Selene stopped and turned around, the wind tugging gently at her white hair. She looked at him with piercing blue eyes that shimmered like frost beneath the noon sun.

  They stood in a quiet glade, surrounded by towering trees that swayed ever so slightly. Sunlight poured from above, golden rays filtering through the canopy to cast flickering patterns across the grass. The world was still, as if holding its breath.

  The sun hung high and unmoving, directly overhead, illuminating every detail with an almost divine clarity.

  Selene's hand moved behind her in a slow, deliberate motion. Her fingers closed around the hilt of her blade, and with a sharp pull, she drew it from the sheath strapped across her back. The sword sang softly as it came free, its voice low and filled with promise.

  It wasn’t made of metal. The blade gleamed white like polished bone, smooth and cold, etched with runes that pulsed faintly with pale, silver light. It looked almost fragile, as if it could shatter from a single blow—yet something about it made the air around her vibrate.

  She raised the blade with both hands, and the runes glowed brighter, responding to her touch.

  "Give me all you've got," she said, her words edged with steel.

  Cale felt the temperature around him dip. Just a little. Enough to raise goosebumps along his arms, enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The world felt sharper now, like everything had suddenly come into focus.

  Then she moved.

  She was fast.

  As fast as the wind that rushed down mountaintops. As fast as the breath drawn before a scream. Her feet barely touched the earth as she closed the distance, her blade slicing through the air with a whistle that made his heart skip a beat.

  She came at him like a storm given shape.

  And he knew, without a doubt, this was no spar.

  Cale’s right arm shimmered, then rippled as metal surged through it. It shifted, folding and hardening, becoming a blade of dark steel—sleek and sharp.

  He met her first strike with a crash of steel-on-steel, the impact sending vibrations through his entire body.

  She twisted, bringing her blade down from another angle, and he parried just in time, sliding back across the grass. She was relentless—each strike more precise, more forceful, more intent. Their blades clashed again and again, sparks flying as metal met bone.

  He was fast—but she was faster.

  He ducked under a sweeping arc and aimed a counterattack, but she deflected it with ease, dancing just out of reach. Her expression was wild now, focused, almost feral.

  "Stop holding back!" she shouted, her voice rising like a cry from the heart.

  Cale gritted his teeth, holding his stance. "Why do you want me to fight so bad?"

  Selene smirked—and for a moment, her face twisted into something inhuman. Her lips parted to reveal teeth that were too sharp, too pointed. Fangs. They hadn’t been there before.

  "I like to fight strong people," she said, eyes glowing brighter now, voice thick with excitement. "I can feel it from you. You’re like a steel blade hidden in a wooden sheath."

  Then she dashed forward—faster, fiercer, fueled by some unnatural strength. Her blade struck like lightning, each blow heavier than the last. Cale staggered, parrying with difficulty. His heels dug trenches in the earth as he was pushed back, her every strike landing like a hammer.

  Her blue eyes burned now, twin stars of icy fire, and with them came the cold.

  The temperature plummeted. Frost coiled along the edges of leaves. His breath came out in wisps.

  His body shifted.

  Liquid metal surged across his skin, crawling up his limbs like living armor. Plates interlocked with each other in seamless precision, forming a shell of dark steel over his entire body. His eyes glowed faintly through the helm. His presence changed.

  She wanted his strength?

  She would have it.

  Cale met her next attack head-on. Their blades clashed again, but this time, it was her who was pushed back. He stepped forward with crushing weight, his movements precise and powerful, like a war machine awakened. The earth cracked beneath his feet as he advanced.

  Selene laughed—not out of mockery, but pure joy. The sound rang through the clearing like a song to the gods of war.

  And the battle began anew.

  A dance of blade and fury, light and shadow, ice and steel.

  Selene moved like a predator now—graceful, deadly, each step fluid and perfect. Her attacks were no longer mere strikes—they were poetry in motion, every swing of her blade a promise of pain and power. But Cale was her equal. No, more than that—he matched her in every way. His body, like a sharp blade, was an extension of his will, his movements flawless, a symphony of strength and speed.

