For three months, Leonel Graythorn had been a fixture in the training yard of the Graythorn estate, a tiny figure focused and determined with a wooden sword twice his size. With the skies stretched wide above him, the estate's sprawling grounds seemed empty, save for the occasional clink of wood against wood, the faint rustle of trees, and the sound of Leonel's breath as he practiced the Skyfall Slash again and again.
He had gotten so focused on perfecting the technique—his father's pride and joy—that it had become a part of him. It wasn't just the physical repetition that sharpened his skills, but the connection he felt each time his arm moved, each time the wooden blade cut the air. With every passing day, it felt like the strike was just a little bit more natural, a little bit more his own.
But something unexpected was happening beneath the surface. Something that Leonel didn't notice at first.
It was a slow build-up. An unexpected surge of energy in his core, an unfamiliar warmth that spread from the pit of his stomach to the tips of his fingers. It was fleeting at first, a passing sensation, but each time he repeated the Skyfall Slash, the force behind the movement seemed stronger. The blade cut through the air with a greater sense of purpose, the air crackling with energy in a way that was wholly unfamiliar.
Then came that morning.
Leonel stood in the yard, his feet set in the familiar stance, his breath steady. He lifted his sword to execute the Skyfall Slash once more, his wooden blade cutting a clean arc through the air. But this time, something was different. The strike was faster, sharper. The force behind it was more than just muscle. It was as if the sword was an extension of his very being, as if it was more than just wood. His mind raced to catch up with the sensation.
*What was that?*
He stopped mid-swing, the motion stilling in the air as he blinked, trying to process what had just happened. The energy that had surged through him felt like a pulse, like an echo of something powerful that had passed through his body.
Leonel stared at his hands, half-expecting to see something different, something visibly altered. But there was nothing. His sword was still the same, his stance still the same, yet something was different. He didn't have the words for it, but he felt it.
"Leonel," came the soft voice of his mother, Lady Seraphina, breaking his concentration. "Come inside. The head of the family requires your presence."
Leonel's thoughts swirled with confusion, but he obediently lowered his sword and began walking toward the main house. As he crossed the sprawling estate, he couldn't help but think about the strange sensation he had just experienced. What had happened? It wasn't the usual fatigue after hours of practice. No, this felt different. More... alive.
When he entered the main hall, the family servant was waiting for him, a formal letter in hand.
"Master Leonel," the servant said, bowing slightly. "It has been decided. The head of the family has announced your promotion. You are now a Sword Apprentice of the Graythorn family."
Leonel blinked, unsure whether he had heard the servant correctly. "A Sword Apprentice? But... I didn't do anything. How could that even—"
The servant held up a hand, cutting him off. "You've been promoted due to your evident skill and progress in swordsmanship, my lord. Even without the family cultivation technique. You have earned it."
For a long moment, Leonel just stared at the servant, processing the words. Sword Apprentice? He had always known he was improving, but this... this was far beyond what he had expected. The Graythorn family was one of the most renowned in all the realms for its mastery of the sword. To be recognized, especially without their cultivation technique, was unheard of.
"Understood," Leonel muttered, still dazed. The weight of the words lingered in the air, but before he could think further, a familiar voice broke his reverie.
"Well, well, well. Look who finally got himself promoted."
Leonel turned to see his older sister, Elara Graythorn, leaning casually against the doorway. Elara, at 23, was the second-most skilled swordsman in the family—after their eldest brother, Darian. She was tall, with long, jet-black hair tied back in a neat ponytail, and her sharp features were as sharp as the sword she wielded. Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she studied him.
"Did you know?" Leonel asked, his voice tinged with surprise.
"I may not have been around to see you practice, but I'm hardly blind," Elara teased. "You've been swinging that wooden stick like it owes you money. Father must be proud—though I'd like to know how exactly you got promoted without the family technique."
"I... I don't know," Leonel admitted, scratching the back of his head in confusion. "I was just practicing, and then—"
"Well, whatever you did," Elara said, stepping forward, "I'll be sure to teach you the next step, now that you're officially a Sword Apprentice."
