Dawn broke over the elven outpost, casting long shadows across the training grounds. Caelan stood in the center of the clearing, sword in hand, his body tense from anticipation. Around him, elven soldiers moved with synchronized precision, their drills a display of both discipline and deadly efficiency.

  The sight was humbling. Each step, swing, and motion of the elves seemed effortless, as though they danced rather than trained. Caelan couldn’t help but feel clumsy in comparison.

  Haldir approached, his silver armor gleaming in the pale light. His movements were deliberate, and the weight of his presence silenced the whispers among the watching soldiers.

  “You’re standing wrong,” Haldir said flatly, not bothering with a greeting. He gestured at Caelan’s feet. “Your stance is weak. You’ll lose balance the moment an opponent presses you.”

  Caelan adjusted his footing, spreading his weight evenly. “Like this?”

  Haldir nodded curtly. “Passable. For now.”

  Without warning, Haldir’s sword flashed. Caelan barely raised his weapon in time to block the strike. The force reverberated through his arms, nearly causing him to stumble.

  “Too slow,” Haldir said, his blade already moving for another attack.

  The next hour was brutal. Haldir’s strikes came fast and precise, each one testing Caelan’s reactions and endurance. When he faltered, the blows would land painfully close, a reminder that hesitation in battle could mean death.

  “Again,” Haldir ordered after another failed parry.

  Caelan’s chest heaved as he raised his sword once more. His muscles burned with every swing, but he refused to show weakness.

  “You rely on brute force,” Haldir said, easily sidestepping Caelan’s next attack. “Strength without control is a liability. Focus your movements. Every strike must have purpose.”

  Gritting his teeth, Caelan tightened his grip on his blade. This time, he moved deliberately, aiming for the gaps in Haldir’s armor. The elf deflected the blows with ease but nodded in approval.

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  “Better,” Haldir said. “But you’ll need more than instinct to survive.”As the morning wore on, Haldir shifted the training to footwork. He drew a circle in the dirt and instructed Caelan to stay within it while dodging attacks.

  The first strike came from the left, and Caelan barely ducked in time. The second came from above, forcing him to roll backward. Haldir moved like a predator, his strikes unrelenting.

  “Keep your balance!” Haldir barked.

  Caelan stumbled out of the circle, his frustration boiling over. “This is pointless! How does this help me control the curse?”

  Haldir lowered his blade, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Control begins with discipline. You lack both. If you can’t even command your body, how do you expect to command the power inside you?”

  The words stung, but Caelan bit back his retort. He stepped back into the circle and resumed the drill.By midday, the training shifted again. Haldir led Caelan to a row of wooden dummies set against the edge of the clearing. Each one was marked with faint runes, their purpose unclear.

  “These dummies are enchanted to mimic an opponent’s movements,” Haldir explained. “You’ll fight them until I say otherwise.”

  Caelan nodded, stepping forward to face the first dummy. The moment he raised his sword, the runes on the wood glowed faintly. The dummy sprang to life, swinging its wooden blade in a wide arc.

  Caelan dodged, countering with a strike of his own. The blow landed, but the dummy didn’t falter. Instead, it attacked again, faster and with more precision.

  “Do not rely on brute strength,” Haldir called from the sidelines. “Use your mind. Adapt to its movements.”

  Caelan adjusted his footing, studying the dummy’s attacks. He began to see a pattern in its movements, exploiting the gaps with calculated strikes. After several tense moments, the dummy froze, its runes dimming.

  “Next,” Haldir said, gesturing to the second dummy.

  The afternoon was grueling. Each dummy was faster and more aggressive than the last, forcing Caelan to push himself to the brink. By the time he reached the final dummy, his arms felt like lead, and his legs threatened to give out.

  The final dummy moved with a speed that bordered on unnatural. Its strikes came in rapid succession, forcing Caelan to rely on both instinct and technique.

  “You’re tiring,” Haldir observed. “Finish it.”

  Caelan gritted his teeth, channeling a sliver of the cursed energy into his blade. The dark tendrils coiled around the steel, enhancing his strength and speed. With a burst of energy, he drove his sword through the dummy’s chest, splitting it in half.

  The clearing fell silent as the dummy collapsed into splinters. Caelan lowered his blade, his breathing ragged.

  Haldir approached, his expression unreadable. “You used the curse,” he said.

  Caelan nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. “I had no choice.”

  “There is always a choice,” Haldir said. “But you’ve proven that you can control it—barely. Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll begin the real training.”