After the ghost incident, the bond between Edwin, Celia, and me only deepened. The days that followed were filled with a familiar routine that now felt more lively with Edwin's presence. We explored the estate, ventured into the garden maze where laughter echoed off ivy-clad walls, and exchanged stories that painted vivid pictures of the worlds we came from. Isadora would join us as often as her schedule permitted, her melodic laughter brightening the training grounds whenever she arrived.
Mornings were spent in training, the air ringing with the clash of wooden practice weapons and the rhythmic thuds of boots pivoting on the packed earth. Edwin and I had developed a friendly rivalry, our sparring matches becoming the highlight of each morning session. Even with my progression to the Green Stage, he pushed me, his eyes narrowed in concentration, each move deliberate and calculated. Edwin's strikes were precise, revealing the disciplined teachings of the Black Lion knights that watched him like silent sentinels from the shadows.
Celia and Isadora trained together on the other side of the grounds, their movements more tentative. While their spirits were high, the difference in skill was clear. Celia's sword strikes still held a touch of uncertainty, and Isadora, though nimble and agile, lacked the strength behind her blows that would come with time and practice. Every so often, Celia would let out a frustrated groan, blowing a strand of her silver hair out of her face as she reset her stance.
"Your arms are too stiff," I said, pausing my spar with Edwin to call out to her. I lowered my spear, catching my breath. "Relax your grip a little. It's about the flow, not just strength."
Celia puffed her cheeks, swinging her wooden sword again, though this time with more looseness. "Easy for you to say, Lance! You're always a step ahead."
Edwin smirked as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "It's true. You have a way of making it look effortless."
I chuckled, glancing between the two girls as they exchanged exasperated looks. "Not entirely effortless. Practice makes up most of it. And maybe a bit of natural talent," I added with a teasing grin.
Isadora rolled her eyes dramatically, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. "A bit?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow.
The friendly banter was a balm to the routine of training, making each session a blend of effort and laughter. Even the Black Lion knights, stoic as they were, seemed to loosen up slightly in the face of the children's camaraderie. I often caught a subtle shift in their expressions—a raised eyebrow, a barely-there smile—as they observed their young charge, Edwin, being drawn into the playful fray.
As we gathered to cool down after a training session, a light breeze swept through the courtyard, carrying with it the scent of the nearby lilac bushes. The quiet moments after training were some of my favorites, filled with an unspoken camaraderie that bound us more tightly than any formal alliance ever could.
Celia sidled up to me, her hair tousled and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. "One day, I'll be as good as you," she declared, her eyes sparkling with determination.
I smiled, ruffling her hair despite her half-hearted swat at my hand. "I have no doubt, sister. You're already halfway there."
Isadora, ever the voice of reason, laughed softly. "Just don't forget to let us catch up a little, will you, Lance?"
"Only if you promise not to surpass me too quickly," I replied with a wink, drawing a laugh from the others.
The day waned, and we made our way inside for dinner. The dining hall, with its high ceilings and tapestries depicting tales of old battles and victories, was filled with the clatter of plates and the warmth of conversation. The knights stood at their posts, ever vigilant, their eyes keen even as the glow of the lanterns cast long shadows across the room.
After dinner, I felt the familiar pull within my core—a signal that tonight would be the night I advanced. Green Stage, the boundary between basic control and true mastery. The culmination of years of practice and discipline.
I retired to my room as moonlight bathed the stone floor in silver. Sitting cross-legged in the center, I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, feeling the pulse of mana around me, the energy that filled the air like an unseen current. I reached for it, guiding it inward, where it gathered, spiraling tighter and tighter, pushing against the boundaries of my core.
Sweat beaded on my forehead as the pressure grew, the room around me falling away until there was nothing but the rhythmic pull of mana and the silent thrum of my heartbeat. The barrier between stages was palpable, a thin, unyielding wall that resisted each push. But I held steady, my focus sharp, intent unwavering.
Then, with a final, deep breath, the barrier gave way, shattering like glass and sending a wave of energy rippling through me. My core expanded, the mana settling into a new, deeper resonance. I opened my eyes to a world that seemed clearer, sharper—the details more vivid, the air itself more alive.
I stood, feeling the strength that thrummed in my limbs, the newfound power of Green Stage pulsing just beneath my skin. It wasn't mastery—not yet. But it was the first step into a realm where true control began.