Arin woke to sunlight.
It took him a moment to get up. Unlike the mines, the light wasn't pale, cold, or distant. It was warm. Bright. Real sunlight, pouring in through the open window and landing on the floor in uneven shapes.
He blinked a few times, squinting.
After weeks underground, the sky still felt excessive.
It had been five days since they returned from the mine. Five days of real beds, real food, and air that didn't taste like dust and metal. His body had stopped aching in sharp ways, though a deeper soreness lingered, the kind that came from overuse rather than injury.
Arin sat up and stretched slowly, joints popping one by one. Outside, he could already hear movement—footsteps, the clack of wood, the dull thump of something heavy hitting the ground.
Raul, probably.
He stepped outside their hut, bare feet touching packed earth. The village was awake but unhurried. Just people going about their routines.
Raul was already sparring with Mina.
Well—had been, apparently.
Arin scanned the training area and frowned. Mina wasn't fighting. She was sitting off to the side, relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, holding a cup of tea like this was a midday break instead of a training session.
Raul, on the other hand, was very much fighting.
Just not with Mina.
Rasir stood across from him, spear in hand, stance low and grounded. His left sleeve hung empty where his arm used to be, but it didn't slow him down. If anything, it made his movements tighter, more economical.
Raul darted in, fast enough that Arin barely caught the motion, blade flashing—
—and Rasir's spear shifted half an inch, redirecting the strike without even meeting it head-on.
Raul withdrew instantly, already moving again from another angle.
Miss.
Again.
Again.
Arin exhaled slowly. Even at Captain rank, Raul couldn't touch him.
Victor was nowhere to be seen. That didn't surprise Arin in the slightest.
For the past five days, Victor had been locked inside his smithy like a man possessed. Any attempt to check on him had been met with shouted curses, flying tools, or some variation of "Don't touch anything or I'll stab you."
Arin rolled his shoulders and stepped away from the sparring area, intending to stretch properly—
—and nearly collided with Victor.
The man was moving at a half-run, eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, clothes stained with soot and metal dust. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"Give me your sword," Victor said, voice hoarse.
Arin didn't even question it. He reached over his shoulder, unsheathed Midnight Howl, and placed it in Victor's hands.
Victor turned and walked away immediately, already muttering to himself.
"Binding stability… no, that resonance curve is wrong… damn it…"
And then he was gone.
Arin watched him disappear into the smithy before shaking his head and heading toward the training ground.
Mina noticed him and lifted her cup slightly. "Morning."
"What's going on?" Arin asked, nodding toward Raul and Rasir.
"Oh." She took a sip, unbothered. "Father showed up while we were sparring and said he wanted to join. Since I'm fully accustomed to my strength now, and Raul still has rough edges, Father's the better match."
Arin glanced at her. "That's your official reason?"
She smiled, eyes crinkling. "I also wanted to relax."
He snorted. "So you dumped the hard work on Sir Rasir."
"Absolutely."
Arin sat beside her, accepting the cup of tea she passed him. It was warm and faintly sweet.
"Funny," he said after a moment. "I used to think that once I got strong enough, I'd finally relax."
"And?"
"And now I don't think that's happening anytime soon."
Mina nodded. "Strength has a way of attracting trouble."
They sat in silence for a while, watching the spar.
Raul pressed forward relentlessly, movements sharp, controlled. He wasn't wasting energy, wasn't rushing blindly. Prime Augury guided him, subtle shifts in posture and balance steering his strikes away from dead angles.
Rasir responded with experience. No wasted motion. No panic. Every block and redirection came just before it was needed, as if he could feel Raul's intent before the blade moved.
"So," Mina said eventually, breaking the silence. "What's the plan after leaving the desert?"
Arin leaned back slightly. "Not sure. But I want to return to Ashenvill Barony one day."
She looked at him. "Why?"
"There's someone there who tried to have us killed by sending assassins towards us."
Her expression sharpened. "You were chased by assassins?"
Arin nodded and told her everything.
The ambush. The narrow escapes. The long road afterward. The way danger seemed to follow them even when they thought they'd outrun it.
Mina listened without interrupting, her expression unreadable as he spoke.
When he finally finished, she let out a slow breath.
"That's… a lot," she said. "Honestly, it's kind of a miracle you're all still standing. Though," she added after a beat, "with your talent, I guess surviving something like that isn't completely impossible."
"We got lucky," Arin said. "But everyone pulled their weight. And it wasn't all bad." He hesitated, then added, "We found our fourth member. Someone truly capable. We're lucky to have you, Mina."
Her lips curved, just slightly. "You really mean that?"
"Yes," Arin said, without dressing it up. "I do."
She looked away, a faint warmth touching her cheeks. After a moment, she nodded.
"Then we get stronger," she said quietly. "And when the time comes… we deal with whoever tried to kill you."
The sound of steel scraping against wood cut through the air.
Raul slid back several steps, boots scraping lines into the dirt, chest rising and falling hard. Rasir lowered his spear at the same time, the tip hovering just above the ground as he drew in a slow, controlled breath.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Rasir straightened and clicked his tongue. "Draw."
Raul didn't argue. He rolled his shoulders once, loosening the tension there, and wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
Up close, it was obvious why the fight had stalled.
Rasir was experience made flesh. Every thrust of his spear had been placed, every feint deliberate. Even missing an arm, his balance never wavered. He didn't chase openings; he waited for them, forcing Raul to move first, to commit.
But Raul…
Raul was a different beast now.
He wasn't just fast. That part was obvious. Flowstep carried him in and out of range so cleanly that even Arin's eyes struggled to track the transitions. But speed alone wasn't what made him hard to deal with.
It was how little he wasted.
Sixth Sense warned him a heartbeat before danger. Prime Augury quietly mapped Rasir's patterns, showing him which angles were dead ends and which ones might crack if pushed hard enough. Martial Kinesthesia kept his body perfectly aligned through every twist and recovery, blades always where his mind expected them to be.
And through it all, Enduring Heart kept his focus sharp all the time.
No panic, no frustration. Even when Rasir forced him back again and again, Raul never rushed.
Rasir stared at him for a long second, jaw tight.
"When did you get this strong brat?" he asked, irritation slipping through his voice despite himself.
Raul huffed out a short laugh. "Don't start flattering me now, old man."
"That wasn't flattery."
Raul straightened fully, rolling his neck once. "I'm still not on my top game," he said honestly. "Captain rank strength hasn't settled yet. Once it does…" He grinned, sharp and unapologetic. "Yeah. I'll beat you."
Rasir's eye twitched.
"Easy," Raul added, clearly enjoying himself a little too much.
That did it.
Rasir snapped his spear back into guard, posture shifting from patient to predatory. "That's it," he growled. "Round two."
Mina took another sip of her tea.
Arin sighed, already aware that he was enjoying the spar far too much.