhythm of the words. "Focus on the flame. Ask it to bend."
Hazel took a deep breath, repeating the words softly. At first, nothing happened. Then, the flame flickered—just slightly, like it had heard her call. Her heart leapt.
"Again," her mother encouraged. "This time, with intent."
Hazel whispered the words once more, her eyes fixed on the fire. Slowly, it stretched sideways, bowing toward her like a reed in the wind.
Her breath caught in wonder. "I did it."
Her mother smiled. "Only the basics. There's much more you'll need to learn, but this is a start. The rest… will come when you're ready."
By nightfall, Hazel was exhausted, her body heavy and her mind buzzing with new knowledge. Still, Lilith wasn't finished. She led Hazel outside under the cool glow of the moon.
"Now," Lilith said, "reach for the moon as you did the sun."
Hazel tried, but the connection slipped through her fingers like water. She clenched her fists, frustration mounting.
"It's no use," she muttered.
"The moon requires calm," Lilith replied. "Not force. Not fire. It is patience, balance, quiet strength. You won't master it by day, nor by rage. Wait until it chooses you."
Hazel sighed, defeated, but nodded. She could feel the truth in Lilith's words. Some things couldn't be rushed.
That night, as Hazel collapsed into bed, her body aching but her spirit restless, she realized something: she wasn't just learning to fight. She was changing. Piece by piece, she was stepping into a world she hadn't even known existed days ago.
And deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that soon—very soon—everything would depend on what she became.