The morning air was crisp, the kind of chill that bit at the skin but awakened the senses. Sam tightened the straps of his practice gear, his shadow blade resting at his side. Across from him, Lareth stretched leisurely, an easy smile on his face that didn’t quite match the sharpness in his eyes.

  “Don’t look so serious, Sam,” Lareth said, rolling his shoulders. “It’s just sparring.”

  Sam frowned, his grip tightening. “With you, sparring feels more like survival training.”

  Lareth chuckled. “Good. That’s how it should feel.”

  The spar began as usual. Sam lunged forward, leading with a feint before shifting into a sweeping arc of shadow energy. Lareth danced back, avoiding the strike with infuriating ease.

  “You’ve gotten faster,” Lareth said, sidestepping another swing. His tone was casual, but there was an edge to his movements now.

  Sam pressed forward, trying to predict Lareth’s movements, but then it happened. Lareth’s stance shifted, and in a blur of motion, he was suddenly behind Sam, his wooden training sword pressed lightly against Sam’s neck.

  “What—?” Sam staggered forward, turning to face him.

  “That’s enough playing around,” Lareth said, his smile gone. “You’re not going to improve if I keep holding back.”

  Without waiting for a response, Lareth moved again. His strikes were a blur—precise, fluid, and relentless. Sam could barely keep up, his own swings clumsy and rigid in comparison.

  “Flowstrike,” Lareth said, his voice calm even as his movements overwhelmed Sam. “It’s a combat style my family has passed down for generations. No wasted movements, no unnecessary force—just precision and momentum.”

  Sam barely deflected a rapid series of strikes, his arms aching from the effort. “You’ve been holding back this whole time?”

  Lareth’s grin returned. “Of course. What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t push you when you were ready?”

  After what felt like an eternity, Lareth finally called for a break. Sam dropped to the ground, his breathing heavy. “You’re insane,” he muttered, glaring up at Lareth.

  “Insane, but effective,” Lareth replied, tossing him a water skin. “Now, let’s talk about what you’re doing wrong.”

  Sam groaned but sat up, listening as Lareth critiqued his movements.

  “You’re too rigid,” Lareth said, miming one of Sam’s attacks. “You focus so much on power and precision that you forget to adapt. Fighting isn’t about executing a perfect move—it’s about flowing with the situation.”

  Sam frowned, mulling over the advice. “Flowing with the situation... Like water?”

  “Exactly,” Lareth said, his tone almost encouraging. “Your shadow abilities are unpredictable. Use that unpredictability, but don’t let it control you. You need to blend it into your movements.”

  Over the next hour, Sam tried to mimic Lareth’s fluidity. It was awkward at first, but as he adjusted, he began to see the value in the technique. Meanwhile, Lareth seemed to be observing Sam’s combat strategies, occasionally nodding to himself.

  “You know,” Lareth said after Sam executed a particularly creative counter. “I might steal that move. You’ve got a knack for thinking outside the box.”

  “Go ahead,” Sam said, smirking. “Maybe you’ll trip over your own feet.”

  Their sparring session ended with Sam flat on his back, staring up at the sky. Lareth stood over him, offering a hand.

  “You’re improving,” Lareth said, pulling him to his feet. “But there’s one more thing you need to learn.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow. “Another secret technique?”

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  “Not exactly,” Lareth said, his expression unusually serious. “You’re too focused on fighting alone. That’s your biggest weakness.”

  Sam’s breath caught, his mind flashing back to his battle with Kaelith and the moments he had refused help.

  “You think strength is about shouldering everything yourself,” Lareth continued. “But it’s not. Real strength is knowing when to rely on the people beside you.”

  Sam looked away, the words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.

  “Hey,” Lareth said, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We’re here to fight with you, not for you. Stop shutting us out.”

  The sincerity in his voice was disarming. Sam nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Lareth.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Lareth said, grinning again. “You’ve still got a long way to go.”

  As they walked back to the village, Sam felt a strange sense of relief. He wasn’t alone—not in this fight, not in this world. And for the first time, he began to believe that maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

  The quiet hum of the evening filled the air as Sam sat on a rock near the training grounds, his shadow sword resting across his lap. His body ached, his muscles screamed for rest, and yet his mind buzzed with the lessons of the day. The duel with Lareth had left him exhausted but determined.

