Lysandra, his mother, glanced at the sword in his hands and chuckled. "Ah, the classic newbie grip. It's like you're trying to strangle the poor thing. Remember, it's a weapon, not a piece of firewood."
Elrian looked down at his clenched fists around the hilt and sheepishly loosened his grip. "Like this?" he asked, trying to mimic the effortless way his mother had held her sword earlier.
"Better," Lysandra nodded, "but you're still gripping it like it owes you money. Here, let me show you again."
She unsheathed her sword and held it up, illustrating the ideal grip. Her fingers were relaxed, yet firm around the hilt. "You see? Your fingers are your connection to the sword, like the roots of a tree connecting to the earth. Too loose and you're like a tree in a storm, easily uprooted. Too firm and you're like a tree that's too rigid, breaking in the wind."
Elrian tried again, easing his fingers around the hilt. "How about now?" he asked, looking up for approval.
"Much better," she said with a smile. "Now you look like you're asking it for a dance, not trying to shake it down for loose change."
As Elrian grinned at his mother's quirky analogies, Lysandra continued, "Your thumb and index finger should be applying the most pressure. They're the conductors of this orchestra, directing your sword's movements. Your other fingers? They're the supporting band. They follow the conductor but don't steal the show."
"In an orchestra? Really, Mom?" Elrian chuckled. "That's one way to make sword fighting sound more civilized."
"Ah, you'll find many arts are interrelated," Lysandra winked. "Now, let's talk about the pommel. Don't neglect it. Think of it as your secondary weapon. You can use it to strike, block, and even disarm your opponent in close combat."
Elrian's eyes widened as his mother suddenly performed a swift movement, using the pommel to execute an imaginary strike. "Wow, so it's not just for show?"
"Exactly. Every part of the sword has its function, its role in the symphony of a fight," Lysandra said, clearly enjoying the educational moment.
Elrian shifted his grip slightly, now more aware of the pommel at the end of his hilt. "So, it's not just a counterweight?"
"Oh, it's a counterweight, but it's also a blunt instrument, a hook, and if you're clever, a distraction," Lysandra elaborated, adding a playful flourish with her own sword's pommel. "A skilled warrior uses every part of their weapon."
"Hmm," Elrian pondered, rolling the hilt in his hands, suddenly seeing it as more than just a handle for the blade. "It's like learning that a pen can also be a paperweight, a ruler, and, if need be, a makeshift dart."
Lysandra laughed heartily at that. "A makeshift dart? Let's hope your swordsmanship becomes so good you won't need to throw your sword like a dart!"
"Fair point," Elrian grinned, starting to feel more at ease with the weapon in his hands.
"Remember," Lysandra concluded, "the sword is an extension of yourself. It can be as clumsy or as graceful as the person wielding it. So, treat it with the respect you would give to a dance partner or a fellow musician in your orchestra, and it will serve you well."
Elrian looked at the sword anew, his grip now a balanced embrace rather than a strained clutch. For the first time, it felt like a part of him, and in that moment, he understood that he was taking the first real steps into a much larger world.
"Alright, now that you've gotten the hang of the grip, let's move on to stances. Imagine you're a scarecrow. Yes, you heard me right—a scarecrow," Lysandra said, grinning as she saw her son's puzzled expression.
"A scarecrow?" Elrian looked at his mom with both amusement and confusion. "Do I also have to keep the crows away?"
Lysandra chuckled. "No, not exactly. But like a scarecrow, your stance needs to be open yet poised, ready to ward off anything that comes your way. However, unlike a scarecrow, you'll be a lot more mobile."
She assumed the High Guard stance—her sword held aloft, almost over her head, forming a straight line from the tip of the blade down to her heels. "This is the High Guard. It gives you the advantage of gravity, letting you strike down with force. It's the 'look, I'm a statue' pose, but with a blade!"
Elrian chuckled and tried to emulate the stance, lifting his sword above his head. "Like this?"
"No, no. You look like you're trying to flag down a waiter for the bill," Lysandra teased. "Keep your elbows in a bit, and relax your shoulders. You're not trying to impress anyone with how big you can make yourself look."
Taking the corrections into account, Elrian adjusted his stance. He soon found a comfortable position that gave him a sense of readiness, as if he was a spring, coiled and prepared to release its energy.
"Ah, much better! Now, you look like you're going to conquer a kingdom, not hail a cab," his mom said, obviously pleased.
Lysandra then transitioned into the Middle Guard stance, lowering her blade so it pointed straight forward, at the eye level of an imaginary opponent. "This is the Middle Guard. It's the 'I'm ready for whatever you've got' pose."
She then swished her blade from side to side, as if tracing invisible lines in the air. "From this stance, you can easily deflect incoming strikes or launch your own attacks. It's flexible, like being a middle child—adapted to both giving and receiving."
"I'm an only child, so I don't know what that feels like, but I'll take your word for it," Elrian said, adjusting his stance again.
"You're doing well," she smiled, eyeing his form critically but approvingly. "Finally, let's go to the Low Guard."
She lowered her sword, holding it down near her waist, the blade almost parallel to the ground. "This is your 'come at me, bro' stance. It lures opponents in, making them think you're less of a threat, and then, bam! You can spring a counterattack."
Elrian tried to mimic the Low Guard stance but ended up leaning a bit too far forward, unbalancing himself and nearly stumbling.
"Whoa, steady there! You're preparing for a fight, not a sprint," Lysandra cautioned, laughing as Elrian regained his balance.
"I guess I was too enthusiastic about the 'come at me, bro' part," he admitted, adjusting his position.
Lysandra chuckled. "Enthusiasm is good, but control is better. Always remember, your stance is your foundation. A shaky foundation means a shaky building, and in our case, a shaky building that gets knocked down in a fight."
Elrian nodded, finally understanding the gravity beneath her lighthearted teaching style. His stances weren't perfect, but they were a start, and for the first time, he felt like he was truly on the path to becoming a cultivator—a cultivator who could wield a sword as if it were an extension of himself.
"Alright, I think we've done enough for Stance. How do you feel?" Lysandra asked, sheathing her sword with a smooth motion.
"I feel like I've just taken my first dance lesson, and the floor is still laughing at me," Elrian responded, finally lowering his sword.
"Ah, don't worry. The floor will soon learn to respect you, as will your enemies," Lysandra winked, signaling the end of the lesson.
Elrian couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. The sword in his hand no longer felt foreign; it felt like a partner, ready to dance through the perils that lay ahead.