Moonlight filtered across the rooftop as Aldric circled Elara in measured steps, his midnight coat trailing behind him like a shadow with purpose. The sword in her hand felt heavier than she expected—not just in weight, but in legacy.
"Balance," he said, voice low and even. "Power is nothing if your stance is broken."
She adjusted her footing, mimicking the posture he demonstrated moments before. "I didn't grow up wielding blades. I learned how to file taxes and fend off shareholders."
"Both are weapons," he replied. "This one just cuts deeper."
He lunged.
She barely blocked, the clash of steel ringing through the empty rooftop like a siren. Sparks skittered across the stone as Aldric spun away.
Elara's breath heaved. "You're not holding back."
"I won't." He raised the blade again. "Neither will they."
They trained until the first cut bloomed on her upper arm—a shallow slice, but enough to remind her that magic didn't make her invincible.
Aldric approached and touched her wound. The warmth of his hand triggered a healing pulse from the glyph on her chest. Skin stitched itself closed with silvery threads.
"You're adapting faster than I expected," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "But you still fight with your mind. You need to fight with your instinct."
Elara looked up, heart racing from more than just exertion. "Then teach me how to let go."
His gaze held hers for a moment too long. "That's what I fear."