  Their weapons met again and again, thunderclaps of force ringing through the glade. Trees trembled, the grass tore beneath their feet, and the sun above seemed to dim under the fury of their clash.

  Then, at last, Cale began to overwhelm her.

  He pressed the advantage—unrelenting, precise. His strikes came faster, heavier, sharper. Selene blocked, dodged, countered, but the rhythm was changing. For the first time, she was losing ground.

  But she laughed.

  She laughed and dashed backward, flipping midair and landing with feline poise.

  The air around her shifted.

  Everything began to freeze.

  The grass frosted over. The trees groaned under sudden weight. A brittle stillness settled across the glade as ice crept outward from her bare feet like hungry vines.

  Her face was no longer fully human. Her features had shifted—sharper cheekbones, elongated pupils, a predator’s grace in her every motion. Her lips parted, revealing those fanged teeth again, and she hissed—low, guttural, wild.

  "Very good," she purred, her voice almost a growl. "Keep going, cub."

  Then she blurred forward, faster than before.

  Cale moved on instinct. He ducked just in time as her blade swept past. The cold rushed in around her like a living thing. The very air shimmered with frost, and every breath burned in his lungs like winter fire.

  She struck again, and he met her, steel and ice colliding in a clash that split the silence of the glade like a scream.

  Selene smirked, her fangs glinting as frost spread from her blade along Cale's blade arm, the ice creeping like fingers clawing their way up to his shoulder.

  "Tiana told me you lost someone recently," she said loud and clear, mocking him. "I bet it died 'cause you were too weak to protect it."

  Cale froze.

  Her words hit deeper than her blade ever could.

  Selene saw the opening and took it. With a feral cry, she kicked him square in the chest. The impact lifted him off the ground and sent him flying. He slammed into a tree at the edge of the glade, the bark cracking behind him with a crunch.

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  He didn’t stand up.

  He stayed there, slumped against the gnarled trunk, staring at the earth as his breath came in shallow gasps. The cold from her blade still clung to his arm, but it wasn’t what froze him.

  It was the truth.

  Selene’s words had cut through him.

  Tristan would still be alive if he hadn’t believed the lie.

  The image rose unbidden—his friend’s lifeless, mummified body strapped to that cursed surgical table. His heart clenched, and tears, hot and shameful, streamed down his cheeks.

  "Crying won’t bring your friend back," Selene shouted, her voice distant but sharp as she walked slowly toward him.

  Cale took a deep breath. Cold. Steadying.

  "She’s right," he murmured to himself.

  He wiped his eyes and rose slowly, the metal of his armor scraping softly against the bark. When he looked at her again, something had changed.

  Her smirk widened.

  The boy before her was angry.

  Not just at her. Not just at himself.

  At everything.

  And she welcomed it.

  She could see it in his eyes now. Sharp as a blade. Clear as tempered steel.

  Then he dashed forward.

  His blade arm melted away, transforming into a set of gleaming claws with talons like obsidian—curved, deadly, alive. He moved like a beast unleashed, his every motion fueled by raw instinct and pain turned to purpose.

  He tapped into the memory of the spirit he had seen, of how to fight like a creature that ruled the wild—not with technique, but with hunger.

  "Yes, cub," Selene growled, parrying his first strike. "Put your emotions into your swing. Show me you're not weak."

  He did.

  Strike after strike came with fury and focus. His claws moved with terrifying speed, each one aimed to kill. Selene deflected them, but her arms trembled under the force.

  His attacks had changed.

  They were faster.

  Stronger.

  Deadlier.

  Icicles formed in the air around her, summoned by her will alone, and she sent them flying at him like knives. They whistled through the air, vicious and cold.

  Cale dodged with inhuman grace, slipping between the shards like a shadow. One scraped his shoulder, another chipped his pauldron—but none slowed him.

  He dashed again, claws raised, a roar building in his throat.

  But just as he closed the gap—

  She vanished.

  A swirl of frost and snow burst in front of him, blinding and bitter. When it cleared, she was gone.

  Cale spun, claws ready.

  Then he saw her.

  A few meters ahead.

  Her blade sheathed.

  Her stance calm.

  Her bestial features faded, replaced by the composed woman from before.

