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POV: Arthur Snow
Location: Wolfsblood Ridge – Southern Clearing
The frost had melted in the clearing. The morning was still, but the ground knew better. The ridge held its breath.
Arthur stood in the center, coat off, sleeves rolled, sword sheathed. His boots were planted, hands at his sides, hair loose in the cold wind.
The others waited in a semi-circle—nervous, some defiant, none truly ready.
All but Maelen.
The dreamseer sat cross-legged at the edge of the field, silent as ever, eyes closed beneath the wolf-pelt hood.
Arthur stepped into the circle. "You all will face me now, except Maelen."
Redna was the first to speak. "Why? He's part of this, isn't he?"
"He sees the world as it might be," Arthur said, gaze locked forward. "This test is for those who live in the world as it is."
Maelen opened his eyes briefly. "I would not survive your teaching, Arthur Snow."
"You will. But not like this."
Arthur unsheathed his sword with a whisper of steel. His qi surged—silent, focused, deadly. The ground cracked beneath his feet.
They felt it at once.
The wind stopped moving. The trees around the clearing went still. Not in reverence—but in warning.
Arthur's voice was calm. "Come at me with everything. Or you won't walk out."
Garron snorted. "This is madness."
The six moved.
Garron charged first—predictable.
His hammer came down like a falling tower. Arthur pivoted without stepping. His left hand tapped Garron's elbow—redirecting the momentum sideways—and his right struck Garron's sternum with a flat palm.
Qi-pulse.
Garron flew back five feet, landing hard, breath gone.
"Too slow. Too wide. Strength without awareness is a gift to your enemy."
Sarra came from the left—low, quiet, fast. Blades reversed in her hands, she aimed for Arthur's neck.
He ducked—not back, but forward—sliding beneath her arm.
His elbow slammed into her ribs, then he swept her legs out.
She twisted in the air, barely catching herself.
"Your breath coils too early," Arthur said as she landed. "Control the moment—not just your blade."
Thom followed, cautious, deliberate. He flicked two needles from his sleeves—one toward Arthur's thigh, the other toward his wrist.
Arthur's sword met them both mid-air.
Steel flashed. Qi surged. Sparks scattered.
He closed the distance between them in half a heartbeat.
Thom barely brought his arm up in time, and Arthur stopped just short—his blade hovering an inch from Thom's throat.
"Your hands are precise," Arthur said, "but your heart hesitates. In a true fight, hesitation kills."
Thom stepped back, shaken but silent.
Redna was next—darting behind Arthur's blind side.
She moved like shadow, qi keeping her presence low. But Arthur's ears twitched. He turned, not with speed, but with awareness.
Their eyes met.
She flinched.
He didn't strike her—he simply took one step forward.
She backed up instantly.
Arthur lowered his sword. "Your instincts are perfect. But fear controls your finish. You must choose to strike."
Vaeren didn't move at all.
He was gathering qi. Arthur could feel the slow whirlpool in the man's gut—stable, coiled, strong.
When he finally attacked, it wasn't with fists or speed.
He drew a vial, shattered it, and lunged forward through the rising smoke.
Arthur's sword cut once—clean—and the smoke parted around his blade.
Vaeren stumbled back coughing, half-blinded.
"Your mind is clever," Arthur said. "But qi follows intent. If your intent isn't clean, your technique breaks."
Lyanna was the last.
She came in without words, sword drawn.
Her footwork was clean. Her breath was sharp. Her qi moved in twin flows—like rivers converging.
Their blades clashed.
Steel rang.
Arthur smiled.
She spun. He blocked.
She lunged. He vanished.
She twisted—barely deflecting a strike aimed at her back.
They fought for ten heartbeats in silence.
Then Arthur spoke.
"You strike with reason. But still not with instinct."
He tapped the flat of her blade, and the qi within it dispersed.
She gasped.
Arthur stepped forward.
A sharp flick of his wrist—and her sword flew from her hands.
Lyanna stood still, breath shallow.
"I'm not done," she whispered.
Arthur nodded. "Then take it back."
She moved again.
Together, they came once more.
Sarra and Redna flanked. Garron and Vaeren pressed the middle. Thom backed them with throwing needles. Lyanna circled behind.
Arthur drew in a breath.
And released it.
Qi surged outward.
The air bent.
His presence swelled like a tidal wave.
And then he moved.
To Sarra —he twisted her blade mid-strike, flipped it from her grip, and caught it. He tossed it back at her feet. "You overcommitted. Train balance."
To Redna —he tapped her shoulder with his elbow. She stumbled. "You moved quiet. But your second step echoed. Silence is breath, not just foot."
To Garron —Arthur caught the hammer with one hand, stepped in, and used Garron's momentum to spin him. "You have strength. Learn control."
To Vaeren —Arthur caught the next concoction mid-throw. "Tactics without certainty? Useless."
To Thom —Arthur redirected a dart with a blade flick, letting it pin Vaeren's sleeve to a tree. Thom froze. "Target awareness. Count allies."
To Lyanna —they clashed again. Her strikes were cleaner now. Her breath deeper. Arthur nodded. "Almost."
He parried, stepped inside—and laid a hand on her chest.
