The misty morning settled over Ashveil's rooftops, and inside the Red Fang compound, the air was thick with the promise of another round of grueling training. Arin blinked away the remnants of restless dreams and sat up, his palms brushing the faint glow of his soul mark, reminder of every lesson and borrowed memory so far. He was exhausted but eager—a feeling becoming familiar in this new life.
Kaelis was already in the courtyard, her arms folded as she leaned against a rain-damp pillar. "Sleep well?" she teased, tilting her head so a stray lock of black hair caught the light.
"Like a stone in a river," Arin replied with a shaky grin, taking the cup of strong tea she tossed his way. "Doesn't mean I didn't roll around all night."
Lyara appeared soon after, striding into the yard. Her sharp red braid hung over one shoulder, and her gaze was fixed squarely on Arin. "We'll start with footwork. You lose balance, you lose yourself."
Selene, gentle but distant, joined the others, her pale eyes cool. "We should begin with centering. Dreams can leave the mind… open."
Their routine was always hard, always shifting. Lyara led the combat drills first, her every move precise and efficient. She sparred with Arin across the courtyard's worn stone, barking corrections. "Lead with your heel!" she demanded. "Your borrowed memory doesn't matter if your own body stumbles."
Arin tried to keep pace. Each block, parry, and pivot forced him to blend what he borrowed with what he truly owned. Lyara's presence pressed in—her rhythm somehow seeping into his limbs, guiding his steps. But he fought to keep it separate from his own heartbeat, reminding himself with every breath: This is me. I'm Arin.
Between matches, Kaelis would step in, shifting the pace. Her style was blade-dancing—swift, low, unpredictable. More than once, Arin found himself absorbing flashes of her deadly grace, the urge to slip away into shadow. She would grin at him when he mirrored a move, only to abruptly shift and force him to scramble to keep up. "Copy me all you like, but if you can't improvise, you're dead the moment the enemy changes," she said, her amusement plain.
Selene didn't fight in the yard, but she sang the training's second layer. She'd draw invisible sigils through the air in gentle, silent motions. When Arin closed his eyes, her soft voice helped quiet the borrowed voices buzzing below his thoughts. "Feel your center, Arin. Let the echoes fade, let your own pulse return," she'd say, and when he breathed in, the world shrank to one steady thrum beneath his skin—the true core of a Veilborn soul.
After drills and meditation, the group would gather for a simple meal of dried fruit and bread, sitting in the nook under a leaky awning. Conversation began with laughter—Kaelis teasing Lyara about her stern glare, Selene asking about details in Arin's dreams, Lyara admitting, grudgingly, that Arin's stamina was finally "almost not embarrassing."
It was in these moments, softer and warmer than any fight, that Arin felt the bond between them deepen. They weren't just teachers or rivals—they became friends, a team, threads woven with trust despite their differences.
Late one afternoon, Lyara challenged Arin to a match using only what he'd learned that week—no copying allowed. The fight was clumsy at first. Arin stumbled, missed cues, and ended flat on his back more than once. But each time, he got up, determined not to let either the borrowed instincts or his own doubt win. By the end of the hour, his footwork had its own rhythm—still imperfect, but recognizably his.
Lyara smiled, rare and genuine. "That's progress," she said, helping him up.
That evening, as the sun slipped behind Ashveil's tangled rooftops, Kaelis handed Arin a weighted dagger. "You're still too loud," she said, demonstrating how to move in silence across the training hall. Arin watched, copied, failed—and tried again, each slip followed by a quick lesson and a forgiving grin.
Selene, working by lamplight, taught Arin to read the faint pulse of soul marks on his wrist. "Yours changes color sometimes," she observed, her tone soft. "When you borrow too much, it shines brighter. But when you remember yourself, it softens. That's the sign of control."
After dinner, the three women went their separate ways—Lyara to polish her blade, Kaelis to walk the perimeter, and Selene to study by candlelight. Arin sat in the yard under the bruised evening sky, thinking about everything he'd learned, and the family they were becoming.
Kaelis returned first, sitting beside him with a casual bump of her shoulder. "What do you really want out of all this?" she asked, voice quiet, eyes intense.
Arin considered his answer—then said honestly, "I want to survive. But more, I want to be someone I'm proud of."
Kaelis snorted. "Well, you're already more interesting than most in this city."
Lyara appeared, standing just inside the door. "Tomorrow, we add endurance drills. Be ready."
Selene, gentle as always, called from the window, "Remember to anchor yourself before sleep. Sometimes that's all you need to stay sane."
Arin settled into his cot, the weariness of his body offset by the warmth of belonging. For the first night since arriving at Red Fang, he felt like he had a place—with these complicated, strong women at his side.
In the silence, he could sense the low hum of the Veilborn power resting, waiting for morning—and the next challenge.
And somewhere deep inside, he knew: everything he was building now, with sweat and laughter and trust, was the real strength he'd need when the city's troubles returned.