Riven had claimed a secluded corner of the castle’s workshop, transforming the space into a personal laboratory of controlled chaos. Glass vials filled with strange liquids and tightly sealed jars of venomous herbs lined her workstation. A sturdy mortar and pestle sat beside a small cauldron, and a thick tome lay open, its weathered pages scrawled with handwritten notes in the margins. The sharp scent of crushed plant matter mingled with the faint metallic tang of alchemical reagents, creating an air of both mystery and danger.

  Her sharp black eyes focused intently on her task as she ground a toxic plant—its name a tongue-twister even for a seasoned alchemist like Rowan—into a fine powder. The rhythmic scraping sound of the pestle against the mortar filled the room, occasionally punctuated by the faint crackle of magical energy from a nearby apprentice's spell gone awry. King Rowan wandered through the workshop, his young face set in an expression of calm authority as he checked in on the various mages under his charge, ensuring their experiments remained within safe bounds.

  From the doorway, Lorian hesitated, his brown eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. His gaze darted from the bubbling concoctions on the shelves to the potentially lethal ingredients scattered across Riven’s workspace. Finally, his attention settled on the alchemist herself. Her short green hair, cut into a bob, framed her face, though stray locks fell forward as she worked, unbothered by the mess.

  “I’ll handle the nasty stuff,” Riven said without looking up, her tone teasing and light. Her lips curved into a smirk as she sensed his presence. “You three can stick to your cute little healing potions.”

  Lorian scrunched up his nose, stepping into the room but keeping a safe distance from her concoctions. “Why would we need poison? Isn’t that kind of… gross?” He wrinkled his face as though he could already taste the bitterness of whatever deadly brew she was concocting.

  Riven snorted softly, brushing the rebellious strands of hair from her face with the back of her hand, leaving a faint streak of green powder on her cheek. “Not everything we face is going to care about your ‘cute little healing potions,’ Lorian,” she said, her voice patient but tinged with amusement. “Trust me, when you’re staring down something with scales thicker than the castle walls, or a beast that laughs at swords and spells, you’ll be glad someone had the sense to prepare for the nastier battles.”

  Lorian frowned, considering her words, though the doubt in his expression lingered. “Still,” he muttered, “it feels... sneaky. Like cheating.”

  Riven let out a low laugh, her smirk widening. “Call it what you want, but when you’re still breathing after a fight, you won’t care how we won.” She paused her grinding, glancing over at him with a wink. “Besides, it’s not sneaky—it’s strategic.”

  King Rowan, who had paused nearby to observe the exchange, chuckled softly. “She’s got a point, Lorian. Sometimes, survival depends on fighting smarter, not harder.” He folded his arms, watching Riven’s precise movements with a mix of admiration and wariness. “Just... make sure your strategy doesn’t blow up half my workshop.”

  Riven raised an eyebrow, mockingly affronted. “Oh, please, Your Majesty. I’d never waste good poison on something as trivial as an accidental explosion.”

  Lorian’s laugh finally broke through his apprehension, and he shook his head. “Fine, fine. Just keep your creepy plants over there, and I’ll stick to my ‘cute little healing potions.’”

  As Riven returned to her work, a small grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. She enjoyed their banter—it reminded her that even amidst the seriousness of their mission, there was still room for levity. And if her dark concoctions kept them one step ahead of the dangers lurking beyond the castle walls, all the better.

  Outside the castle, where the air was crisp and sunlight danced over the rolling hills, Magnus and Seraph stood facing the wide sill of a stone-framed window. The faint smell of crushed herbs lingered on their hands as they idly ground medicinal plants in a small wooden bowl. Seraph, ever quiet and composed, glanced up from her work with a faint smile, while Magnus, his pale green hair catching the golden light, nudged her gently and gestured toward the training grounds below.

  "Look at those two," Magnus said softly, his melodic voice carrying an unmistakable note of amusement.

