Edrin had come to a deeply troubling conclusion.
"I think they're targeting me," he said.
Lyra didn't look at him. "Yes."
"I was hoping you'd say no."
"That would be a lie."
Edrin stared at her. "You could have lied."
"I prefer accuracy."
"I prefer comfort."
They stood at the edge of the clearing, both watching the quiet forest as if it might suddenly decide to attack them again—which, based on recent experience, felt entirely possible.
The villagers had long since retreated, spreading news of Edrin's accidental victories with alarming enthusiasm.
Edrin groaned. "They're going to make this worse, aren't they?"
"Definitely."
"I don't want to be famous."
"You're not famous," Lyra said. "You're noticeable."
"That's worse."
Lyra crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful. "The Invaders don't act randomly. They're drawn to something."
Edrin pointed at himself. "Please don't say me."
"You."
He closed his eyes. "Of course."
"They noticed you killed one of them," she continued. "Now they're testing you."
"I don't like being tested. I usually fail those."
Lyra glanced at him. "Not this time."
Edrin blinked. "…That sounded encouraging again."
"It wasn't."
"It really was."
Lyra looked away. "Don't make it weird."
"Too late."
A brief silence settled between them.
Then Edrin shifted awkwardly. "So… what now?"
"We train," Lyra said simply.
Edrin stared at her. "More?"
"Yes."
"I was hoping for less."
"No."
Edrin sighed. "That was optimistic of me."
Lyra stepped back into the clearing. "If they're adapting, we adapt faster."
"I adapt by falling," Edrin said.
"Then fall better."
"…I don't know what that means."
"You will."
Edrin reluctantly picked up his sword again. It still felt heavy, still unfamiliar—but slightly less so than before.
Progress, he supposed.
"Alright," he said. "What are we focusing on?"
"Movement," Lyra replied. "You dodged twice."
"I panicked twice."
"Call it what you want. Do it again."
Edrin hesitated. "Without something trying to kill me?"
"Yes."
"That seems less motivating."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "Would you like me to attack you?"
Edrin took a step back. "Let's try the peaceful version first."
He took a breath and shifted his stance, trying to remember what had happened moments before.
The feeling.
The instinct.
The panic.
"…I think fear is a key component," he said.
"Then imagine you're in danger."
Edrin nodded seriously. "That's easy. I'm always in danger."
"Focus."
"I am focusing."
"You're squinting again."
"I focus better when I squint."
"That's still not how that works."
Edrin adjusted his stance.
Then moved.
A small step to the side.
Awkward.
Unsteady.
But intentional.
Lyra watched closely.
"Again," she said.
Edrin moved again.
This time smoother.
Still not good.
But better.
"…I'm doing it," he said, surprised.
"Yes," Lyra said. "You are."
Edrin paused, staring at his own feet like they had suddenly become very impressive.
"…I didn't fall."
"Don't celebrate yet."
"I'm going to celebrate a little."
Lyra shook her head, but there was a faint hint of approval in her expression.
Then—
The air shifted again.
Both of them froze.
Edrin sighed.
"…We just talked about this."
Lyra's gaze sharpened. "Get ready."
Edrin tightened his grip on the sword.
"…I was hoping for a break."
"No breaks."
"Of course not."
A ripple formed at the edge of the clearing.
Darker than before.
Stronger.
Edrin swallowed.
"…That looks worse."
"It is."
The distortion widened—
And something began to step through.
Bigger.
Heavier.
More stable than the previous ones.
Edrin took a deep breath.
"…Alright," he said quietly. "No running the wrong way this time."
Lyra glanced at him.
"That would be a good start."
Edrin nodded.
His hands trembled.
His heart raced.
But he didn't step back.
For the first time—
He stayed where he was.
"…I'm definitely going to regret this," he said.
Lyra allowed the faintest smile.
"Yes," she said. "But you're improving."
The creature emerged fully.
And this time—
Edrin was ready.
Or at least—
Less unready than before.