Dawn crept into the sanctuary slowly, threading pale gold light through the branches until the clearing was washed in soft brightness. The wards shimmered faintly, humming with a gentle, protective energy that wrapped around the camp like a warm breath. Birds chattered somewhere high in the canopy, rustling the leaves as if discussing the newcomers who had made this place their temporary home.
Mira was already awake, or rather, she was awake because Caelan had tripped over her bedroll in the dark.
Again.
"For the love of the spirits" Mira hissed, shoving him with her foot. "You have the entire forest. Why do you only step on me?"
Caelan rubbed his shin with a pitiful expression. His hair was a mess, not the endearing kind, but the kind that suggested he had been dragged backward through a bush. "I was practicing stealth."
"Your stealth skills are an insult to the word," Mira muttered, tying her hair back with sharp, irritated movements.
Caelan opened his mouth to defend himself, but his voice died the moment Arveth stepped through the ward-line.
Arveth always carried a presence that felt older than the trees, steady, immovable, and carved with the kind of discipline that could silence chaos before it began. Even the morning light straightened around him.
He gave them both a curt nod. "You're late."
Caelan immediately pointed at Mira. "She overslept."
Mira didn't even look at him. "He lies."
Arveth ignored the blame game as if it were beneath even acknowledging. "Up. Both of you. Today we begin practicals."
Caelan paled. "Practicals… meaning?"
"Meaning," Arveth said calmly, "that you will stop performing with your weapons as if they are decorative props, and start using them like you intend to survive an actual confrontation."
Caelan leaned toward Mira and whispered, "He scares me when he talks like that."
"Yeah well he scares me all the time," Mira whispered back.
Arveth lifted a brow, and the two of them snapped straight instantly.
⸻
Drills of Discipline
Arveth led them to the lower clearing, flat earth hardened by generations of footsteps, thin grass that clung stubbornly to life, and a few sturdy stones arranged in a semi-circle like silent witnesses. The air here smelled like dust, sap, and the ghost of harsh lessons.
"Warm-up," Arveth instructed, tone firm but unraised.
Mira immediately began stretching, graceful, controlled movements that flowed from one form into the next. She looked like someone who could turn discipline into art if she tried.
Caelan… dropped into a dramatic lunge pose like he was starring in a traveling theatre troupe's interpretation of a battlefield.
Arveth stared at him with that long, heavy silence that could flatten entire armies.
Caelan froze mid-lunge. "This is… warming up?"
Mira pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. "Caelan, stand up before he makes you run laps."
Arveth pointed at the perimeter of the clearing. "Run. Both of you."
Caelan gasped. "Me? What did I do?!"
"You exist," Mira muttered as she jogged past him.
Caelan groaned but followed, stumbling into a pace so uneven it sounded like he was being chased by a trio of angry geese rather than running on purpose.
After several laps, Mira's controlled and steady, Caelan's resembling a man fleeing imminent doom, Arveth signaled them back.
Mira was breathing hard but composed. Caelan collapsed onto his knees like a marionette whose strings had been severed.
"I think…" he wheezed, "I just saw… the ancestors…"
"They were likely ignoring you," Arveth said blandly.
Caelan whimpered.
⸻
Technique Under Pressure
Arveth retrieved two practice staves, simple wood, smoothed with use and evenly weighted. They were weapons meant to bruise, not break.
"Mira. Caelan. Defense lines."
Mira stepped into position immediately, feet anchored, shoulders squared, eyes sharp.
Caelan stepped into something that vaguely resembled a stance someone once described to him using crude gestures.
Arveth walked behind Caelan and nudged his heel with two fingers.
Caelan toppled sideways instantly.
Mira snorted so suddenly she had to turn away to hide it.
"I am trying," Caelan complained from the ground, sprawled like a fallen log.
"No," Arveth corrected, "you are thinking. Stop thinking. Thinking is not helping you."
"That's rude," Caelan muttered.
"Accurate," Mira added.
Arveth gestured sharply. "Again."
They tried.
And tried again.
Mira improved with every correction, adjusting her grip, controlling her breathing, grounding her stance from her hips instead of her shoulders. She was beginning to understand the rhythm, the intention behind each movement.
Caelan also improved.
Backward.
At one point he somehow managed to hit his own shin with his staff.
Mira froze mid-block. "How, how did you even do that?"