"Not quite."
He pushed gently.
She flew back.
They all lay on the ground. Winded. Bruised. Breathing hard.
Arthur stood over them, sword unsheathed, steam rising from his skin.
"You've all crossed into true combat instinct. This wasn't training. It was awakening."
He looked down at them, each face staring back with equal parts awe and exhaustion.
"You fought well. But not enough."
He turned, walking away.
"Again. At dusk."
He simply turned away, letting the weight of the lesson settle behind him like snowfall.
The air still crackled faintly with the remnants of his qi.
Vaeren was the first to move. He grunted, pulling at the sleeve still pinned to the tree.
"Damn it, Thom! That was my last good shirt!"
His fingers fumbled with the dart's edge, dislodging it in a flurry of bark and splinters. A chip struck him in the face. He blinked, scowled, and flopped flat into the dirt.
Thom didn't move. He lay spread-eagled, chest heaving, eyes fixed on the blue between the treetops.
"Did anyone else…" he coughed, "feel like we were fighting a thunderstorm?"
He flexed his fingers unconsciously, mimicking the motion of a thrown dart.
"That wasn't swordplay. That was… I don't know what that was."
Lyanna sat up slowly, lips tight against the pull of sore ribs. She winced as her hand touched the deep bruise Arthur had left on her chest.
"He pulled that last strike," she murmured. "I felt it. The push should've shattered ribs."
Her voice was low, almost reverent.
Vaeren finally freed himself with a loud rip. "Great. So the monster was being gentle with us. How comforting."
He tossed the ruined sleeve aside and covered his face with an arm. "I spent six months perfecting those alchemical dispersal ratios. He shattered them like festival grapes."
Thom rolled onto one elbow. "Did you see his eyes when we first engaged? No dilation. No flinch. No tells. Like he was reading a book."
He sat up fully, brushing grit from his sleeves. "He wasn't fighting us. He was studying us."
Lyanna nodded once. "He waited. Let us exhaust ourselves."
She touched her sternum again.
"I thought I had him. That feint—I committed. He knew before I even moved."
A pause stretched between them.
Then—
Redna's voice, dry and sharp: "He didn't even look at me when I came in from behind."
She sat on a stump, one hand massaging her ankle. "I thought I was quiet. I've stalked full-grown hunters across shale cliffs. But he moved before I even entered his field."
She looked down at her hands, fingers twitching.
"He didn't react. He anticipated."
Sarra stood nearby, blades sheathed, arms folded. She hadn't fallen like the others—but she hadn't lasted any longer either.
"Didn't matter how fast we moved," she muttered. "He's already past speed. He's reading pressure, balance. Every breath."
Her jaw tightened.
"He wasn't fighting. He was guiding a lesson with the tip of a blade."
Garron groaned as he sat up, rubbing his shoulder.
"My ribs feel like I was stepped on by a mammoth."
He spat a little blood onto the grass.
"I've brawled men twice my size and walked away with a grin. But that… That man disarmed me with his foot."
He looked around, sheepish.
"…I think I like him." (Like a rival)
Near the treeline, Maelen watched in silence. Still cross-legged. Still untouched.
His voice drifted out like fog.
"He didn't need to strike you."
They turned to him.
"His intent alone was enough. Qi guided by clarity leaves no room for guessing."
Redna narrowed her eyes. "And you? Still just watching?"
Maelen smiled faintly. "Would you have preferred I joined you in the dirt?"
Vaeren snorted. "Might've been nice to have one body flatter than mine between me and his blade."
Maelen tilted his head. "You're improving. A week ago you'd have cried about your vials."
Vaeren threw a stick at him. Maelen dodged it without blinking.
A brittle silence returned. Then Vaeren chuckled—a dry, hollow sound.
"Remember when we thought we were getting good at this?"
Thom joined him with a tired laugh. "That was before our teacher stopped pretending to be human."
Lyanna remained still.
But her eyes weren't dazed.
They were sharp. Focused.
"'Again at dusk,'" she repeated.
She stood.
"Get up."
Vaeren groaned. "What's the point? He'll just knock us out of the air again."
"The point," Lyanna said, brushing soil from her knees, "is that he didn't kill us. Didn't even try. Which means he thinks we can take more."
She looked toward the path where Arthur had vanished.
"So we will."
Thom pulled himself to standing with a grunt. "Did you hear what he said before he left?"
"'Awakening,'" Redna replied quietly.
Thom nodded. "That's the first time he's ever praised us."
Vaeren got up last, dragging his satchel.
"I'm not wasting more potions on him. Next time, I'm just throwing rocks."
Thom reached to steady him. Vaeren yelped as his bruised side flared.
"You throw rocks," Redna said, "he'll probably hand one back—lodged in your teeth."
As the group limped toward the treeline, Lyanna paused.
She turned back to the training ground.
Arthur's footprints remained visible—two parallel rows. Crisp. Unshaken.
She measured the distance between each one.
Perfect.
She said nothing, but the prints burned into her mind.
The wind shifted, brushing the edges of the grass.
Lyanna's fingers curled around her sword hilt.
"At dusk," she whispered.
And followed.