The cool morning air hung heavy over the training yard. Riven rolled his shoulders, feeling the lingering soreness from yesterday's training. But inside, a strange calm steadied him—the result of last night's breakthrough. It was like standing at the eye of a storm.
Across the yard, his master watched silently, arms folded, eyes sharp.
"Well, kid," the old man finally said, voice cutting through the stillness, "think you're ready to put that new control to the test?"
Riven straightened, his stance solid.
"I'm ready."
A rare smirk tugged at his master's lips. "Good. You're not facing a dummy today. I called in someone special yesterday. She's from Dorvale—been training under me for a while. Real sharp."
Before Riven could ask more,a girl appeared across the yard, combat-ready.
She had dark hair tied into a simple braid, loose-fitting training gear, and a quiet, confident gaze that pinned Riven on the spot. No grand entrance. No exaggerated or arrogant performance. Just pure focus.
'Fast',was the only thing Riven could think of until she broke the silence between them.
She dipped her head slightly. "Name's Lyra. Let's see what you've got."
Riven offered a small smile. "I'm Riven.Hope you're ready too."
His master stepped back, arms folding once again.
"Begin."
Lyra moved first—fast. Her first strike came low, aiming to sweep Riven's legs out. He barely pivoted in time, feeling the rush of her momentum pass harmlessly by. Before he could recover, she was already twisting, a quick jab shooting for his ribs.
Sharp.Fast.Relentless.
But Riven didn't panic.
He stayed centered, reading the flow of her movements instead of chasing them. He blocked the jab with a tight guard and countered with a low strike toward her side—but Lyra dodged cleanly, dancing out of reach.
She pressed the attack, driving him backward with a flurry of feints and real strikes. Each blow was precise, calculated—not wasted.
And still, Riven adapted.
He stopped fighting against her and started moving with her, flowing around her strikes, conserving his strength. His mind stayed sharp, anticipating each shift in her stance, feeling where the next blow would come.
A fist grazed his side—pain flared, but he absorbed it, used it to sharpen his focus.
He was no longer a boy flailing under pressure.
He knew himself now.
Lyra grinned, a spark of excitement flashing in her eyes. She picked up the pace, testing him with complex combinations—hooks, sweeps, elbow strikes. Riven blocked, dodged, parried, and countered—not perfectly, but enough.
Then, finally, an opening.
As she lunged forward for a decisive strike, Riven sidestepped, catching her wrist mid-swing. With a twist and shift of weight, he pulled her forward, sending her tumbling.
But Lyra rolled with the fall, springing back to her feet smoothly.
No hesitation. No frustration. Only sharp, focused determination.
"Not bad," she said, smirking slightly. "You're quicker than you look."
Riven chuckled under his breath. "You're stronger than you look."
Their exchange was brief—but it broke the tension between them. Not an enemy. Not a rival.Just another fighter chasing growth.
They reset without needing to speak, circling each other in the dusty yard.
Lyra attacked again, feinting left before spinning into a right hook.
This time, Riven anticipated it.
He blocked, deflected her momentum, and landed a clean tap to her shoulder—a "point" in a real spar.
Lyra smiled wider, the challenge gleaming in her eyes.
They went at it again—faster, sharper, pushing each other harder.
Minutes blurred.
Dust kicked up.
Breath grew short.
Muscles burned.
And still, neither truly dominated.
When his master finally raised a hand to end the match, both of them stood panting, bruised but smiling.
"Well done," the master said, voice firm. "Both of you."
He turned his gaze to Riven, something rare glinting in his eyes—pride.
"You're not just fighting anymore, kid. You're adapting. You're thinking. That's the difference between a fighter and a warrior."
Riven nodded, chest heaving with effort but heart light with satisfaction.
Lyra walked over, offering a hand. "We should spar again sometime. You're not bad, Riven."
He shook it with a tired grin. "Same to you."
And in that simple moment—covered in sweat, bruises stinging, adrenaline still humming—Riven realized something.
He wasn't alone on this path anymore.
He was growing.
And so was the world around him.