Two days had passed since the candle trials and the long runs that left Kael’s body aching. His mind still felt heavy from holding the glow for so long, and his arms throbbed each time he raised them. Yet he did not complain. The eye demanded more from him, and he knew he could not afford to stop.

  When Daren led him back to the training field, the morning mist was only just lifting. Patches of mud sucked at Kael’s boots where the frost had melted. The wide ground looked empty at first, but at its center stood Daren, a wooden sword balanced loosely in his hand. His stance was relaxed, but Kael had learned enough not to be fooled. Daren never stood still without purpose.

  “This time,” Daren said, his voice cutting through the silence, “we shift the lesson. You’ve stared at flames. You’ve run until your lungs gave out. That gave you sight and endurance. But sight without the body to follow is nothing. If you cannot move as fast as you see, the eye will betray you.”

  Kael adjusted his grip on the practice sword he carried. His arms were stiff, but he nodded. “So what do you want me to do?”

  Daren tilted his head, then answered in a single word: “Watch.”

  Then he began to move.

  The wooden sword slashed through the air with sudden precision—an upward strike, a twist, a step to the side, then a block that flowed into a thrust. It was smooth, sharp, and constant. His feet shifted without a stumble, carrying him through the rhythm as though the sequence had been burned into his bones.

  Kael drew the glow forth. At once the world sharpened. Daren’s movements, fast to the eye, slowed in his vision. He saw every detail—how the wrist bent just before a strike, how the foot planted before a block, how the shoulder rolled to soften a blow. Every thread of movement called to him, a path to follow.

  “Now,” Daren barked. “Copy me.”

  Kael swung his blade, trying to match.

  At once, the rhythm broke. His swing lagged behind, his step was clumsy, his stance too wide. The eye gave him the sequence, but his body could not match the demand. His feet stumbled, and the tip of his blade dipped off line.

  “Again,” Daren snapped, not slowing.

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  Kael forced himself forward, swinging harder. Sweat beaded across his brow, his teeth grinding as he tried to keep up. Each time he thought he caught the rhythm, his body slipped behind. His muscles screamed at him, his movements crude beside Daren’s smooth precision.

  But he refused to stop.

  He dragged his blade through the motions again and again, heart hammering, vision swimming from the strain of keeping the glow alive. His breath came short and ragged, but he pushed on, chasing the rhythm even as it slipped through his grasp.

  Time bled away. Minutes turned into hours. His shoulders burned, his grip threatened to give out. But slowly, the mistakes began to lessen. His feet found balance more easily. His arms learned the right pull and push of each swing. His stance stopped breaking under pressure.

  At last, when Daren struck, Kael struck too. Their blades met in perfect timing, the crack of wood ringing loud through the air.

  Kael froze, his chest heaving, his arms trembling from the effort. But his eyes widened with something he had not felt before—a spark of triumph.

  Daren lowered his sword slightly, studying him with sharp eyes. “Better,” he said at last. “That is the edge of your gift in battle. Not only power—technique. With it, you can make another man’s strength your own.”

  Kael glanced at his sword, sweat dripping down his jaw. His hands still shook, but the thought burned bright in his chest. “If I can do this… then I can learn any style. I can master anything I see.”

  “Yes,” Daren replied. His tone hardened, carrying weight. “And that is why others will fear you. Power alone can be crushed. Skill alone can be outmatched. But both together? That is a weapon no lord will ignore.”

  Kael swallowed, the truth pressing down on him. He now understood why the elders spoke of the eye with such caution. If it could not only steal power but also master skill instantly, then it was no gift to be taken lightly—it was a danger, even to him

  The training dragged on until dusk. The sky shifted from pale gray to deep red, the ridges glowing with fading light. Daren did not let up. Again and again, he repeated the drills, forcing Kael to copy until his muscles refused to move. Every failed strike demanded another attempt. Every stumble earned only one command: “Again.”

  By the end, Kael could barely lift his arms, but when Daren cut through the air, Kael’s blade answered in time. Not perfect, not flawless, but close.

  Only then did Daren step back, sliding the wooden sword into his belt. For a long moment he said nothing, his gaze heavy on Kael. Then, at last, he spoke.

  “You’ve seen the surface of your gift. Now you must understand why I can train you to use it.”

  Kael blinked, his tired eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

  Daren closed his eyes, his body stilling. For a moment, the air grew heavy, as though the ground itself braced for something unseen. When he opened his eyes again, the look in them was no longer merely human.

  “My strength is not from drills alone,” Daren said, voice low. “I carry instincts not born of men. The hearing of a wolf, the smell of a wolf. And something more—a sense that guides me before the blade even falls. A sixth sense.”

  Kael froze, his grip tightening on his sword. The weight of the words pressed into him. “That’s… how you always know what’s coming.”

  A faint smile touched Daren’s lips, but it carried no warmth. “That is why I have not yet fallen. Why no strike from behind has reached me, why no trap has held me blind. I feel the danger before it lands. The wolf is in my blood, and it has kept me alive.”

  Kael’s chest tightened. His eye gave him vision, but Daren’s instincts gave him survival. Together, they were terrifying.

  Daren stepped closer, his voice cutting sharper. “Your eye copies. But it cannot copy what is written into blood. That is why you must train harder. Sight shows the path, but instinct keeps you alive when the path is broken.”

  The words sank deep into Kael, more than any strike or drill. He lowered his blade, his arms too heavy to hold it steady.

  As the last light faded from the ridges, he sat in silence, the glow of his eye fading at last. His hands still trembled from exhaustion.

  Kael truly understood both the danger and the power of the eye.