Edrin had never been afraid of swords.
He had, however, always maintained a respectful distance from them.
Now, standing in a small clearing just outside Brindlewick, he found himself holding one.
This, he decided, was already a mistake.
"Grip it firmly," Lyra instructed, arms crossed as she watched him with the intensity of someone expecting disappointment—and being repeatedly proven correct.
"I am gripping it firmly," Edrin replied.
"You're holding it backward."
Edrin looked down.
He was, in fact, holding it backward.
"…I like to understand all perspectives," he said, quickly flipping it around.
Lyra closed her eyes briefly, as if gathering patience from a place that was rapidly running out.
"Try not to stab yourself," she said.
"I will do my best," Edrin replied, which did not sound reassuring even to him.
The clearing was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant sound of villagers pretending not to watch from a safe distance.
Edrin raised the sword.
It felt heavier than expected.
"This seems unnecessarily sharp," he muttered.
"That's the point."
"Yes, but couldn't it be… less so?"
"No."
"Right."
Lyra stepped back. "Attack."
Edrin blinked. "Attack what?"
"Me."
He froze. "That feels like a bad idea."
"It's training."
"You look very capable of ending me."
"I won't."
Edrin hesitated.
"…You promise?"
Lyra stared at him.
"…Mostly," she said.
"That's not comforting."
"Attack."
Edrin took a deep breath, then swung the sword.
He missed.
Spectacularly.
The momentum spun him in a full circle, and before he could recover, his foot caught on uneven ground.
He fell.
Hard.
The sword flew out of his hand, landing a few feet away with a dull thud.
Edrin lay flat on his back, staring at the sky.
"…I think I attacked the ground," he said.
Lyra pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Again," she said.
Edrin sat up slowly. "We just did again."
"We're doing it properly this time."
"That felt proper."
Lyra pointed at the sword.
Edrin sighed and got to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
"Alright," he said. "Round two. I feel more confident already."
"You shouldn't."
"Agreed."
He picked up the sword, adjusted his grip—correctly this time—and took a cautious step forward.
"Focus," Lyra said.
"I am focused."
"You're squinting."
"I focus better when I squint."
"That's not how that works."
Edrin nodded. "I'll take your word for it."
He swung again.
This time, he didn't fall immediately.
Lyra stepped aside effortlessly, her movements smooth and controlled. "Too slow."
"I'm building suspense," Edrin said.
"You're building disappointment."
"That too."
They continued.
Swing. Miss. Adjust. Repeat.
At one point, Edrin managed to hit something.
Unfortunately, it was a nearby tree.
The impact jolted through his arms, and he yelped, dropping the sword again.
"I think the tree won," he said, cradling his hands.
Lyra stared at him.
"…You're worse than I expected."
Edrin brightened slightly. "Oh. So I exceeded expectations?"
"In the wrong direction."
"Still counts."
Lyra turned away, pacing slowly as she thought.
Edrin watched her nervously. "You're not… reconsidering, are you?"
She stopped.
Then looked back at him.
For a moment, her expression softened—just slightly.
"No," she said. "I'm not."
Edrin blinked. "Really?"
"You're terrible," she continued. "Completely untrained. Painfully awkward."
"I appreciate the honesty."
"But," she added, "you got up every time."
Edrin paused.
"Well," he said, "lying down seemed less productive."
Lyra almost smiled.
Almost.
"Again," she said.
Edrin groaned, but picked up the sword anyway.
This time, when he swung—
He still missed.
But he didn't fall.
"…Progress," he said, slightly out of breath.
Lyra nodded.
"Very small progress," she corrected.
Edrin grinned. "I'll take it."
And for the first time since the stone had chosen him, that didn't feel entirely impossible.