Clang—!
Steel struck dirt with a sharp, unforgiving sound.
So did the boy holding it.
Voren's shoulder hit the ground first, the rest of his body rolling with it before he stopped on his side. The sword slipped from his grip and skidded a short distance away, its blade half-buried in soil. Pain flared up his arm, hot and sudden, moving across his palm and wrist.
"Argh—"
He sucked in a breath and curled his fingers instinctively, hissing through his teeth. His skin was already flushed red, throbbing endlessly.
"Get up."
Aldric Kaleid stood a few steps away, sword held low, posture straight and steady. His eyes were sharp, focused, showing neither anger nor sympathy. Just expectation.
Voren lay there for a moment longer, staring at the sky. Clouds drifted lazily above him, white and uncaring. The contrast almost made him laugh.
Then he pushed himself up.
His knees sank into the dirt as he reached for the sword. The handle felt heavier than it had a few minutes ago, but he wrapped his fingers around it anyway and stood.
"I wasn't finished," Aldric said flatly. "You dropped your guard after the second exchange."
Voren nodded. "I know."
"Knowing doesn't matter if your body doesn't follow."
They circled each other slowly, grass crunching beneath their boots. The breeze carried the faint scent of metal and earth. Somewhere behind them, the Kaleid house stood quiet, unaware of the clash happening just beyond its walls.
"Again," Aldric said.
Voren raised his sword.
The next exchange came fast.
Steel met steel with a ringing clash that echoed across the grassland. Aldric moved first, stepping in with a clean diagonal slash aimed at Voren's shoulder. Voren reacted without thinking, blade snapping up to intercept. The impact jolted his arm, but he held.
Another strike followed immediately, then another. Aldric pressed forward, relentless, forcing Voren back step by step.
Clang!
Clang!
Clack!
Each impact sent vibrations up Voren's arms, rattling his grip. Sweat began to bead at his temple. His breathing grew heavier, but his eyes stayed locked on his father's movements.
He wasn't panicking.
That alone was new.
Before… before all of this, he would have been overwhelmed already. Aldric wasn't a mage, but he was a veteran of countless skirmishes and years of survival. His swordsmanship wasn't flashy. It was practical, efficient, and merciless.
Yet Voren kept up.
Not perfectly. He still stumbled. Still mistimed a parry here and there. But his feet moved when they needed to. His blade found the right angles more often than not.
Because his body remembered.
Even though the world had been rewound, the training he endured after this point still lingered in him. The long nights swinging a blade until his arms shook. The bruises. The losses. The desperate attempts to grow stronger just to survive.
All of it clung to his muscles like faint echoes.
Aldric noticed.
It showed in the slight narrowing of his eyes, in the way his strikes adjusted, testing instead of overwhelming.
"You're not retreating blindly," Aldric said mid-exchange. "Good."
He feinted low, then reversed the motion, snapping his blade upward toward Voren's wrist.
Voren twisted his grip and pulled back just in time, sparks flying as the blades scraped past each other.
Clash!
They broke apart, both breathing harder now.
"You've improved," Aldric said. "Where did you learn to read timing like that?"
Voren didn't answer immediately.
Because the truth wasn't something he could say.
Instead, he stepped forward and attacked.
He moved with more confidence now, initiating the exchange instead of waiting. His sword cut through the air in a controlled arc, aiming not to strike but to pressure. Aldric deflected easily, but the rhythm shifted.
They traded blows, one after another, the sound of steel ringing out again and again.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
Grass flattened beneath their feet as they moved. Dirt kicked up with each pivot and step. Voren's arms burned, his shoulders aching, but he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
Each swing grounded him further in the present. With every clash, the image of the arena, of blood pooling beneath him, faded just a little more.
This was real.
This was now.
And he was alive.
Aldric suddenly stepped inside Voren's guard, moving closer than before. The shift caught Voren off balance for half a second—just enough.
The flat of Aldric's blade struck Voren's side, knocking the air from his lungs.
"Oof—!"
Voren staggered, but he didn't fall this time. He clenched his teeth and rolled with the impact, retreating two steps before resetting his stance.
Aldric raised an eyebrow.
"Better," he said. "You didn't freeze."
They resumed.
Minutes blurred together. Or maybe it was longer. Voren lost track of time, aware only of motion, sound, and breath. His palms grew slick with sweat. His fingers screamed in protest each time steel met steel.
Still, he kept going.
There were moments where instinct took over completely. Where his body reacted before his mind could catch up. A sudden parry that surprised even him. A sidestep that avoided a blow by inches.
Each time, Aldric adjusted. Corrected. Pushed him harder.
"Your footing," Aldric said sharply after one exchange. "Too narrow."
Voren widened his stance immediately.
"Don't stare at the blade. Watch the shoulders."
Voren shifted his focus.
"Again."
And again.
The sun climbed higher overhead, casting shorter shadows across the field. Birds scattered at the sound of clashing steel. Somewhere far off, a breeze rustled through taller grass, but here, everything revolved around the dance of blades.
Eventually, Aldric stepped back and lowered his sword.
"Enough," he said.
Voren froze, chest heaving. His arms trembled as he lowered his blade as well. Sweat dripped down his face, soaking into the collar of his shirt. Every muscle in his body ached.
He felt exhausted.
But not weak.
Aldric studied him for a long moment. Not as a father. Not as a teacher.
As a warrior assessing another.
"You've improved a lot," Aldric finally said.
The words landed heavier than any blow.
Voren straightened slightly. "I… have?"
"Yes," Aldric said. "You move like someone who's already been beaten and stood back up again."
He turned away, walking toward the shed, then paused.
"That's not something talent gives you," he added quietly. "That comes from experience."
Voren said nothing. He couldn't.
They sheathed their swords and sat on the grass for a while, letting the silence settle. Voren stared at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly. The redness had faded to a dull ache.
"You didn't hesitate when I pressed you," Aldric said eventually. "Most people do."
Voren swallowed. He thought of Aiden. Of the moment the sword pierced his body. Of the helplessness.
"I don't want to freeze again," he said softly.
Aldric glanced at him. "Then don't."
They stood up not long after, brushing dirt from their clothes. The training wasn't over forever, but it was done for today.
As they walked back toward the house, Voren looked once more at the grassland behind them. At the faint marks their sparring had left behind.
This time, he didn't see a place of hardship.
He saw a starting point.