By the next morning, Edrin had achieved something remarkable.
He was sore in places he hadn't known existed.
"I think my elbows are tired," he groaned, lying flat on the grass.
Lyra stood nearby, arms crossed. "You barely used your elbows."
"That's what makes it concerning."
Sunlight filtered through the trees, calm and peaceful—an unfair contrast to the previous day's events. If not for the lingering tension in the air, Edrin might have convinced himself it had all been a very stressful dream.
Unfortunately, his bruises disagreed.
"Get up," Lyra said.
Edrin didn't move. "I would like to respectfully remain here forever."
"No."
"I tried."
With a dramatic sigh, he pushed himself upright, wincing as every muscle protested.
"Good," Lyra said. "You're still alive."
"That's the current status, yes."
She studied him for a moment. "Do you remember what happened yesterday?"
"I panicked, ran in the wrong direction, tripped, and accidentally saved us."
"…That's one way to describe it."
Edrin nodded. "It's my signature move."
Lyra ignored that. "You hit the Invader's core. Not by luck alone."
Edrin blinked. "It felt like mostly luck."
"You adjusted mid-fall."
"I was trying not to die."
"Exactly."
Edrin frowned. "That's… encouraging?"
"It means your instincts aren't completely useless."
"I will take that as high praise."
Before Lyra could respond, a voice called out from the edge of the clearing.
"Hey! Is it true?!"
Edrin turned.
Three villagers stood there, wide-eyed and visibly excited. One of them stepped forward eagerly.
"They said you defeated an Invader!" he said.
Edrin immediately pointed at Lyra. "She did most of it."
"You landed the final blow," Lyra corrected.
"That was an accident."
"It still counts."
The villagers exchanged looks.
"That's incredible!" one of them said.
Edrin shifted uncomfortably. "I wouldn't go that far."
Another villager stepped closer. "Can you show us?"
Edrin froze. "Show you what?"
"How you did it!"
"…Badly?" Edrin offered.
Lyra smirked slightly. "Go on."
Edrin looked at her. "You're enjoying this."
"A little."
He sighed and picked up his sword, holding it with slightly more confidence than the day before—though not much.
"Alright," he said. "Step one: panic."
The villagers leaned in.
"Step two: run in the wrong direction."
Lyra crossed her arms, clearly amused.
"Step three: trip—very important step—"
As if on cue, Edrin's foot caught on a small rock.
He stumbled forward.
The villagers gasped.
Edrin flailed wildly—
Then somehow regained his balance.
He froze.
"…I skipped a step," he said.
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You didn't fall."
"I'm as surprised as you are."
There was a pause.
Then one of the villagers whispered, "He's improving…"
Edrin turned. "Let's not jump to conclusions."
But something had changed.
It was small. Barely noticeable.
Yet undeniable.
For the first time, he hadn't fallen.
Lyra stepped closer. "Again."
Edrin blinked. "We have an audience now."
"All the more reason not to embarrass yourself."
"That feels unlikely."
Still, he tried.
This time, when he swung the sword, it was slower—but more controlled.
Not good.
Not impressive.
But better.
The villagers murmured in amazement anyway.
"He really is the chosen one…"
Edrin lowered the sword, staring at it like it had betrayed his expectations.
"…I think your standards are very low," he said.
Lyra shook her head slightly.
"No," she said. "They're just realistic."
Edrin looked at her.
"…That almost sounded like encouragement."
"Don't get used to it."
He smiled faintly.
For once, the attention didn't feel entirely misplaced.
Still uncomfortable.
Still confusing.
But maybe—
Just maybe—
Not completely wrong.
From the edge of the forest, unseen by all of them, something watched.
A faint ripple in the air.
A shadow that did not belong.
And this time—
It didn't leave.