Evening fell quietly over the western forest. The mist that had once clung to the trees was gone, replaced by the soft orange hue of sunset. The air smelled of sweat, earth, and the faint metallic tang of steel — reminders of the battle that had taken place only hours ago.
At the edge of the field, the four young hunters sat in silence. Their weapons rested beside them, their clothes torn and streaked with dirt. The adrenaline had long faded, replaced by the deep ache of exhaustion. Yet none of them seemed willing to leave. The ground still bore the scars of the fight — deep gouges, broken roots, and splintered bark where the Gorvann had struck.
Rogan sat a short distance from the others, polishing the Drakeshard Reclaimer. Every motion of the cloth over the blade was slow, deliberate, almost reverent. The sword shimmered faintly in the waning light. It was unbroken, untouched — the first weapon in his life to endure his strength without faltering.
Lyssara's gaze lingered on him from across the clearing. She could still picture the way he had moved in battle — the rhythm, the precision, the confidence in every strike. His control was nothing like before. Every swing had a purpose, every breath flowed naturally. There was power in him now — not the wild, chaotic strength she used to mock, but something refined.
She thought back to her own blades — quick but shallow, sharp but ineffective against the Gorvann's hide. She had landed her strikes, but none of them made real impact. The memory stung like a cut she couldn't heal.
Willa leaned back on her shield, staring at the fading clouds. "That thing was no joke," she said softly. "If Hunnt hadn't taught us to work together, we'd all be dead."
Will exhaled beside her, stretching his sore shoulders. "I still can't believe it ran. Guess it figured we weren't worth the trouble."
Lyssara didn't reply. Her mind was elsewhere.
She remembered her own anger from the day before — the frustration that had pushed her to lash out at Hunnt, to defend Rogan without understanding what he truly needed. Now, seeing Rogan calm, strong, and confident, she realized how wrong she'd been.
He didn't need defense, she thought. He needed direction.
The guilt gnawed at her chest, quiet but heavy.
Hunnt stood a few meters away, talking quietly with Kael and Seren. Their voices were low, discussing the fight, the team's coordination, and what would come next. But Lyssara's attention was locked on him — the man whose words had cut sharper than any blade. He hadn't lectured her out of pride. He had spoken truth she wasn't ready to face.
She rose to her feet before she could second-guess herself.
"Lyssara?" Will called. "Where are you going?"
She didn't answer. Her twin blades swayed lightly at her sides as she walked toward Hunnt. The others fell silent, watching as she approached the mentors.
Hunnt turned as she came near. His sharp eyes softened only slightly. "Something on your mind?"
Lyssara hesitated, her heart thudding hard in her chest. For a moment, the words caught in her throat. She lowered her gaze, took a deep breath, then stepped forward and bowed deeply — so low her hair brushed the ground.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
Hunnt blinked, his expression unreadable. "For what?"
"For doubting you. For arguing. For being arrogant." Her voice trembled, but she didn't stop. "When you said Rogan needed control, I didn't listen. I thought you were just trying to humiliate him… or us. But today, I saw it — he's different. Stronger. He's learned what I couldn't see. You were right."
She looked up, her eyes glistening faintly with unshed tears. "I also want to be stronger. Please… teach me."
The clearing went still. Kael and Seren exchanged glances but said nothing. Even Rogan, polishing his sword nearby, froze mid-motion, his eyes lifting slowly toward them.
Hunnt's gaze lingered on Lyssara. Her voice wasn't defensive anymore. There was no fire, no defiance — only sincerity. The frustration that had once filled her was gone, replaced by something purer: resolve.
He let the silence stretch for a moment before speaking.
"Do you understand what you're asking?" Hunnt said calmly. "My training isn't kind. It's not made for comfort or praise. You'll fail more than you'll succeed. You'll get hurt. You'll want to quit."
Lyssara met his gaze. "I know."
"And you'll have to confront your limits — not mine, not Rogan's, but yours."
"I'm ready," she said without hesitation.
Hunnt studied her face for a moment longer, then finally nodded. "Alright."
A small, approving smile tugged at his lips. "I accept your apology. From now on, you'll train under me."
Lyssara exhaled, relief and determination washing over her all at once. She bowed again, deeper than before. "Thank you."
Kael chuckled softly beside them. "Well, that didn't take long."
Seren smirked. "Told you she'd come around sooner or later."
Hunnt glanced their way with a faint glare that shut them both up, then turned back to Lyssara. "Tomorrow morning, meet me at the training ground. Bring your blades. If you want to grow stronger, we start with your foundation."
Lyssara nodded firmly. "Yes, sir."
Hunnt turned away, looking out toward the forest. "Get some rest. You'll need it."
Lyssara stepped back, returning to the others. Rogan looked at her quietly as she approached, and for once, she couldn't meet his eyes. But as she passed, he gave her a faint nod — a silent acknowledgment that spoke louder than words.
She returned it with a small nod of her own.
Willa nudged Will, whispering, "She actually apologized."
Will smirked. "Guess miracles do happen."
Lyssara shot him a glare, but there was no real anger in it. "Watch it, archer."
Will raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just saying — that took guts."
The tension that had hung between them since the argument finally began to fade. The four of them, worn and sore, looked out toward the forest where the Gorvann had vanished hours before. The mist had returned, rolling in waves through the trees, glowing faintly orange under the setting sun.
Rogan sheathed his sword and stood. "We should head back. The mentors will want us rested before tomorrow."
Lyssara nodded. "Tomorrow," she repeated quietly, more to herself than anyone else.
They began their walk back to Korvan, the path quiet except for the soft crunch of boots on soil and the hum of cicadas waking for the night. The forest around them felt different now — less threatening, more alive.
For the first time, they weren't just four individuals training under different mentors.
They were becoming a team — a small, growing piece of what it meant to be a real hunter.
---
That night, long after the others had fallen asleep, Lyssara sat awake outside the longhouse. She looked at her twin blades resting across her knees, their edges dull and chipped from the fight. The stars reflected faintly on the metal.
She whispered softly into the night air.
"I'll become stronger. Not for pride, not for glory… but for all of us."
The forest wind carried her words away, quiet and unseen, into the endless dark — where somewhere beyond, the Gorvann's distant roar echoed one last time.