  On a sunlit patch of soft grass near the sparring rings, Pip and Cheese had claimed their own little haven of peace amidst the castle’s bustling activity. A small basket, neatly packed with fruits, nuts, sandwiches, and buttery biscuits, sat open between them. Pip, its round, furry body seeming almost too small for its oversized ears, nibbled daintily on a sliver of a berry, holding it with its tiny paws. Every now and then, the pipmunk would tilt its head and emit a soft, chirping hum of contentment.

  Beside it, Cheese—a perfectly round slime shimmering with faint hues of blue and yellow—wobbled happily. It quivered and jiggled in a rhythmic motion, as though sharing in Pip’s quiet joy. Now and then, it produced tiny, glowing bubbles that floated lazily into the air. The bubbles shimmered like liquid rainbows in the sunlight before popping softly, adding a whimsical touch to the serene scene.

  Pip seemed particularly entertained by Cheese’s antics, chirping enthusiastically whenever a larger bubble rose higher into the sky. Cheese, in turn, jiggled with what could only be described as pride, producing even more of the luminous orbs. A particularly daring bubble drifted close to Pip’s nose, and the creature gave a delighted squeak, batting at it with its tiny paws before it burst into a cascade of golden sparks.

  Magnus chuckled as he watched, shaking his head. “They’re so effortlessly happy,” he mused, his vibrant green eyes reflecting the warmth of the scene. “It’s a bit unfair, really. Here we are grinding herbs, and they’ve turned lunch into a spectacle.”

  Seraph’s silver eyes softened as she observed Pip delicately nudge a grape toward Cheese, which the slime promptly absorbed into its jiggling form, glowing faintly brighter in response. “It’s… nice,” Seraph said quietly, her voice as gentle as the breeze. “A reminder that not everything needs to be about fighting or preparing for war. Even in all of this, there’s still space for simple joys.”

  Magnus nodded, smiling softly. “Simple joys indeed. If only the rest of us could learn to be as content as a pipmunk and a slime.”

  Below, Pip chirped approvingly as Cheese wobbled closer, forming a small heart-shaped bubble that hovered for a moment before popping with a sparkle. The two creatures seemed blissfully unaware of the champions’ watchful eyes, their tranquil moment a perfect contrast to the clang of swords and the gruff shouts of warriors training in the distance.

  The main training yard buzzed with energy, the clash of weapons and the shouts of warriors ringing out like a battlefield rehearsal. Caelus, Darius, and Elira stood at its heart, their weapons gleaming in the afternoon sun. Wooden dummies lined the perimeter, their surfaces battered and scarred, but the trio had quickly moved on to sparring with one another under the watchful eye of Sir Edric, the royal guard’s formidable instructor.

  Sir Edric was a mountain of a man, his broad shoulders and muscular build radiating authority. His impressive beard, thick and well-groomed, framed a stern face, while his equally grand mustache twitched slightly with every barked command. His brown hair, streaked with the faintest hints of gray, was tied back neatly, but nothing about him felt tame. He wielded his presence like a weapon, his booming voice cutting through the yard as easily as any blade.

  Their weapons, though not their personal ones, were carefully chosen from the castle armory. Each bore the marks of the royal blacksmith’s steady craftsmanship—sturdy, reliable, and unadorned, designed for function over form. Despite their mundane appearance, a layer of enchantment transformed these tools into something far more extraordinary: blessed training weapons.

  A royal mage had infused the borrowed arms with a sacred spell a long time ago, ensuring that no matter how hard a blow landed, the weapons could deal no true harm. Instead, the enchantment dulled the force of each strike, leaving only a harmless burst of magical energy to simulate the impact. Faintly glowing runes, nearly invisible in the sunlight, shimmered along the blades and edges, the only sign of their protective magic.

  Elira’s weaponry was as formidable as her presence. Her massive shield, almost as wide as she was tall, gleamed dully in the sunlight. Made of reinforced steel and bearing a simple engraved sunburst emblem, it felt indomitable. Every time she raised it, it was as if a wall of iron stood between her and her opponents. The shield was perfectly suited to her fighting style—an unyielding juggernaut who could weather the fiercest storm and strike back with overwhelming power. When paired with her punches, she became a mobile fortress, her strikes deliberate and crushing, her defense nearly impenetrable.

