At the training ground, the clash of metal and the rhythm of breathing filled the air. Seren, Rogan, and Lyssara continued their sparring — sweat glistening on their skin under the mid-morning light.
Seren's voice cut sharply through the sound of steel. "Rogan, your swing again — too wide! You're losing your stance."
Rogan gritted his teeth, adjusting his footing and swinging again. The ground cracked slightly beneath him from sheer force.
"That's better," Seren said, lowering her lance slightly, "but too much strength. Your sword can't take that kind of pressure."
True enough, as Rogan's blade connected with Seren's shield, a faint crack sounded from the edge of his longsword. Tiny chips scattered onto the ground. Rogan sighed heavily, frustration flashing in his eyes.
Across the field, Lyssara darted between targets with precision and grace. Her movements were quick, her footwork light, every strike flowing like water — but when her twin blades clashed against a thick training log, they barely left a mark.
She stepped back, panting. "Damn it… still not enough power."
Seren straightened her stance and exhaled. "At least you're both improving. Rogan, you lasted longer this time before your sword cracked. Lyssara, your strikes are cleaner and faster — but strength without control, and control without strength… neither will kill a monster."
The three took a short break, sitting by the edge of the field, drinking from their flasks. Rogan's expression was tight, the wood chips scattered near his boots like quiet reminders of his struggle.
That was when a calm, familiar voice spoke from behind them.
"You've improved," Hunnt said.
Seren turned instantly, her face lighting up in genuine surprise. "Hunnt! You're back?"
Hunnt smiled faintly. "Just today."
Lyssara tilted her head slightly, cautious and curious. New guy? she thought, studying him. Rogan, meanwhile, felt something twist in his chest when Seren smiled that brightly at another man.
Hunnt looked at the three of them — at Seren's steady form, Rogan's broad frame, and Lyssara's poised balance — and nodded approvingly. "You've done well holding the fort, Seren. You've grown since the last time I saw you."
Seren laughed softly. "I had to. Someone had to keep things running while you were off vanishing into legend again."
Hunnt smirked. "I see that. And this must be the Lyssara Will can't stop thinking about."
Seren blinked, then chuckled. Rogan grinned in amusement. Lyssara's face flushed instantly. "What?"
Hunnt only shrugged. "Just something I heard."
Seren folded her arms, teasing. "You really do know everyone's business, don't you?"
"I try to keep track of my apprentices," Hunnt said with a faint grin.
"Apprentices?" Seren arched a brow. "Hunnt, all of us are your apprentices at this point."
Hunnt chuckled. "I suppose you're right." Then his gaze turned toward Rogan. "And you must be Rogan. Just like Maerin said — raw power, impressive strength… but absolutely no control."
Rogan blinked, taken aback.
Hunnt then turned his attention to Lyssara. "And you — fast, agile, graceful, but your strikes lack weight. You and Rogan are opposites — one has too much strength, the other too much restraint. The perfect contradiction."
Seren smiled faintly. "Yeah, that's what Kael and I were talking about. We've been trying to figure out what kind of training fits them best. Since you're back, maybe you'll have some ideas."
Hunnt nodded slightly. "I'll see what I can do."
Seren gestured to the two trainees. "Oh, right — Rogan, Lyssara, this is Hunnt. Me, Kael, and Alder hunted with him before. He's one of the best."
Rogan just nodded stiffly, still uneasy. Lyssara folded her arms, studying the man skeptically.
Hunnt walked closer and asked calmly, "Rogan, when was the last time you felt your weapon obey you?"
Rogan looked down, his voice quiet. "Never. Every time I swing, it chips. No matter what I do, the blade always breaks."
Seren added, "The first time we sparred, his sword split in half after five swings. Now he lasts longer — maybe ten, twelve — but the result's the same. He's learned some control, but it's not enough."
Hunnt nodded slowly. "That figures. You know the basic forms of the longsword, but your rhythm's chaos — like a storm with no wind to guide it."
Lyssara frowned, stepping forward defensively. "Hey! Rogan's done everything he can to improve. You can't just walk in here and start lecturing us like you know everything."
"Lyssara!" Seren snapped, her tone warning.
Hunnt held up a hand, calm and unbothered. "It's alright, Seren. She's right — I did just arrive. But let me make something clear."
He stepped closer to Lyssara, his voice steady but sharp. "If Rogan goes into battle and his weapon breaks mid-fight, he'll die. And if he's not careful, whoever's beside him — you — will die too. That's not a lecture. That's a fact."
Lyssara's expression tightened. "He's improved. You can't deny that."
Hunnt's gaze didn't waver. "Improvement isn't survival."
She opened her mouth to argue, but Rogan lifted a hand, his jaw clenched. "That's enough, Lyssara."
"But—"
"I know," he said quietly, his fist tightening at his side. "He's right. I don't have control. Not yet."
Lyssara turned toward Seren in disbelief. "You're not going to say anything? You've seen how hard he trains!"
Seren exhaled. "He has improved. But Hunnt's right too. Power without control will only break him faster."
Lyssara's eyes flickered with anger — not at them, but at her own helplessness. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her twin blades still at her side.
Seren sighed. "I'll go talk to her."
Hunnt nodded. "Let her cool off first. She's not wrong — just frustrated."
Rogan remained where he stood, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the cracked sword in his hands. The chips along the blade reflected the sunlight — the quiet proof of both his effort and his failure.
Hunnt looked at him for a long moment, then said softly, "You've got fire in you, Rogan. But fire alone won't forge steel. Tomorrow, we'll start over — properly this time."
Rogan looked up, meeting his gaze. "Start over?"
Hunnt nodded. "From the beginning. I'll teach you what it means to swing with rhythm — not rage."
Seren smiled faintly, stepping back beside them. "Looks like you're in for hell, Rogan."
Rogan managed a tired smirk. "I think I already live there."
Hunnt chuckled under his breath. "Then let's see if you can walk out of it stronger."
The evening wind passed through the training yard, carrying with it the scent of sweat, steel, and change. Somewhere in the distance, Lyssara's blades clashed against a practice post — each strike harder, angrier, and somehow more desperate.
Hunnt glanced in her direction, then back to Rogan and Seren. "Tomorrow," he said quietly, "everything begins again."