The next day arrived with a crisp morning breeze.
Alaric stood at the center of the manor’s private training hall, clad in a dark, form-fitted tunic made of reinforced linen, its sleeves tied at the forearm with leather cords. His trousers were tucked into well-worn riding boots, and a pair of fingerless gloves wrapped around his hands, scuffed from hours of bladework.
The hall itself was an impressive space—high vaulted ceilings, mirrored walls, and an array of practice weapons mounted along the sides.
Selene had originally commissioned this chamber for Elina’s combat instruction, sparing no expense on the specialized equipnt and reinforced flooring designed to withstand intensive training.
Now, she had granted Alaric exclusive access to prepare for the Phoenix Trials.
Wooden training dummies stood like silent sentinels, while weighted practice swords hung from custom racks.
The morning light stread through tall windows, casting geotric patterns across the stone floor.
"Haa..."
Alaric exhaled slowly, shifting his stance.
He dismissed the wooden blade and raised his hand.
A subtle pulse of Essence surged from his core, traveling along his arm.
The air shimred faintly, heat warping the light around his palm.
With a focused breath, he narrowed his fingers as if drawing an invisible bowstring.
Flick!
A small, concentrated fla gathered at his fingertips, taking the shape of an arrowhead.
It floated in the air for a second, pulsing softly, then ignited into a thin streak of fire, barely longer than a dagger.
He aid toward the far wall where several wooden dummies stood, their forms charred and blackened from earlier tests.
Thwip!
The fla arrow launched silently, burning bright for a split-second before it struck the dummy’s shoulder with surgical precision.
No explosion. No theatrics. Just controlled impact and a clean burn.
He raised his hand again. This ti, two arrows ford, one after the other, in rhythm with his breathing.
Thwip! Thwip!
Both found their mark. One embedded into the chest, the other pierced through the eye socket of the dummy. A faint trail of smoke curled in the air, carried by the morning breeze.
Alaric lowered his hand, sweat beading on his brow.
"Better," he muttered, flexing his fingers. The spell no longer trembled like it had done before. The fla didn’t sputter. It obeyed him.
But it wasn’t just about destruction. Not anymore.
Now it was about control.
He closed his eyes and took another breath.
One more round.
Thwip! Thwip!
But then suddenly...
Whoosh!
A figure burst forth from the shaows, landing soundlessly on one knee just beyond the training circle.
Alaric’s hand instinctively flicked back, another fla arrow forming mid-air, ready to fire.
But the figure didn’t move. Instead, they remained knelt, head bowed, one fist against the ground in formal salute.
"Forgive the intrusion, Young Lord," ca a steady voice. It was male, low and clear, laced with discipline.
Alaric didn’t lower his aim yet. His eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
The man slowly raised his head.
He wore a sleek black training tunic trimd with the emblem of House Glimor faintly stitched on the shoulder.
His face was sharp, eyes like steel, and on his back was a pair of short blades strapped in a crisscross.
"I am Rael. Lady Selene sent ."
The fla arrow dissipated in Alaric’s hand with a faint flicker.
"... Selene?"
"She requested that I assess your combat readiness," Rael said, standing now with smooth precision. "As her chosen champion, she wants you prepared."
Alaric raised a brow. "So I’m getting a babysitter now?"
Rael didn’t smile. "A sparring partner," he corrected. "Unless you’d prefer an audience."
Alaric scoffed and rolled his shoulders. "Fine."
He turned slightly, flas kindling at his fingertips again.
"Just try not to get burned."
******
Under the shade of tall, whispering trees, a woman sat poised on a stone bench carved with vine motifs.
The garden wrapped around her in muted color, rose bushes in half bloom, sunlight dripping through foliage.
Selene held a porcelain cup, sipping tea with slow grace.
Across from her, seated on the opposite bench, was a woman in black robes.
Sari.
Her eyes were focused on a stack of parchnt spread across the stone table between them.
"How is it going?" Selene asked, her voice as smooth as the tea, setting the cup down with a soft clink.
Sari didn’t look up imdiately. Her fingers traced a line across the page before she replied.
"The extraction’s progressing. The new vein has proven deeper than expected." She flipped a page.
"The Varnacite is stable, and the Lunthera flowers are adapting well to transplanting... at least for now."
Selene’s gaze lingered on the bed of flowers beyond them. "Any issues with the council?"
Sari shook her head. "No, all things are proceeding smoothly."
Selene nodded thoughtfully, her fingers brushing the rim of the porcelain cup as her gaze lingered on the docunts.
"Will Duke Garren be present tomorrow?"
Sari nodded in response. "Yes. He’s canceled all prior engagents. Said he’s quite eager to see what you have prepared for him."
A faint smirk curled Selene’s lips, but it quickly faded into a frown.
And after a short silence, she leaned back against the stone bench, shoulders easing into the curve of its design.
The wind played with a loose strand of her dark hair as she closed her eyes and exhaled deeply.
"Well, no point in overthinking it now," she murmured.
Then, her grin returned as she opened her eyes.
"The only thing that remains... is for the prey to bite the bait."
*******
A heavy silence hung in the dimly lit chamber, broken only by the rustle of parchnt.
The tall man sat behind the broad oak desk, his jaw clenched as his eyes darted across the contents of a letter, each line seeming to sour his mood further.
His gloved fingers curled against the paper, creasing it sharply.
Without looking up, his voice cracked through the air like a whip.
"Bring in Caleb."
The woman beside him flinched, just slightly.
She wore a black gown that shimred faintly in the lamplight, her golden-brown hair pinned into a formal twist.
Blue eyes flicked toward him, uncertain, but she nodded quickly and stepped out in silence, the door closing behind her with a muffled click.
The man remained motionless for a mont longer, eyes fixed on the letter in his hands.
His expression darkened.
"I’ll crush you. The heir of Glimor."
---------
Chapter End.
[A/N]
Sorry for late Chapter guys, just got caught with sothing.
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