  Caelus moved with a lighter touch, his borrowed sword an elegant but unassuming weapon. Its blade was sleek and slightly curved, clearly crafted for precision and speed rather than raw power. The enchantment made it harmless to flesh but left enough force to test his opponents’ reflexes and skill. In Caelus’s hands, the sword was an extension of his body, moving fluidly as he weaved through the sparring field, looking for openings. His strikes were quick and measured, a sharp contrast to Elira’s overwhelming strength and defense.

  Darius, ever the powerhouse, wielded a borrowed halberd that suited his towering, dragonborn frame perfectly. The polearm was a blend of spear and axe, its long shaft ending in a wickedly curved blade reinforced with a sturdy spike at its tip. The enchantment softened the deadly edges but allowed the halberd to sweep and thrust with enough force to make even seasoned warriors falter. Darius handled it with surprising grace, twirling the weapon in powerful arcs that kept both Caelus and Elira on their toes. Each swing sent gusts of air whipping through the yard, and the reach of his weapon forced his opponents to constantly adjust their positioning.

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  Their sparring sessions had taken on a rhythm of their own. Elira charged first, her shield raised high as she barreled toward Caelus like an unstoppable force. He dodged nimbly, ducking under the edge of her shield and parrying her sword with his own. But before he could capitalize on her momentary overextension, Darius’s halberd swept in with a wide, deliberate arc. The polearm sliced through the air between them, forcing Caelus to leap back and reassess.

  “Stay focused!” Sir Edric bellowed from the sidelines, his deep voice commanding attention. “Elira, your shield’s too high. Watch your legs! Caelus, don’t just dodge—counter! And Darius, stop overextending your swings, or you’ll lose your weapon!”

  Elira stood poised, her massive shield resting casually on her shoulder, though her amber eyes gleamed with anticipation. Her red hair, wild and wavy, caught in the breeze as she squared off against Caelus. He, in contrast, was all sharp focus and precise movements, his blue hair damp with sweat from the earlier drills.

  Across from them, Darius hefted his halberd with casual ease, its weight seemingly inconsequential in his powerful hands. His red scales gleamed in the sunlight, and his vibrant green eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “Ready when you are,” Caelus called out, his voice light and confident. Despite the playful tone, his stance was poised and deliberate, the measured posture of a seasoned fighter who understood the rhythm of combat. His sword rested in a loose grip, but his sharp blue eyes were locked on Elira, reading every shift in her stance like words on a page.

  Elira smirked, her amber eyes gleaming with challenge. The grin that spread across her face was feral, a promise of the ferocity she was about to unleash. “You’d better be,” she shot back, her voice laced with equal parts humor and warning. With a roar, she surged forward, her massive shield held low as it sliced through the air with a menacing hum. The ground seemed to shudder under her charge, her towering frame a juggernaut in motion.

  Caelus moved like water, smooth and unyielding. With practiced agility, he sidestepped her initial swing, the edge of her shield missing him by a breath. He retaliated in an instant, his sword a blur of silver as he aimed a precise slash toward her exposed flank.

  But Elira was already twisting. Her movements, though heavy, were deceptively swift. She shifted her weight, pivoting on her heel as the haft of her shield swung up in defense. The clang of metal on reinforced wood echoed through the training yard, a sound sharp and satisfying, like a blacksmith testing a blade.

  “Good!” Sir Edric’s booming voice cut through the tension from the sidelines. His massive arms were crossed, his imposing figure a mountain of muscle and authority. Brown hair peeked out from beneath his helmet, and his beard twitched with a faint smirk as he observed the clash. “But don’t get cocky! Elira, your footing!” he barked, his tone as sharp as a whip. “You’re leaving yourself open!”

  Elira stumbled slightly, her weight thrown off by the force of her spin. She growled, adjusting quickly and spinning her heavy shield in a wide arc to regain her balance. “Maybe I want them to think I’m open,” she shot back, her voice thick with defiance. “Ever heard of a trap?”