  He blinked, stunned.

  "Why did we stop?" he whispered to himself.

  Selene looked over her shoulder, her glowing blue eyes now quiet.

  "You passed," she said simply.

  She turned and began to walk away.

  Cale rushed after her.

  "Passed what?" he demanded, still breathless, still burning.

  She didn’t answer.

  She just kept walking, silent as the falling snow.

  And together, they left the frozen glade behind, heading back to Tiana’s shack.

  Selene lifted her head slightly as they approached the shack. Her nose twitched as she took in the scent of the air.

  "Is something wrong?" Cale asked, watching her.

  "It seems Tiana has a visitor," Selene murmured, her voice distant, focused.

  The door creaked open as they stepped inside. The scent of herbs and faint smoke drifted through the space, curling in the air like ghosts. The wooden floor groaned softly beneath their feet.

  Tiana sat at the far side of the room, speaking with an old man who stood beside her. Despite the deep lines carved into his face and the years resting on his shoulders, he was still built like a boulder—solid, tall, unyielding. His scalp was clean-shaven, without a trace of beard or hair. His deep brown skin held the tone of ancient bark, and his eyes were dark and steady, like the roots of a mountain.

  As Cale and Selene entered, Tiana’s emerald gaze flicked toward them. She gave a small gesture, inviting them to sit.

  The two sat side by side, the quiet weight of their battle still lingering between them.

  The old man bowed deeply, reaching out to gently take Tiana’s hands into his own. He kissed them with reverence.

  "Thank you for saving us," he said, his voice a deep rumble like distant thunder.

  "I’m not the one who killed the monster, Jason," Tiana replied softly.

  Jason looked up, blinking.

  "That boy did," she said, tilting her head slightly toward Cale.

  Jason turned his gaze. It settled on Cale with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.

  "This young lad?" he asked.

  "Do you not believe me?" Tiana replied, her tone neutral, unreadable.

  "Of course I do," Jason said quickly. "But this boy seems so young. How could he have defeated such a strong foe?"

  "He is my apprentice," Tiana answered smoothly. "So of course, he knows how to deal with such creatures."

  Jason nodded slowly. "I understand. Then would you and your apprentice honor us with your presence this night?"

  Tiana inclined her head with graceful poise. "We would be honored."

  Jason bowed again, then turned and stepped out of the shack, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.

  Selene watched him leave, absently checking her nails. "Who is he?"

  "Jason, the elder of the nearby hamlet," Tiana said. "They're holding a celebration for the monster's defeat."

  "I'm surprised you accepted the invitation," Selene replied, glancing at her.

  "You know me, Selene. I can be quite... unpredictable."

  A knowing smile passed between them.

  Then Tiana's gaze flicked to Cale. Her emerald eyes glinted with curiosity.

  "Now, tell me—how was the spar?"

  A soft shimmer stirred in the air, and Xentar appeared, clearly intrigued by the question.

  Selene folded her arms and leaned back. "This cub is strong," she said bluntly. "But he lacks intent. Aside from that, I have nothing to criticize. His technique is flawless. He knows how to fight."

  Cale looked at her, confused. "What do you mean by 'intent'?"

  She turned to face him fully. "You were afraid to hurt me," she said plainly. "In a real fight, you can’t be held back by thoughts like that. A moment of hesitation can cost you your life—or someone else's."

  Cale dropped his gaze to the floor. Her words hit a tender place still raw. He nodded slowly.

  "But I didn’t want to hurt you. At least not for most of the fight. I had no reason to."

  "And it shows," Selene replied.

  Silence settled briefly over the room. Cale clenched his fists.

  "Can you teach me, then? Teach me how to fight without holding back?"

  Selene raised a sharp brow and smirked. "Greedy, aren’t you? You want the cat and the raven."

  Tiana chuckled softly.

  Selene continued, "As much as I’d love to steal you from her, you’re better off with Tiana. She’ll teach you more than I ever could."

  Then she stood and turned to Tiana.

  Without a word, she pulled her into a tight embrace.

  Tiana’s eyes softened. "Are you leaving already?"

  The hug was answer enough.

