For the next hour or so, the Iron Wolves cycled through various exercises. Erik paired off with Finn to practice defending against quick strikes. He found that if he focused, his heightened senses could track the rogue's movements better than before. It was more feeling than sight; he'd predict a feint and block almost by intuition. At one point, Finn paused, wiping sweat and eyeing Erik. "It's uncanny… you're reading me like an open book. Have you been secretly spying on my footwork at night?"
Erik just shrugged and smiled. He didn't quite know how to explain that it felt like his Battle Sense rune was letting him anticipate attacks, or that maybe he was just more attuned to the flow of combat now. In truth, he also sensed something else, a faint awareness of Finn's general capabilities. As they sparred, he could almost feel the difference between them. It wasn't a matter of numbers, but an instinctual assessment: Finn was a blur of motion, his speed a tangible advantage, but he lacked the raw, grounding force of Darius or the sheer power Erik himself possessed. He was a flicker of lightning, while Erik was the thunder that followed.
Nearby, Darius and Lyra engaged in a slower-paced drill where Darius attacked in slow motion and Lyra practiced using her staff to deflect, then counter with a quick spell. The knight offered patient corrections, showing her how to angle the staff to redirect force and how to position her feet. Lyra absorbed it all with earnest concentration. Once, when Darius moved unexpectedly fast, she was late bringing up a block and his practice sword tapped her side. She let out a frustrated huff, a flash of that restrained desire for improvement surfacing. Instead of wilting, she demanded they do it again, and this time successfully parried the blow with a bright grin.
As Erik watched her, he noticed something intriguing. Each time Lyra invoked even a smidge of magic, a subtle aura emanated around her. It was more sensed than seen, the hairs on his arms would prickle slightly, and he'd feel a warmth, as though standing in gentle sunlight for a brief moment. He felt he could sense the strength of Lyra's magic almost as a tangible thing. It had grown since he first met her. Where once her spells were like a candle's glow in the dark, now they had the beginning intensity of a hearthfire. The divine power within her was building, quietly but surely.
At one point, Lyra healed a shallow scrape on Finn's forearm (a souvenir of an overly enthusiastic dodge roll into the fence). She rested a hand on him and murmured a prayer. A soft white light mended the abrasion in seconds. Finn flexed his arm, impressed as always. But Erik, standing a couple paces away, caught a glimpse of something else: for an instant, as Lyra's spell worked, the air around her seemed to shimmer, the motes of dust in the sunlight dancing a little brighter. It vanished almost immediately, so quickly he wondered if it was a trick of his eyes. Lyra seemed unaware of it, and Finn certainly didn't react. Erik decided not to mention it aloud, but inwardly, he marveled. It was as if the Light itself watched over her, manifesting in subtle ways.
Eventually, all four found themselves sitting or leaning against the fence, catching their breath and hydrating. One of the guild apprentices had kindly brought a jug of cool water and some towels, which they gratefully used. The sun had dipped slightly westward; late afternoon was approaching.
Erik wiped sweat from his brow and took a long drink from a waterskin. His body felt pleasantly exhausted, a good workout, muscles warm and loose. Across from him, Darius poured water over his head, shaking out his hair like a drenched bear. Finn was flat on his back in the grass, chest heaving as he groaned, "I think… I think I left my stamina back at the tavern."
Lyra sat primly on a stump, dabbing her neck with a towel. Her face was flushed from exertion, a few damp curls escaping her bun, and she had never looked more vibrant. "You did well, Finn," she said kindly. "We all did. That was invigorating."
"Heh, speak for yourself," Finn replied, though he gave her a thumbs-up. "I admit, you pack a wallop with that stick. My thigh will remember you tomorrow."
Lyra giggled. "Better a bruise now than a wound later. You taught me that."
Finn blinked in surprise. "I did?"
She nodded. "After the goblins in the dungeon, you said sometimes pain is the best teacher, referencing your bruises."
Erik remembered that moment too and joined in, affecting Finn's lilting cadence, "Sometimes pain's the best teacher, darling. Builds character."
Darius chuckled as Finn looked offended. "I do not sound like that!" Finn protested, sitting up. He tried to mimic Erik's deeper voice in retaliation. "I'm Erik, I hit things real hard and brood heroically in my spare time."
A burst of laughter went around. Erik clapped a hand to his heart. "Brood heroically? I'll have you know I only brood on rare occasions."
Lyra's eyes danced with mirth. "And always heroically, of course."
"Of course," Erik agreed, flashing a grin. The camaraderie in that moment swelled his heart. These were his people, a strange, mismatched little family forged in battle, banter, and trust.
One of the younger adventurers who'd been watching cleared his throat shyly from the fence. "Um, Sir Darius? Sir Erik? That was amazing. Any tips for us still learning?" Behind him, two others, likely fresh recruits, leaned in eagerly.
Darius set aside his towel and gave the trio his full attention, kindly but firm. "Basics first. Footwork and balance. Don't rush into fancy swordplay without a solid stance. Practice until it's second nature."
Erik added, "And fight as a team whenever possible. We survive because we trust each other out there."
Darius's expression grew serious, his gaze sweeping over Erik, Lyra, and Finn. "He's right," he said, his voice a low, somber rumble that cut through the lightheartedness. "You watch each other's backs. That's the most important rule." He paused, his eyes lingering on Erik for a moment longer. "A leader's job isn't just to fight beside you. It's to make sure you're all still standing to fight the next day… even if he isn't."
A heavy silence fell for a moment, the weight of his words settling on them, before Darius broke the spell with a firm, reassuring nod. "No glory is worth your lives."
The youths nodded earnestly, thanking them, though they looked slightly confused by the sudden gravity. Erik suspected they'd be reenacting today's spar among themselves by evening, with exaggerated flair no doubt. The thought made him smile.
As the spectators dispersed and the yard returned to quiet, Darius pushed off the fence. "Alright. We should all clean up and get a good meal. Early to bed, too, dawn will come soon."
Finn groaned but didn't argue. In truth, even he looked content to rest tonight rather than carouse, given what awaited them. "Yes, Dad," he quipped lightly, picking himself up off the ground. Darius arched an eyebrow at him and Finn made a zipper motion across his lips.
They gathered their belongings. Erik carefully traded the practice axe for his Erythrael, securing the great weapon on his back once more. He sensed a subtle pulse from it, almost like a satisfied sigh after watching him train. Or maybe that was just his imagination. Either way, he felt more at ease having put in some honest drills, like a blade freshly sharpened and oiled, he too was primed for what lay ahead.
Lyra dusted off her robe and suggested, "Shall we meet at the inn for dinner? I believe Miss Hilda mentioned a stew on the boil for tonight."
Finn's eyes sparkled at the mention of food. "Now that is the best idea I've heard all day." He patted his stomach. "I'm so hungry I could eat a whole cave rat, cooked, even!"
"Mind you actually pay your tab this time," Darius said dryly. He turned to Erik and Lyra. "I'll secure our travel provisions from the barracks, bedrolls, flint, that sort of thing, and catch up with you shortly." Ever the one to busy himself, he headed off, giving them a small wave.