By the time the sun began to set, Edrin had discovered three important things about training:
First, swords were heavier than they looked.
Second, falling hurt more the tenth time than the first.
And third, Lyra had absolutely no intention of letting him rest.
"Again," she said.
Edrin leaned on his sword, breathing heavily. "I think I've reached my daily limit of embarrassment."
"You passed that hours ago."
"That's fair."
He straightened with effort, lifting the sword once more. His arms trembled, his stance uneven—but he tried.
He really tried.
Lyra watched closely this time, her sharp gaze following every movement. "Focus on your footing," she instructed. "Your balance is the problem."
"My entire existence is the problem," Edrin replied.
Before she could respond—
The air changed.
It was subtle at first. A strange stillness, like the world had paused to take a breath.
Then came the sound.
A low, tearing noise, like fabric being ripped apart.
Edrin froze. "That's new."
Lyra's expression hardened instantly. "Stay behind me."
"I was already planning to."
The space in front of them twisted.
Light bent unnaturally, folding into itself as a jagged crack split open in midair. Darkness seeped through, thick and unnatural, swallowing the fading sunlight.
Edrin took a step back. "I don't like that."
"You shouldn't," Lyra said.
From the rift, something emerged.
Tall.
Wrong.
Its form shifted like smoke trying to remember how to be solid. Two glowing eyes burned within the darkness, locking onto them with unsettling awareness.
Edrin pointed at it. "That's definitely not a tree."
Lyra raised her hand, magic already gathering in her palm. "Invader."
The creature moved.
Fast.
Faster than Edrin could process.
One moment it stood still—the next it was lunging forward, its form stretching unnaturally as it struck.
Lyra reacted instantly. A burst of light exploded from her hand, slamming into the creature and forcing it back.
"Run!" she ordered.
Edrin did not hesitate.
He ran.
Directly forward.
"Wait—wrong direction!" Lyra shouted.
"Sorry!" Edrin yelled as panic overruled all logic.
The creature turned toward him.
Edrin's thoughts raced.
This is it. This is how I go. Tripped into destiny, immediately tripped out of existence.
He tried to stop.
His foot caught.
Of course it did.
Edrin stumbled.
Then fell.
But this time, something was different.
Instead of dropping straight down, his momentum carried him forward—toward the Invader.
His grip tightened on the sword.
"I regret everything!" he shouted.
The blade struck.
Not cleanly. Not skillfully.
But it hit something.
There was a sudden flash—a bright, sharp burst of light from within the creature itself.
The Invader froze.
Then cracked.
Like glass under pressure.
Lyra stared.
Edrin stared.
The creature let out a distorted sound—then shattered into fragments of shadow that dissolved into nothing.
Silence fell over the clearing.
Edrin lay face-first on the ground.
"…I meant to do that," he said weakly.
Lyra didn't respond.
Slowly, she lowered her hand, her gaze fixed on where the creature had been.
Then she looked at Edrin.
"…You hit the core," she said.
Edrin lifted his head slightly. "I did?"
"Yes."
"…Is that important?"
"It's the only way to kill them."
Edrin paused.
"…Oh."
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, staring at his sword like it had personally betrayed him.
"I'd like to clarify," he said, "that this was not a repeatable strategy."
Lyra walked over, still watching him carefully.
"Do it again," she said.
Edrin blinked. "Against what? The air?"
Lyra didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she extended a hand and pulled him to his feet.
"You're still terrible," she said.
"I'm aware."
"But you didn't freeze."
"I panicked."
"You moved."
"In the wrong direction."
"You hit the core."
"By accident."
Lyra studied him for a moment longer.
Then, very slightly—
She smiled.
"Again," she said.
Edrin groaned, but tightened his grip on the sword.
"…If another one of those appears," he said, "I'm running the correct way this time."
Lyra turned back toward the darkening horizon.
"Let's hope you get the chance," she replied.
Somewhere far away, the sky flickered.
And this time—
It wasn't the last crack.