The wind howled through the ravaged remains of Vorrath, a grim reminder of the Phantom attack. Kael tightened the strap on his meager pack, glancing back at the smoldering ruins of his home. Lyrik stood at the edge of the village, his cloak billowing as he gestured for Kael to follow. The older warrior's face was set in a mask of grim determination.
"Say your goodbyes, boy," Lyrik said, his voice devoid of sympathy. "The path ahead won't allow for sentimentality."
Kael hesitated, his fists clenching. "I'll come back," he muttered under his breath. "One day, I'll rebuild this place."
Lyrik snorted, his expression unreadable. "You'll be lucky if there's anything left of the world to rebuild. Now move."
The two walked in silence for hours, the weight of their journey pressing down on Kael. The forests beyond Vorrath were dense, shadows stretching like grasping fingers as night fell. Lyrik led the way with unwavering confidence, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
"Where are we going?" Kael asked, his voice breaking the stillness.
"To the Ruins of Caldris," Lyrik replied. "It's a safe haven—or as safe as anyplace can be these days. You'll begin your training there."
Kael frowned. "What kind of training?"
Lyrik stopped abruptly, turning to face him. "The kind that might keep you alive long enough to swing a blade without embarrassing yourself."
The pair pressed on through the forest, their journey punctuated by the distant cries of nocturnal predators. Kael shivered, his eyes darting toward every rustling bush and swaying branch.
"You need to calm down," Lyrik said, not looking back. "Fear is a Phantom's favorite scent."
Kael swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing. "How am I supposed to stay calm when—"
The words died in his throat as the air grew heavy. A low, guttural growl echoed through the trees, and a sickly green mist began to swirl around them. Lyrik's blade was in his hand in an instant, the steel gleaming even in the dim moonlight.
"Stay behind me," he ordered, his tone sharp.
A shape emerged from the mist, its form shifting and undulating like smoke given flesh. The creature had no face, only a yawning void where its features should have been. Its claws, long and glistening, scraped against the ground as it moved.
"A Phantom Stalker," Lyrik muttered. "Nasty little bastard."
Kael's heart pounded as the creature lunged forward with a screech. Lyrik met the attack head-on, his blade slicing through the air in a precise arc. The Phantom recoiled, hissing as black ichor dripped from the wound.
"Watch and learn," Lyrik said, his voice steady despite the chaos.
Kael watched, mesmerized, as Lyrik moved with fluid precision. Each strike of his blade was calculated, each step measured. The Phantom lashed out with its claws, but Lyrik was always one step ahead, dodging and countering with ease.
"Pay attention to its movements," Lyrik called out. "Phantoms are predictable if you know what to look for."
Kael nodded, his fingers itching to grab the sword strapped to his back. He knew he was no match for the creature, but something deep within him stirred—a burning desire to fight.
The Phantom shrieked, its body beginning to dissolve into the same green mist that heralded its arrival. Lyrik sheathed his blade, turning to Kael with a critical eye.
"Not bad," Kael said, trying to mask his awe.
Lyrik smirked. "That wasn't the test."
Before Kael could ask what he meant, another Phantom burst from the shadows, smaller but faster than the first. It darted toward Kael, its claws outstretched. Kael's instincts kicked in, and he drew his sword just in time to parry the attack.
The impact sent a jolt through his arms, but he held firm, gritting his teeth. The Phantom lunged again, and Kael swung his blade in a wild, desperate arc. The steel connected, slicing through the creature's neck.
The Phantom dissolved into mist, leaving Kael panting and wide-eyed.
"Well," Lyrik said, his tone unimpressed. "You didn't die. That's a start."
Kael glared at him, his chest heaving. "That's it? That's all you've got to say?"
Lyrik shrugged. "Surviving your first fight is the easy part. Learning how to do it consistently—that's the real challenge."
They resumed their journey, the forest gradually thinning as dawn approached. Kael's arms ached from the battle, but he felt a strange sense of pride. He had fought and won, however clumsily.
"You've got raw potential," Lyrik admitted as they walked. "But potential won't save you. You need discipline, focus."
Kael frowned. "And how do I get that?"
Lyrik stopped, turning to face him. "Through training. Hard, relentless training. And it starts with mastering your breathing."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Breathing?"
"Don't underestimate it," Lyrik said, his tone deadly serious. "The Ironheart Breathing Technique is what made your ancestors legendary. It's what will set you apart from the rest of the world—if you can master it."
Kael's curiosity was piqued. "What's so special about it?"
"It's more than just breathing," Lyrik explained. "It's a way to harness your inner strength, to push beyond your limits. But it's not something you learn overnight. It takes time, patience, and pain."
Kael nodded, determination hardening his features. "Then teach me."
Lyrik smiled faintly, the first genuine expression Kael had seen from him. "We'll see if you're ready when we reach Caldris. For now, focus on staying alive."
As the sun rose, casting its light over the dense forest, Kael felt a spark of hope. The path ahead was daunting, but for the first time, he felt ready to face it.