Since you were training while we were gone," his father said, rolling his shoulders, "why don't we spar?"
Draven felt a bead of sweat form on his temple. He straightened his back but didn't respond right away.
His mother, noticing his hesitation, smiled warmly. "I would also like to spar with you," she said, trying to lighten the mood.
They can't help themselves when it comes to training their kid, Draven thought with a sigh.
The three of them walked through the long castle corridors until they reached the training hall. A few moments later, they stood in the wide, open room—torches lining the stone walls, and racks of weapons resting silently like dormant beasts.
His father stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Come at me. Let me see if you've improved."
The damn old man just wants to beat me up, Draven grumbled internally.
He charged forward, throwing the first punch. It was fast—but blocked with ease.
His father smirked. He's stronger than before.
"Is that all you've got?" he asked, amused.
"I'm just getting started, old man," Draven growled, launching into a series of rapid strikes.
Each hit was blocked or dodged effortlessly. His father moved like a phantom, reading every attack before it landed.
I still can't land a single damn hit… Draven thought, his frustration mounting.
Then, a counterattack—a sharp punch aimed at his ribs. Draven twisted just in time, narrowly avoiding it.
His father's eyes narrowed. He dodged it. He really hasn't been slacking off.
The fight escalated. Minutes turned into hours. Blood hit the floor. Bones cracked, healed, and cracked again. Neither spoke; the rhythm of fists, grunts, and thuds filled the chamber. There was no magic here—only raw strength and regeneration.
At last, Draven collapsed onto the cold stone floor, chest heaving, soaked in blood and sweat.
"Are you trying to kill your only child, old man?" he groaned.
His father leaned over him, grinning. "You're my son. You're not going to die that easily."
"Still hurts like hell," Draven muttered, closing his eyes.
His father chuckled. "Your mother's been waiting for you. You'd better not keep her waiting."
Draven slowly pushed himself to his feet.
I better go before she comes to find me herself.
He staggered out of the training hall and made his way toward the forest just outside the castle.
---
The moon hung high above the trees, casting pale silver light over the forest floor. As soon as Draven stepped into the woods, shadows stirred.
His mother appeared from the darkness, her form emerging like shadow. Her white hair shimmered beneath the moonlight.
"You took so long," she said, puffing her cheek. "I thought you weren't coming."
"Sorry," Draven replied. "The old man wouldn't stop breaking my bones. If I couldn't regenerate, I'd be dead already."
She tilted her head, expression softening just slightly. "We might be tough on you… but since you don't have any magic, this is the only way you can protect yourself."
Draven stared at her. For a brief moment, guilt twisted in his gut.
She looks sad. Should I let her know that I think I might be able to use mana?
He hesitated. Then shook the thought from his mind.
Nope. If I do that, they'll only push me harder. I still want to live an easy life.
He smiled. "I'll train even harder."
Her face lit up. "Good. Then let's begin." She took a step back. "I'll give you a head start."
Draven didn't wait—he leapt into the trees, jumping from branch to branch. His white hair glowed like a trail behind him as he sprinted through the forest canopy.
Then… she was gone.
A flicker of movement—and suddenly, she was beside him.
He gasped, lost his footing, and tumbled down from the trees.
She landed next to him with the grace of a shadow, staring down with an unreadable expression.
He looked up at her, groaning.
"You lost focus," she said, offering her hand. "That's why you fell. Don't let yourself get distracted."
Draven took her hand and stood, brushing leaves from his body.
She nodded. "That's enough for today. Let's return."
They moved together through the trees again, silent, drifting from branch to branch. Draven did his best to keep up, but even now, he couldn't match her speed.
A few minutes later, they reached the castle.
"Bye."
"Mom, I need to go clean up."
Draven separated from his mother and returned to his room.
---
He called for a maid. "Prepare a bath. And bring food when I'm done."
Not long after, there was a knock at his door.
"Young Master, your food," the maid said, stepping in and placing a silver tray on the table. She bowed slightly, then left.
Draven soaked in the hot water, letting the pain ease from his aching muscles. He cleaned away the dried blood and closed his eyes, listening to the silence.
Later, he ate alone, the room dimly lit by candlelight.
Finally, he dropped into bed, body exhausted, eyes heavy.
But sleep didn't come easily.
He lay awake, staring at the ceiling.