  Selene nodded. "See you soon."

  She turned toward the door, pausing only to glance back at Cale.

  "And you, cub," she said with a fang-bearing grin, "stop being such a pussy."

  She waved once, then stepped out, the door closing behind her with finality.

  Cale stared at the door, stunned.

  Tiana chuckled, low and amused.

  Xentar burst into laughter.

  The air in the shack felt warmer.

  And Cale—though still wide-eyed—couldn’t help the small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  After Tiana stopped laughing, she exhaled softly and stood.

  "I think it's time to prepare for tonight's party," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her tone had shifted to something softer. "Go take a bath."

  Cale nodded and headed to the bathroom. The water was warm, and the scent of dried lavender in the corner helped soothe his nerves. After quickly scrubbing away the sweat and dust from the sparring match, he dried off and returned to find Tiana waiting by the door.

  "Follow me," she said.

  He followed her into her room. A calming scent hung in the air—night-blooming jasmine. It wrapped around him like a comforting presence, quieting the restless thoughts in his mind.

  Tiana gestured for him to sit at the vanity mirror.

  Cale hesitated. His eyes caught his reflection—and he froze.

  His appearance had changed.

  His once silver-white hair had turned as black as midnight, and his amber eyes now shimmered with blue tinged with silver, like starlight reflecting off still water.

  "What's the matter?" Tiana asked, noting his reaction.

  "What happened to my hair and eyes?" he murmured, leaning closer to the mirror.

  Tiana's brow arched slightly. "Peculiar. Your eyes and hair were like this when I first saw you. What do you think could have caused the change?"

  Cale pressed his lips into a thin line. He had a suspicion—the transformation had happened after he was brought back from death. He couldn’t say for certain, but the timing was too exact to ignore.

  Slowly, he sat down on the small footstool before the mirror.

  Tiana stepped behind him and began brushing his hair. Her hands were gentle but sure, the bristles gliding through his dark locks with soothing rhythm. The wildness left from battle slowly yielded to her touch.

  "Wait here," she said.

  She crossed the room and opened her dresser, pulling out a set of simple yet elegant clothes: a crisp white tunic embroidered with silver thread along the collar and cuffs, soft gray trousers, and a dark blue sash.

  "You’ll wear this," she said, placing them into his hands. "Go change."

  She gestured toward the wooden folding screen in the corner. Cale nodded and stepped behind it.

  Moments later, he emerged.

  Tiana turned—and paused.

  A smile bloomed on her lips.

  "You look very handsome, Cale," she said with a playful gleam in her eye, brushing a hand over his shoulder as she passed.

  Cale flushed, his cheeks reddening. "Thank you," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed.

  "Wait for me downstairs," Tiana instructed.

  He turned to leave.

  "And don’t try to peek," she added, a teasing edge in her tone.

  Cale froze, then quickly shook his head and bolted out the door, shutting it behind him.

  Tiana chuckled quietly to herself.

  Downstairs, Cale sat on the edge of the wooden bench, adjusting his sash, then his collar, then his cuffs—his nerves wound tight.

  Then he heard the creak of the stairs.

  He looked up.

  Tiana was descending.

  She moved with the grace of a falling leaf, each step light yet measured. She wore a flowing gown of soft forest green, simple in design but elegant in its movement. The fabric shimmered like morning dew. Her dark hair flowed over her shoulders in loose waves, crowned by a delicate silver circlet that rested lightly across her brow.

  There were no jewels. No heavy makeup. Just her—radiant and breathtaking.

  Cale's breath caught in his throat.

  Her beauty didn’t demand attention. It drew it, like the moon draws the tide. Quiet, effortless, commanding.

  She stepped toward him, her eyes warm.

  "Ready to go?" she asked.

  He nodded, still struggling to find words.

  Tiana reached out and wrapped her arm around his. She adjusted his elbow with a small smile.

  "Hold it like this," she said, guiding his posture. Her touch was gentle but firm.

  Cale tried to calm the flurry in his chest. She was so close. Her presence overwhelmed him in the quietest way.

  And together, they stepped into the night, walking side by side toward the celebration that awaited them.