  As he absentmindedly traced patterns into the dirt, the familiar voice of the system broke through his thoughts.

  “User progress detected. New skill unlocked: Momentum Boost.”

  Sam blinked, the words reverberating in his mind. “Momentum Boost?” he muttered, his curiosity piqued.

  The system’s voice elaborated: “Passive skill. Grants increased speed and power for consecutive successful attacks. Duration resets after a missed strike or pause in combat.”

  Sam frowned, leaning back against the rock. “Another skill,” he murmured. “But what’s the point if I can barely keep up with people like Lareth or Kaelith?”

  He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

  “Talking to yourself again?” Lareth’s voice cut through the silence, light but teasing. He strolled over, a casual smirk on his face.

  Sam didn’t look up. “Just trying to figure out how I’m supposed to get better when every step forward feels like it’s not enough.”

  Lareth crouched beside him, resting his arms on his knees. “You’ve got this bad habit of measuring yourself against everyone else. It’s not a competition, you know.”

  Sam’s eyes snapped to Lareth’s, frustration spilling out. “Of course, it’s a competition! Every fight I’ve been in has been life or death. If I don’t get stronger, I’ll die—or worse, someone else will because I wasn’t strong enough.”

  Lareth tilted his head, considering Sam’s words. “You’re not wrong. But that’s exactly why you can’t keep letting fear and doubt drive you. You’ll burn out before you get anywhere.”

  Sam scoffed, his voice dripping with bitterness. “Easy for you to say. You’re already strong. You’ve got Flowstrike, years of experience... I’m just barely keeping up.”

  Lareth leaned back, looking at the stars. “You think I didn’t struggle too? My first sparring session with my dad ended with me flat on my back, humiliated and crying like a baby. I spent months thinking I’d never be good enough.”

  Sam blinked, surprised by the admission. “You? But you’re...”

  “Annoyingly skilled?” Lareth grinned, shrugging. “Yeah, but it didn’t come easy. Strength isn’t handed out like candy, Sam. It’s built piece by piece, mistake by mistake.”

  Sam stayed silent for a long moment, turning the words over in his head. Finally, he sighed and stood, brushing dirt off his pants. “Let’s test something.”

  Lareth raised an eyebrow. “Test what?”

  “This new skill,” Sam said, summoning his shadow sword. “I want to see how much of a difference it makes.”

  Lareth’s grin widened. “Now you’re speaking my language. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  The sparring began with Lareth on the defensive, allowing Sam to find his rhythm. The moment Sam landed his first hit, the effect of Momentum Boost kicked in. His strikes became faster, sharper, each one carrying more weight than the last.

  For a brief moment, Sam felt invincible, his body moving with a fluidity and power he hadn’t known before.

  “Not bad!” Lareth called out, parrying a particularly forceful strike. “But don’t get cocky!”

  The warning came too late. Sam’s overconfidence led to a mistimed swing, which Lareth easily countered. The momentum vanished instantly, leaving Sam open and off balance.

  “See?” Lareth said, tapping Sam lightly on the head with his practice sword. “You’ve got potential, but you’re still rushing things. Skills are tools, not crutches.”

  Later that night, as Sam sat by the fire nursing his bruises, he couldn’t help but replay the sparring match in his mind. The rush of Momentum Boost, the way it amplified his abilities—it was exhilarating. But Lareth’s words lingered too.

  “Skills are tools, not crutches,” he murmured, staring into the flames.

  For so long, he’d been chasing strength, desperate to prove himself worthy of this second chance. But now he wondered if he’d been going about it the wrong way. Strength wasn’t just about power; it was about control, about knowing when to act and when to step back.

  The system’s voice returned, softer this time: “Growth is not linear, User. Every failure is a step forward in disguise.”

  Sam let out a dry laugh. “You’re awfully philosophical for a machine.”

  “Observation: You respond well to philosophical guidance.”

  Sam shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe I do.”

  As the fire crackled and the stars watched overhead, Sam felt a flicker of hope. He wasn’t there yet, but he was learning. And for now, that was enough.