Morning sunlight filtered through the cracks in the wooden shutters, painting Evelyn's small room in gold. She stretched, her body sore from the night's cultivation, but her mind clear and calm. After helping her mother mend clothes and carrying a bucket of water from the well, she stepped outside for some fresh air.
In the distance, she spotted Marcus swinging a wooden sword around the field, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. His movements were wild, every strike full of energy but lacking form. He shouted as he swung, imagining enemies only he could see.
Evelyn folded her arms, lips curling into a half-smile. He's enthusiastic, I'll give him that… but if he swings like that in a real fight, he'll be knocked down in seconds.
"Your stance is all wrong," she called out.
Marcus turned, startled, then grinned. "Oh? And what would you know about it?"
"Enough to know you'll fall flat on your back if you keep charging like that," Evelyn replied. She stepped closer, picking up a spare wooden stick. "Here. Spar me."
Marcus's grin widened. "Don't cry when I win."
They faced off. Marcus rushed in recklessly, his strikes heavy but easy to read. Evelyn parried smoothly, sidestepping and tapping his ribs with the stick. He grunted, wheeled around, and came again. Evelyn shifted her weight, knocked his sword aside, and flicked his wrist with a sharp strike.
"Your grip is too tight," she said calmly. "You're strangling the sword. Loosen it—let the weight flow into the swing."
Marcus tried again, loosening his hand, and his next strike came faster, less clumsy. Evelyn nodded. "Better. But you still telegraph your moves. See how your shoulders twist before you swing? Anyone with eyes will know where you're aiming."
Marcus groaned. "You make it sound easy, but you've probably been training since you could walk."
"Not since I could walk," Evelyn said with a sly smile, "but longer than you think."
Before Marcus could reply, a soft voice called out. "You two are so noisy in the morning."
They turned to see Lina walking toward them, a basket of herbs in her hands. She set it down and brushed stray strands of hair from her face. Curious, she picked up a small stone and muttered a short chant. A spark flickered, then a tiny fire bolt shot from her fingertip, striking the ground a pace away from Marcus. Smoke curled lazily from the grass.
"See?" Lina said with a proud smile.
Marcus laughed. "If you were aiming at me, you missed."
"I wasn't aiming at you," Lina retorted, placing her hands on her hips. "You're not worth wasting mana on."
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "Your control is sloppy. If you panic in a real fight, you'll hit your allies before your enemies."
Lina puffed her cheeks. "Well, excuse me. Not everyone spends every night training in secret like you do. Besides—" she stuck her tongue out playfully—"neither of you can cast spells at all."
Evelyn sighed, though a smile tugged at her lips. She's careless, but at least she has talent. With proper guidance, she'll be fine.
The three decided to train together that morning.
Marcus planted his feet at the front, gripping his wooden sword. Evelyn stood at his side, light on her feet. Lina lingered behind them, chanting softly.
The first attempt was a disaster. Marcus charged ahead, leaving Evelyn to scramble to cover him. Lina hesitated mid-chant, nervous about hitting them both, and by the time her firebolt flew, it singed a tree branch instead of the "enemy" rock they had chosen as a target.
Evelyn threw her hands up. "If this were a real fight, we'd all be dead."
Marcus scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Maybe… but I'd die fighting at least."
"That's not comforting."
They tried again. This time Evelyn barked instructions:
"Marcus, don't rush—hold the line."
"Lina, shorten your chant. Trust the mana, don't smother it."
Marcus gritted his teeth, forcing himself to wait for Evelyn's nod before stepping forward. He swung slower but steadier, his movements easier for Evelyn to coordinate with. Lina, biting her lip, whispered a faster incantation and pushed her mana outward. A firebolt shot past Evelyn's shoulder and struck the rock dead-on, scattering sparks across the dirt.
Lina gasped in delight. "I hit it!"
Marcus cheered. "Finally!"
Evelyn smirked but quickly turned serious. "Good. But don't get excited—control comes first. If you lose focus, the spell will backfire."
They kept practicing until sweat dripped down Marcus's chin and Lina's mana thinned to flickers. Evelyn, though tired, pushed them one more round before finally calling a break.
By midday, the three collapsed on the grass, sweaty and laughing.
Later, Evelyn joined Marcus in checking rabbit traps in the nearby woods. Marcus complained the whole way but brightened when they found one of the traps had worked. Meanwhile, Lina helped Evelyn's mother with sewing, though she pricked her finger more than once. Evelyn patched her up when she returned, teasing her until Lina pouted dramatically.
They ended the day sharing bread and stew. Marcus boasted about how he'd become a knight faster than anyone, Lina argued she'd become a famous mage, and Evelyn listened quietly, smiling at their banter.
That night, under the stars, the three lay side by side in the grass after another short spar. Marcus snored softly, his wooden sword resting beside him. Lina traced constellations with her finger, humming a tune. Evelyn stared at the endless night sky.
In my past life, comrades died one after another. I fought alone, carrying their weight until the end. But this time… maybe things can be different. Maybe I can protect them.
She clenched a fist in the grass, determination hardening her heart. Whatever awaited them in the years to come, she would not let history repeat itself.