  “If that’s a trap,” Caelus called between breaths, sidestepping another blow, “it’s one I don’t want to be in.”

  Before Elira could fire back with a retort, the ground beneath her feet trembled as Darius joined the fray. His halberd slammed into the earth with thunderous force, the impact sending a shockwave rippling outward. Dust billowed up from the point of impact, and both Elira and Caelus staggered, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer strength behind the move.

  Darius stood at the center of the disturbance, a hulking figure radiating confidence. His deep, rumbling laughter rolled across the training yard like distant thunder, a sound that matched his towering, red-scaled frame. “Come on, you two!” he called, his vibrant green eyes sparkling with mischief. His wide, toothy grin revealed sharp fangs, a reminder of the dragonborn’s raw power. “Can’t let you have all the fun!”

  Elira straightened, her amber eyes blazing with challenge as she steadied herself. “Fun?” she shot back, gripping her massive shield tighter as she rolled her shoulders. “I’ll show you fun!”

  Without hesitation, she charged, her shield raised high like a battering ram. The ground seemed to quake beneath her as she barreled toward Darius, closing the distance in a heartbeat. Her shield met the haft of his halberd with a deafening clash, the force of their collision reverberating through the yard. The two locked in a battle of strength, her shield pushing against his weapon in a grinding struggle of sheer willpower.

  Darius held his ground, his muscles flexing under the strain. “Not bad,” he rumbled, his grin widening. “But you’ll need more than that to bring me down!”

  As the two titans clashed, Caelus darted back into the fray like a shadow, his movements quick and deliberate. His borrowed sword gleamed in the sunlight as he seized the opening in Darius’s defenses, aiming a precise strike at the dragonborn’s exposed flank.

  But Darius was no stranger to the art of combat. Even as he grappled with Elira’s relentless assault, he sensed the attack coming. With a swift, calculated move, he pivoted slightly and swung his massive tail in a wide arc. The scaled appendage moved like a whip, its sheer force cutting through the air with a faint whistle.

  “Whoa!” Caelus exclaimed, leaping back just in time to avoid being swept off his feet.

  “Keep your eyes open!” Sir Edric barked again, his booming voice cutting through the noise. “Fights aren’t just about strength. Use your surroundings! Use your brain!”

  Elira growled, frustration flaring in her amber eyes, but the lesson from Sir Edric’s earlier critique wasn’t lost on her. She adjusted her stance subtly, her shield lowering just enough to appear vulnerable, as though her earlier exertion had left her overextended. Her breathing deepened, shoulders slackening in a convincing act of fatigue.

  Darius’s keen green eyes locked onto the apparent opening. The dragonborn wasn’t one to miss an opportunity, and with a confident grin, he shifted his weight, raising his halberd high for a decisive strike. The weapon’s shadow loomed over Elira, the air hissing faintly as its sharp edge sliced downward.

  But Elira was ready.

  Just as the halberd descended, she twisted on her heel, a sly grin spreading across her face. With a surge of strength and precision, her shield swung upward in a sweeping arc, its reinforced edge catching Darius’s weapon mid-strike. The unexpected move jolted the dragonborn, forcing him to stagger backward to regain his footing. Elira wasted no time, stepping into her maneuver with a fluidity that belied her towering frame. Her longsword gleamed as she angled it toward him in a triumphant flourish.

  “Trap,” she declared smugly, her voice rich with satisfaction, the single word punctuated by the clang of her sword against his halberd as she forced him further off balance.

  Darius stumbled but recovered quickly, his massive tail swiping the ground behind him for stability. His deep, rumbling laugh echoed through the training yard, a sound of genuine amusement rather than frustration. He spun his halberd with practiced ease, its blade carving a graceful arc in the air as he reset his stance.

