The cavern seemed quieter than usual, as if the stone walls themselves were holding their breath. Lyra stood before Kaidan, her sword steady in her hands despite the ache in her arms. Weeks of grueling training had tempered her body and mind, sharpening her resolve to a fine edge. She had anticipated another session of relentless drills, but today, Kaidan's demeanor was different. There was a gravity in his spectral form, a weight in his gaze that suggested something significant was about to happen.
"Watch closely," Kaidan said, his voice carrying the authority of a seasoned warrior and the finality of a master revealing his greatest secret. He drew his spectral blade, the air around it shimmering faintly as if reality itself was bending in its presence.
Without another word, he moved.
The strike was over in an instant, almost too fast for Lyra's eyes to follow. His blade blurred through the air, leaving a faint afterimage in its wake. The movement was impossibly fluid, as though every muscle and thought had aligned in perfect harmony. When the strike ended, a jagged crack appeared in the stone wall behind him—a clean, decisive cut that spoke of both immense power and unerring precision.
Lyra stared, her mouth slightly agape. "How—" she began, but her words faltered. There was no way to articulate what she had just witnessed.
Kaidan turned to her, the faint glow of his form giving his expression an almost ethereal solemnity. "This is what you've been training for," he said. "A strike that embodies everything—strength, speed, intention. It's not about raw power; it's about certainty. When you commit, you must commit fully. Hesitation is death."
The enormity of his words sank into Lyra's chest like a weight. She had seen skilled swordsmen before, both in the guild and on the battlefield. But this technique, this single, devastating strike, was on an entirely different level. It was more than a skill—it was a philosophy, a culmination of everything Kaidan had learned and endured in his lifetime.
Kaidan stepped forward, his voice calm but unyielding. "The technique is called Severance. It isn't just about striking a foe. It's about severing doubt, fear, and hesitation. Before you can master it, you must understand that every movement matters. Each step, each breath, each thought—they all lead to this."
He gestured for her to follow as he began to break down the technique. His movements were slower now, deliberate, as if teaching her the language of the blade. He demonstrated the positioning of his feet, the subtle shift of weight from heel to toe, the precise angle of the sword, and the timing of the strike.
Lyra mimicked him as best as she could, but each step felt impossibly intricate, the level of coordination required far beyond anything she had attempted before. Her first attempt at the full motion was clumsy. She stumbled over her footwork, her blade swinging wide in an awkward arc that lacked both power and precision.
Kaidan's expression didn't shift. "Again."
She tried once more, and then again, each time faltering in a different way. Her strikes were stiff, her movements disjointed. Frustration bubbled beneath the surface, but she forced it down. There was no room for anger here—only learning.
"Your feet are too slow," Kaidan said, his tone sharp as the crack of a whip. "Your blade's angle is wrong. And you're hesitating. I can feel it."
"I'm trying!" Lyra snapped before she could stop herself.
"And trying isn't enough," Kaidan replied coldly. "When you strike, there can be no room for doubt. Again."
His relentless critiques stung, but they also drove her. Each mistake he pointed out became a challenge to overcome. She focused on isolating each component of the technique: her footing, her balance, her grip on the sword. Slowly, the pieces began to fall into place. The movements, while still imperfect, started to feel less alien, more like an extension of herself.
Despite her progress, the whispers within her armor were a constant distraction. They surged with every swing, urging her to strike faster, harder, without regard for form or precision. At times, their pull was almost overwhelming, her body trembling as she fought to maintain control.
Kaidan noticed. "The whispers are your greatest asset—and your greatest challenge," he said. "They give you power, but they also threaten to take control. To master Severance, you must master them."
"How do I do that?" Lyra asked, her voice tinged with desperation.
"You start by listening," Kaidan said simply. "The whispers are more than noise. They're echoes of lives, of emotions. Learn to filter them, to hear only what matters. It's no different than focusing on the strike—block out the chaos and find the clarity."
Lyra nodded, though she wasn't sure she fully understood. She took a deep breath and tried again. This time, as she moved, she focused not just on her body but on the whispers. She let their energy flow through her, but instead of letting them control her, she guided them, channeling their power into her blade.
The strike was far from perfect—it lacked the fluidity and precision of Kaidan's demonstration—but it was a step closer. For a moment, Lyra thought she saw the faintest glimmer of approval in Kaidan's eyes.
"You're starting to understand," he said. "But don't let that go to your head. You're still leagues away from mastering this."
Lyra wiped the sweat from her brow, her arms trembling as she raised her sword again. "I'm ready. Let's go again."
The rest of the session was brutal. Kaidan drilled her relentlessly, correcting her posture, adjusting her grip, forcing her to repeat the movements until her muscles screamed in protest. Each time she faltered, he pushed her harder, his words cutting as sharply as his blade.
By the end of the day, Lyra was utterly spent. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her legs barely able to support her weight. Yet despite her exhaustion, she felt a spark of hope. For the first time, she could see the potential of what she was working toward—the possibility of wielding a technique that transcended mere swordsmanship.
As she sat by the fire that evening, Kaidan spoke again, his tone less severe. "This technique took me years to master," he said. "I lost battles. I lost comrades. I even lost myself, more than once. But I never stopped. Neither should you."
Lyra met his gaze, the flickering firelight casting shadows across the cavern walls. "I won't," she said, her voice steady despite her weariness. "I'll keep going, no matter how long it takes."
Kaidan nodded, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. "Good. Then let's see if you can prove it tomorrow. Rest while you can. The hardest part is still ahead."
As Lyra drifted to sleep that night, the whispers in her armor were quieter than usual, their chaotic energy subdued. She knew the road to mastering Severance would be long and grueling, but for the first time, she felt a sense of clarity. She was ready to face whatever lay ahead.