Leonel blinked. "Wait, what? You're teaching me?"
"Of course I am," she said, her tone playful but confident. "Father's away for business, and someone has to make sure you don't embarrass the family name by swinging your sword around like a fool."
Leonel's eyes widened. "But... you're second to Darian. Shouldn't I be learning from him?"
Elara raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. "Darian's busy with his own training. He'll be too wrapped up in his 'important' matters to notice you. And trust me—no one understands swordsmanship quite like I do."
Leonel was about to retort when his sister's expression shifted, a more serious look taking over her face.
"Now," Elara continued, "it's time for you to learn the second form of our family's technique: the Gale Shadow Strike. It's more advanced than what you've been doing, but I have no doubt you're ready for it."
Leonel stood straighter, his hands automatically gripping the hilt of his sword. "Gale Shadow Strike? That sounds... impressive."
Elara smiled, her eyes glinting with both pride and amusement. "It is. And it's not just about speed. It's about timing, control, and becoming one with the air itself. It's a dance—if you're too slow, you'll miss your mark. If you're too hasty, you'll fall flat. You have to strike when the wind tells you."
Leonel narrowed his eyes, trying to wrap his mind around the words. "I've always been told that strength is key."
"Oh, please," Elara said with a mock shudder. "Strength is overrated. Control, precision, and speed? Now that's what you need. The Gale Shadow Strike is a form that requires finesse, and it's much more subtle than you might think."
With that, she stepped back and unsheathed her sword. Her movements were fluid, elegant. She raised the blade with a precision that seemed almost effortless, her body flowing with the grace of a dancer.
Then, without warning, she struck.
Her sword blurred as it sliced through the air with a power that seemed almost ethereal. Leonel barely had time to react, watching as the blade cut through the training dummy in front of her, splitting it in two before the halves crumpled to the ground. The entire sequence took only seconds.
"See?" Elara said, casually wiping the sword on her sleeve. "It's all in the execution. You don't just swing the sword and hope for the best. You become the strike."
Leonel's jaw dropped. "That... was incredible. How do you move like that?"
Elara shrugged nonchalantly. "It's all about the breath. The moment your body aligns with the blade, it feels natural. The wind guides you, not the sword. You just have to trust it."
Leonel looked at her, skeptical but intrigued. "I don't think I'll be able to do that anytime soon."
"Oh, you'll get there," she said with a grin. "But let's not waste time. Come on. Try it. I'll guide you through it."
Leonel hesitated for a moment, still unsure if he could replicate what his sister had just done. But Elara's calm confidence gave him a sense of purpose. She wasn't going to let him off easy.
He stepped forward, his sword raised. "Alright, show me how to start."
Elara positioned herself beside him, giving him a few pointers on his posture and stance. "Remember, it's all about your center of gravity. The strike doesn't come from your arm—it comes from your core."
Leonel nodded, trying to focus on her words. He swung the sword slowly, following Elara's instructions.
"No, no," Elara said, watching him with a mix of amusement and patience. "You're rushing it. You have to let the air guide you. Not your impatience."
Leonel let out a small sigh, but he re-centered himself, focusing on his breathing. He swung again, this time slower, more controlled.
"Better," Elara said, her tone approving. "But you're still trying to force it. Just relax. Move with the wind."
Leonel nodded again and swung the sword more naturally this time, his body moving with the blade. It felt different this time—like the wind was guiding him, not the sword.
Elara clapped her hands. "That's it! You've got the hang of it. Not perfect, but I'll give you credit."
Leonel grinned, pleased with himself. "I'm not exactly a pro yet."
"Give it time," Elara said, grinning back. "Now, let's work on making that strike deadly."
As the day went on, Leonel found himself slowly becoming more and more comfortable with the Gale Shadow Strike. Elara's teachings, though teasing at times, were invaluable. Her confidence in his abilities pushed him forward, her playful comments keeping the lessons light-hearted, yet full of purpose.