  “Well played,” he rumbled, a toothy grin spreading across his scaled face as he planted the butt of his halberd into the dirt with a resonant thud. His vibrant green eyes gleamed with respect. “But I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

  Elira raised an eyebrow, her amber gaze blazing as she hefted her shield back into position. “Not for long,” she shot back, her tone dripping with determination. “You’re just lucky I didn’t hit harder.”

  “Lucky?” Darius scoffed, his grin widening. “Please. That was skill. Your skill, I’ll admit—but don’t think I’m going down that easily.”

  The sparring continued in a whirlwind of clashing weapons and sharp movements, each champion pushing themselves to match the others’ pace. Caelus was a blur of motion, his sword glinting in the sun as he darted between his opponents like a shadow. He struck with precision, exploiting gaps in their defenses with swift jabs and feints, only to retreat just as quickly, his agility making him a difficult target to pin down.

  Darius stood his ground like an unshakable fortress, his halberd carving powerful arcs through the air with deliberate force. Each swing carried enough weight to force Caelus and Elira to adapt on the fly, dodging or deflecting the dragonborn’s relentless attacks. His strikes left shallow gouges in the dirt and sent vibrations through their borrowed weapons, a testament to his sheer strength.

  Elira, ever the aggressor, was relentless in her offense. Her shield moved in fluid harmony with her sword, the combination of offense and defense keeping her opponents on edge. She lunged, slashed, and parried with an energy that bordered on feral, her amber eyes flashing with determination. Her ferocious charges and well-timed counterattacks forced both Caelus and Darius to stay sharp, each trying to outmaneuver her unyielding advance.

  The yard rang with the sounds of battle—metal against metal, the dull thuds of weapons meeting shields, and the occasional grunt of effort or sharp exclamation as one of them narrowly avoided a hit. The dust kicked up by their footwork hung in the air, swirling around them like a curtain shrouding their intense duel.

  “Come on, Caelus! Is that all you’ve got?” Darius taunted, his deep voice rolling out between heavy breaths as he brought his halberd down in a sweeping arc, narrowly missing the nimble swordsman.

  Caelus smirked, sidestepping the strike with ease. “Just keeping you on your toes!” he quipped, darting forward to deliver a quick strike toward Darius’s exposed side, only to be intercepted by Elira’s shield.

  “Eyes on the real threat,” Elira said with a wicked grin, shoving him back before following up with a low, sweeping strike aimed at his legs.

  Caelus leapt back just in time, laughing despite himself. “I’m surrounded by show-offs.”

  As the minutes stretched on, their movements grew sharper and more precise. Sweat glistened on their brows, and their breathing became labored, but none of them showed any sign of giving in. Each exchange built on the last, their rhythm improving as they began to anticipate one another’s moves, their camaraderie shining through in the playful but intense contest.

  Finally, Sir Edric’s booming voice cut through the clash of weapons. “Enough!” he barked, raising a hand.

  The three combatants froze mid-action, lowering their weapons as they turned toward Sir Edric, but in her haste to stop, Elira couldn't quite catch herself in time. Her shield, still raised from the last strike, clipped Darius square on the top of his head with a solid thunk. All three were panting, faces flushed from the intensity of the sparring. Despite the exhaustion and the accidental hit, the atmosphere was charged with exhilaration, their broad grins radiating a shared satisfaction.

  “Well done,” Sir Edric said, striding toward them with a nod of approval. His imposing figure cast a long shadow over the yard, his arms crossed as he surveyed their progress. “You’re starting to look like real warriors instead of clumsy amateurs.”

  Elira grinned, brushing a strand of red hair out of her face as she leaned on her shield. “About time you noticed,” she said, her tone teasing despite her obvious exhaustion.

  Darius laughed, his chest rising and falling as he rested his halberd across his shoulders. “Not bad for a day’s work,” he rumbled, flashing his fanged grin at Caelus.

  Caelus sheathed his sword with a dramatic flourish, his blue eyes twinkling with humor. “Careful, Darius. A compliment like that might make us soft.”

  Sir Edric chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t get too comfortable just yet,” he said, his tone turning serious. “Next session, you’re sparring with me.”