The morning mist lingered low over the field, pale tendrils curling between the blades of grass. Kael stood in the center, his tunic already damp with sweat. The ache in his arms had not faded from yesterday, nor the day before that. His shoulders still throbbed from endless strikes, and his calves burned from hours of running. But none of that mattered.

  The candle sat in the dirt before him, its small flame defiant against the chill breeze. A simple flame, yet it felt heavier than any sword he had ever lifted.

  Daren’s voice broke the silence. “Keep it open.”

  Kael drew in a long breath, and the glow answered. His right eye flared, silver threads spilling into the morning light. Each time he called it, it seemed harder like prying open a locked door with his bare hands. Yet once it was open, he felt the world shift. The edges of things sharpened, every detail striking his mind at once.

  Daren stepped forward, sword in hand. His movements began slow measured arcs of steel through the air. Kael’s gaze latched onto every motion: the rise of his shoulders, the tightening of his grip, the faint twist in his foot that guided balance. Even the air stirred differently around him, and Kael could almost feel it.

  But he could not watch only Daren. His eye tugged at the flame as well. It bent and swayed with the faintest pull of his focus. To split his mind between both man and fire was like trying to walk two paths at once.

  Kael raised his practice blade. It felt heavier than it should, as though the silver glow itself weighed it down. He tried to copy the rhythm. The blade whistled clumsily through the air, half a breath behind Daren’s. His footwork lagged, his strikes lacked polish, yet he forced them onward.

  The flame wavered at the edge of his vision. He pulled it back, steadying it even as his body moved.

  “Again,” Daren barked, his sword cutting sharper, faster.

  Kael obeyed. His breath grew ragged, chest rising and falling like a hammer striking iron. The world narrowed to the hiss of steel, the flicker of fire, the pounding of his own heart.

  Minutes stretched. He no longer counted them, only endured. His arms shook, his shoulders burned, his legs screamed, but he did not stop.

  “Hold it,” Daren snapped. “Both of them. You let either slip, you fail.”

  Kael’s teeth ground together. He wanted to shout, to curse, to let the glow die and rest—but he held. His blade swung slower, but it swung. His eye blurred, but it stayed open.

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  Step, strike, breathe.

  Watch, mirror, hold.

  The rhythm pounded through his skull.

  Then his foot caught in the mud. He stumbled, the rhythm faltering. The flame snapped back to its natural sway, mocking him. His body gave out, knees hitting the dirt with a dull thud.

  The sword nearly fell from his hands. He gasped for air, chest heaving, every muscle trembling. The silver in his eye dimmed, yet still he forced it to stay lit, a faint glimmer hanging on by stubborn will.

  Daren lowered his blade but did not soften his tone. “Better. You held longer this time.”

  Kael spat into the dirt, trying to steady his breath. “It feels… like the longer I keep it open, the heavier everything becomes. Like it’s crushing me from the inside.”

  “That weight is the price,” Daren said. He crossed his arms, watching closely. “The eye was not meant to remain open without limit. Every second you hold it, it eats at you. If you break too soon, it owns you instead of the other way around.”

  Kael pressed his fists into the ground, forcing himself upright though his body begged him to stay down. “And if I don’t break?”

  “Then your body will adapt,” Daren replied. “Or it will break completely. Those are the only paths.”

  The words hit like a hammer, but Kael did not flinch. He staggered to his feet, chest still heaving. Sweat stung his eyes. His legs wobbled beneath him, yet he lifted the blade again.

  “Again,” he rasped.

  Daren studied him for a long moment. At last, he nodded. “Light it.”

  The candle’s flame shivered in the breeze. Kael called the glow once more, silver spilling from his eye.

  And so it began again.

  The second round was worse. His muscles had no strength left to spare, and every strike felt like dragging his sword through stone. But his eye stayed steady a fraction longer. The flame bent more often to his will, though not always.

  Daren’s blade cut in faster arcs, forcing Kael to keep up. Each strike he copied tore another thread of strength from his body. His arms shook violently, his vision swam, yet still he followed.

  He collapsed again. The ground caught him hard, dirt smearing across his skin. He barely pushed himself up before Daren could speak. His knees wobbled, his breaths came shallow, but he rose.

  “Stubborn fool,” Daren muttered, though the corners of his mouth hinted at approval.

  Kael forced a broken grin. “You’d hate me if I wasn’t.”

  The field echoed once more with the clash of air and the soft hiss of the flame.

  Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, the mist burned away. Kael lost track of time, lost track of how many times he had fallen, risen, and fallen again. His body had become a battlefield: lungs aflame, arms numb, legs unsteady. His vision flickered, the silver glow straining like a candle at the edge of wind.

  But still he endured.

  Daren’s commands cut the silence. “Again.”

  “Hold it.”

  “Don’t let it break.”

  And each time, Kael obeyed. Not with grace, not with mastery, but with raw will.

  At last, when the sun stood high, Daren lifted a hand. “Stop.”

  Kael nearly crumpled where he stood. His sword slipped from his fingers, striking the dirt. The flame guttered out as his eye dimmed, leaving him blinking in the harsh daylight. He swayed on his feet, barely catching himself from falling.

  Daren walked forward, his tone even but not unkind. “You’ve held the line further than yesterday. That matters. But don’t fool yourself. This is only the surface.”

  Kael bent forward, hands on his knees, dragging air into his lungs. “Copying you… holding the flame… it feels impossible.”

  “It is supposed to feel impossible,” Daren said. “Because this is nothing compared to what comes next. Copying is the first step. Retaining what you take—that is something else entirely. To carve a skill into yourself, to make it yours, takes more than endurance. It takes strength enough to reshape what you are. And that,” he added, his voice dropping low, “has broken men stronger than you.”

  Kael’s body sagged, but his eye still held a faint glimmer of defiance. “Then I’ll be stronger still.”

  For a moment, silence stretched between them. The wind stirred the grass, carrying the faint scent of earth and sweat.

  At last, Daren’s gaze softened. A trace of approval touched his face, rare as sunlight in storm. He stepped closer, speaking low but firm.

  “When you master this, Kael, the ridges will no longer see you as just a boy—they will see the heir your father could not be.”

  Kael smiled faintly