The air felt heavier as Kael and Darius faced each other, the vast expanse of the training room shrinking around them. In the golden light streaming through the high windows, Darius's sword caught the gleam, its edge sharp enough to catch a reflection. Kael tightened his grip on his training blade, the weight feeling both familiar and foreign in his hands—an awkward reminder of memories that weren't entirely his own.
"Let's see what you've learned," Darius said, his voice calm yet cold. He raised his sword, his stance casual and deliberate. There was no urgency in his movements, only the quiet confidence of a man who knew he could control the outcome.
Kael lunged forward, his blade swinging in an arc that was rough but calculated. His movements were far from elegant, a blend of muscle memory from Kael's life and instinct born from Nate's adaptability. His target: Darius's exposed ribs.
Darius stepped aside effortlessly, his blade flicking out to parry Kael's swing with a sharp metallic clang. The force of the block reverberated down Kael's arm, but he gritted his teeth and pivoted on his heel, aiming another quick strike at his father's midsection.
This time, Darius countered with minimal effort, forcing Kael back with a powerful shove. "You rush," Darius said, his tone calm and measured. "You think a flurry of movements will compensate for your lack of discipline."
Kael didn't respond. He couldn't afford to waste his focus on words. Instead, he reached out with his mana, feeling the moisture in the air. A faint shimmer began to coalesce around him, droplets gathering into a thin sheet that swirled with his movements. He sent the water forward in a sudden burst, aiming to disorient Darius.
Darius sidestepped again, slicing through the water with a precise swing of his blade. The mist hung in the air for a moment before dissipating completely. "Tricks," he said, his voice carrying a hint of disdain. "You rely too much on them."
Kael's grip tightened on his sword. Fine, he thought, stepping back to reassess. If brute strength and direct attacks weren't going to work, he needed a different approach.
He reached deeper, pulling more water from the air and condensing it into sharp, spinning tendrils that hovered around him like a protective barrier. The droplets glistened in the sunlight, faintly glowing with the energy of his mana. As Darius advanced, Kael sent the tendrils forward in rapid succession, their jagged edges aimed at his father's weapon hand.
Darius's expression didn't falter. His blade moved in a series of controlled arcs, slicing through the tendrils with precision. But Kael was already moving, circling around his father to strike from behind. His sword came down in a heavy arc, aiming for Darius's shoulder.
It was the closest he had come to landing a blow. But Darius reacted in an instant, twisting to meet the attack head-on. His sword collided with Kael's, the sheer force of the impact sending Kael staggering backward.
"Better," Darius said, stepping forward with a sudden burst of speed. Kael barely had time to block as Darius's blade came down in a series of rapid strikes, each one more forceful than the last. Kael's muscles burned as he parried blow after blow, his movements becoming slower and more desperate.
Finally, Darius's blade slipped through Kael's guard, the flat edge striking his wrist and sending his sword clattering to the ground. Kael dropped to his knees, gasping for breath as his father's blade hovered inches from his chest.
"You're reckless," Darius said, his voice steady but harsh. "You rely on instinct and magic to make up for your lack of discipline. Until you learn control, you'll never become stronger."
Kael looked up at his father, his chest heaving. The sting of failure was sharp, but beneath it burned something stronger—a determination born from both Kael's memories and Nate's resilience. He wasn't done. Not yet.
Darius stepped back, lowering his blade but not sheathing it. "On your feet," he said. "We're not done."
Kael blinked, surprised. His limbs were heavy, his mana reserves nearly depleted, but he forced himself to stand. If his father wasn't done, neither was he.
The spar continued. Kael attacked with everything he had, drawing on every scrap of knowledge and skill at his disposal. He was relentless, using the environment, the water, and even his father's underestimation of him to his advantage. But it was never enough. Darius countered every move with the ease of a man who had seen it all before.
By the end of the session, Kael could barely lift his sword. His body was bruised and battered, his mana reserves completely drained. And yet, as he stood there, trembling and out of breath, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride. He had lasted longer than he'd expected.
Darius finally lowered his sword, his expression unreadable. "You've improved," he said, his tone neutral. "But you're still far from where you need to be."
Kael nodded, too exhausted to respond. He watched as Darius turned and left the training room, the heavy doors sliding shut behind him. For a moment, Kael stood in silence, his sword dangling limply at his side.
Then he straightened, gripping the weapon tighter. He wasn't just fighting for his father's approval—he was fighting to prove to himself that he could endure, that he could grow. This was only the beginning.