"It was a tactical misfortune," Caelan said bravely, hobbling.
Arveth exhaled through his nose, the sound of a man processing deep, ancient patience before deciding not to throw either of them into the nearest river.
"You will spar," Arveth said.
Caelan's whole face brightened. "Oh, Mira, I will be gentle…"
Mira swept his legs out from under him before he finished.
Caelan hit the ground with a sound that suggested emotional and physical injury..
nodded approvingly. "Good. Again."
Caelan wheezed. "No"
"Yes," Arveth said simply.
⸻
A Shift in the Wind
After nearly an hour of practice, Mira was sweating but focused. Her arms trembled faintly, but there was a light in her eyes, a spark that Arveth recognized instantly.
She was improving.
She was hungry for it.
Caelan, meanwhile, lay on the ground in the approximate shape of a dead starfish.
Arveth planted the tip of his staff next to Caelan's ribs. "You are not dead. At least not yet. Stand."
Caelan emitted a sound that may not have belonged to any known language.
Mira helped him up despite the exasperation written across her face.
Arveth stepped back, assessing both of them, not unkind, but never soft.
"Mira," he said, "your progress is clear. You are learning to control your movements rather than chase them. Continue."
Pride flickered in Mira's tired expression. "Yes, sir."
Then Arveth's gaze slid to Caelan.
Caelan swallowed as if preparing for doom.
"You," Arveth said slowly, "are… spirited."
Caelan blinked. "Is that, good?"
"It is something."
Mira turned away quickly, shoulders shaking.
Arveth continued, "You have heart, Caelan. Heart is not technique. But it is a beginning."
Caelan's eyes lit. "So… I have potential?"
Arveth looked at him for a long, heavy moment.
"…You have heart," Arveth repeated.
Caelan sagged. "Right. Of course."
Mira patted his shoulder. "Hey, it's more than I expected him to say."
"It is not encouragement," Arveth said. "Do not misunderstand."
Caelan looked pained. "You could let me have this."
"No," Arveth said simply.
⸻
Before the Split
Arveth finally lowered his staff.
"Rest. Eat. We begin the next phase shortly."
Caelan collapsed immediately onto his back.
Mira sat beside him, taking slow sips of water. Her breathing steadied quickly, evidence of discipline and a stubborn, growing pride in her work.
Arveth's attention drifted toward the upper clearing. His expression changed, still stern, but carrying a weight more complex than simple instruction.
"Where's Severin?" Mira asked, wiping sweat from her brow.
A knowing glimmer passed through Arveth's eyes.
"He will join us soon," he said. "His training is separate this morning."
Caelan cracked open one eye. "Separate? Because of the whole… fire thing?"
Arveth didn't answer directly. His silence said enough.
Instead he said, "Prepare yourselves. What comes next will require more from you."
He stepped away, heading toward the sanctuary's heart, toward the place where Severin and Aelindra were resting, unseen but not unimportant.
Mira watched him go, jaw tightening with determination.
"Whatever he has planned… I want to be ready." She said with determination.
Caelan groaned. "I want breakfast."
Mira flicked a pebble at his forehead.
Caelan yelped.
Above them, the forest rustled, not with wind, but with something waiting. Something shifting. Something watching.
The day was only just beginning.
_______
High above the training clearing, the sanctuary remained quiet, soft light pooling across the mossy ground where Severin and Aelindra slept beneath the woven canopy of branches. The morning air was cool, carrying the faint scent of dew and wildflowers.
Aelindra stirred first.
She blinked slowly, the remnants of sleep clinging to her lashes, and found Severin already half-awake beside her, eyes open, gaze distant, as though listening to something only he could hear.
"Morning," she whispered, voice soft with sleep.
Severin turned his head toward her, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. "Did you rest well?"
Aelindra nodded, her hair falling loosely over her shoulder. "I think the sanctuary helps. It feels… safe."
"It is," Severin said quietly, sitting up. The morning light caught the faint ember-glow beneath his skin, dormant, calm, like a heartbeat at rest. "Arveth will want us soon."
Aelindra pushed herself upright, smoothing her tunic with small, deliberate movements. She was not trained for combat, not forged by discipline like Severin or Mira, but she grounded him. She always had.
Severin offered her his hand.
She took it without hesitation.
Together they stepped from the quiet of their resting place, the forest greeting them with a gentle rustle, ready to meet whatever the day would demand of them.