The sharp pain in Cal's side had faded. Now it was just a dull ache.
Across from him stood Cloud—or maybe Wind. He still wasn't sure which name was real. She held her wooden sword loosely.
Her green-blue veil fluttered in the breeze, hiding her face. But her dark eyes stayed locked on him.
"Again," she said calmly.
Cal adjusted his grip and stepped into the stance she'd drilled into him—knees bent, weight even, shoulders relaxed.
He exhaled and moved forward, swinging his sword in a clean arc toward her side.
She didn't flinch. Her blade shot up and blocked his strike with a sharp clack. Before he could pull back, she tapped his ribs with the tip of her sword.
"Too slow," she said. "You're still thinking. Stop thinking. Just move."
Cal stepped back and shook out his wrist. "I'm trying. You're just too fast."
"Excuses don't block swords," she said, circling him. "Again."
He nodded and wiped sweat from his forehead. Training had been tough—mornings with a sword, afternoons hauling water or chopping wood, evenings learning footwork and balance.
She wasn't patient, but she was clear. Her corrections were sharp, her movements perfect. He'd seen her fight invisible enemies, her sword a blur.
He wasn't there yet. But he was getting better.
This time, he faked left and moved right, aiming at her shoulder. She blocked again, but he twisted his grip, knocked her blade aside, and stepped in.
For a second, he thought he had her.
Then her foot hooked around his ankle. He hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs. Her sword hovered an inch from his throat.
"Better," she said, with a small nod. "But still too easy to read."
Cal groaned and stared at the cloudy sky. "Easy to read? I thought that was clever."
"Clever doesn't help if you miss the counter," she said, offering her hand. She pulled him up with surprising strength.
"You're moving better. Starting to trust your body. That's good. But your mind's still getting in the way."
He brushed off his tunic. "What does that mean?"
"You fight like you're scared to lose," she said, raising her sword again. "Stop worrying. Don't hold back. Mean it."
Cal frowned and gripped his sword tighter. "I'm not scared."
She narrowed her eyes like she didn't believe him. "Then prove it."
They sparred again. And again. Each round left him more sore, more tired—but also better.
As the sun rose higher, his arms felt like stone. But for the first time, he landed a light hit on her arm.
She didn't say anything. Just nodded and told him to get ready.
Two Months Later
Frost covered the clearing. The air was cold and sharp. Cal trained alone now, his sword slicing through the mist in smooth, practiced moves.
His strikes were steady. The sword felt natural, like part of him. His body had changed too—leaner, stronger. Old wounds had faded into scars.
Cloud watched from the trees, her real sword at her side. She hadn't joined in today. Just watched.
"Keep your elbow in on the third strike," she called out. "You're drifting."
Cal adjusted and finished the form. "Better?"
She tilted her head. "Passable."
He smiled and rested the sword on his shoulder. "That's the nicest thing you've said."
"Don't get cocky," she replied, but there was a hint of a smile. "You're not useless anymore. That's all."
He laughed—lighter than it had been in a long time. The pain of losing Serna and his village was still there.
But it didn't crush him anymore. Training gave him focus. And Cloud—despite her sharp words—gave him something steady.
She stepped forward. "Show me yesterday's riposte."
He nodded and got into position. She struck without warning—a quick slash at his chest.
He blocked, stepped aside, and countered with a thrust. She blocked, but he followed with a low sweep she hadn't taught him.
Her eyes widened slightly as she jumped back.
"Where'd that come from?" she asked.
Cal shrugged, trying not to grin. "I practice when you're not looking."
She raised an eyebrow. "Sneaky. I like it." She sheathed her sword. "You're learning faster than I thought. You might actually survive out there."
That Evening
They sat by a small fire. Shadows stretched into the woods. Cal poked at the embers with a stick.
Cloud sat nearby, sharpening her sword. The soft scrape filled the silence. The fire kept the cold at bay.
After a while, she spoke—quiet, like she was talking to the stars.
"You can fight now," she said. "So… when are you leaving?"
Cal froze. Sparks floated into the dark. He looked at her. Her veil caught the firelight, part of her face lit.
She didn't look at him. Just the sky.
"Leaving?" he asked, stalling. His hand brushed the pendant beneath his tunic.
"I…" The words stuck. Leaving meant going after the red-armored soldiers—the ones who burned his home and killed Serna. It meant chasing answers. Maybe revenge.