The afternoon lazily fell over the Ellory mansion, tinting the sky with golden and pink hues. Yan had spent the rest of the day in silence. He read some reports, adjusted his mana core with breathing exercises recommended in old basic training files, and even helped Helena with small maintenance tasks around the house. Nothing out of the ordinary. But even in the simplest tasks, there was a latent tension, like a rope about to snap.
Night was approaching.
And with it, the promise of yet another meeting with Lilia.
It wasn't fear he felt. But it wasn't just anxiety either. It was something denser, more intimate. As if fate itself was lurking in the corners of the house, waiting to see what he would do.
Aurora noticed his prolonged silence and threw him a glance during dinner.
"Are you really going out again tonight?"
Yan kept his eyes on his plate.
"I am."
She huffed, crossing her arms.
"You're starting to form a dangerous pattern."
"I'm starting to understand what I need to do."
Helena delicately set down her cutlery, saying nothing. But her eyes analyzed him carefully. She was always like that—understanding, but never naive. Her silence carried more questions than any interrogation.
After dinner, Yan went up to his room and changed clothes. He put on something light, durable, suitable for movement. His muscles still ached from previous training sessions, but he did not intend to back down. Pain was part of the forging. Part of the transformation.
When the sky was completely dark, he left the mansion, his body wrapped by the cool night breeze. The path to the training field wasn't long, but on that day, it felt more significant.
Each step echoed like a prelude.
Upon arriving, he found the field empty—or at least at first glance. The wind rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, and the dark sand floor seemed untouched.
But he knew she was there.
"You're late," a voice came from the darkness, like a cutting whisper.
Lilia emerged from the shadows with her usual proud posture. The spear rested on her back, and her magenta eyes shone with unusual intensity.
"I was curious if you would come," she said, walking to the center of the field. "Many retreat after the first encounter."
"I'm not 'many.'"
A slight smile curved her lips. No sarcasm. No disdain. Just acknowledgment.
"Then show me."
Without more words, Lilia removed the spear from her back with a fluid movement. The metal gleamed under the starlight, and the pressure around seemed to shift. It was as if the air recognized her presence... and bowed to her.
Yan activated his mana core. There was no room for hesitation.
That night, he didn't just want to resist.
He wanted to challenge.
---
Lilia spun the spear between her fingers with a blend of elegance and brutality. The sound of metal cutting through the air was like a warning—a cold melody that said: hesitate, and you will bleed.
"Activate your mana," she said, her voice as firm as a sheathed blade. "Or you won't last a second."
Yan had already done that. He felt the warm flow coursing through his veins, the core pulsing in his abdomen like a second heart. He was stronger than yesterday. More aware. But as soon as Lilia advanced, he realized how much he was still... insufficient.
She came like a storm. A blur of movement, precision, and lethal intention. The spear cut the space between them in a fraction of a second, aiming directly at the center of his chest.
Yan dodged—or at least tried.
The blow didn't hit him, but the air displacement threw him to the side like a puppet. He rolled on the sand, his shoulder scraping the rough ground, but got up quickly, panting.
"Too slow," Lilia said, spinning on her heels and already coming for the second attack.
He tried to anticipate the movement. Used his body's momentum to spin the ethereal sword and raise a mana barrier. The impact was brutal. His blade trembled when it met the spear, and his feet slipped backward, carving furrows in the sand.
Lilia didn't retreat. She pressed on. She tested.
"What are you doing, Yan?" her voice cut between attacks. "This isn't a dance. It's survival. Do you think anyone will stop to admire your technique when they're trying to rip your head off?"
He grunted, counterattacking with a frontal thrust, but her spear was already in another position, easily blocking, deflecting, redirecting.
"You're still hesitating," she said, now behind him. How? He didn't know. He only felt the cold shaft brush his neck before she pulled back with a jump.
Sweat dripped from his hair. His breath was short and tense. His heart beat like a war drum.
"Don't hesitate."
Her words haunted him. And they were right. He thought too much. Calculated too much. Wanted to predict, to understand. But real fighting didn't allow time for that.
Lilia attacked again. This time, a low strike that almost took his legs from under him. He jumped over, but in midair, he became a predictable target. The spear found him there—not to kill, but to punish. The shaft hit his abdomen with a dry force, knocking him down like a dead weight.
Yan fell on his back, coughing from the pain.
"You train against dummies. Against fixed targets. Against shadows," Lilia said, walking slowly around him. "But reality... reality is harsher."
She looked down on him, her magenta eyes shining with something he couldn't define. It wasn't disdain. It wasn't pity. It was demand. A standard she refused to lower.
"The enemy doesn't hesitate. He doesn't retreat. He won't give second chances."
Yan spat some blood but stood up.
"Then... teach me."
Lilia raised an eyebrow. For a moment, something like respect gleamed in her gaze.
"Good."
And she came again.
This time, Yan tried not to think. He tried to react instinctively. Body before mind. He moved in circles, kept the sword firm, looked for openings. But Lilia was like smoke with blades: untouchable, sharp, impossible to contain.
He attacked with everything—wide strikes, quick combinations, even small pulses of mana concentrated on the blade. But she danced between his attacks with a disconcerting lightness. No static defense. No armor. Just movement, reading, precision.
And every time he missed—and he missed many—Lilia punished him. Not with gratuitous cruelty, but with physical lessons.
A strike to the ribs when he left his flank open.
A blow to the leg when he lost balance.
A push to the shoulder when he hesitated between two paths.
With every failure, an impact. With every mistake, a reminder.
Yan felt everything. His body burning, muscles screaming, throat dry. And yet... he didn't stop.
Because there was something different about that pain. It wasn't humiliation. It was transformation.
He was improving.
Not enough to beat her. Not even close to touching a strand of her hair. But he was beginning to understand the rhythm. The timing. The why of his mistakes. And that, for someone like him, was gold.
After one last poorly executed block, Lilia spun the spear, stopping a millimeter from his neck... and stepped back.
"That's enough for today."
Yan staggered, falling to his knees. Sweat mixed with sand, and his chest heaved as if he had run miles.
She stored the weapon on her back with the same calmness with which an artist finishes a painting.
"You're not terrible," she said, turning her back. "You're just used to a world afraid to break you."
Yan lifted his face, still kneeling.
"And you're not afraid?"
She paused for a second. Then, without looking back:
"I only break what I want to see grow stronger."
Silence.
Lilia walked away into the darkness, her footsteps so light they seemed to be swallowed by the wind. Yan remained there, kneeling, exhausted... but alive. The flame inside him still burning. More than that: fueled.
He didn't feel humiliated.
He felt challenged.
"Don't hesitate."
"Accept the pain."
"Improve."
Those words no longer sounded like orders. They sounded like truths.
Yan lay down on the cold sand, his body aching everywhere possible. But a discreet smile broke through his exhaustion.
The sky above was clear, dotted with stars.
And for the first time in a long time, he felt that he was truly on the right path.