The wooden sword felt heavy in Kyres' hands, his breath coming out in white puffs in the pre-dawn chill. His father stood before him in the mist-covered training yard, barefoot despite the frost-covered grass, wearing the same weathered smile he always had during their morning sessions.

"Again," his father said, voice soft but carrying the unmistakable authority that Kyres remembered from his stories of the city guard. "And this time, feel the weight shift before you move."

Kyres nodded, adjusting his stance the way he'd been taught. Left foot forward, right foot back, shoulders loose but ready. His arms ached from two hours of drills, but he knew better than to complain. Not when Shalia had already completed her training and was probably helping old Ms. Marron with the morning bread by now.

The wooden sword whistled through the air as he stepped forward, trying to mirror the fluid motion his father had demonstrated countless times. For a moment, he felt it - that perfect balance his father always talked about, the harmony between breath and movement that the city guards supposedly mastered.

Then his foot slipped on the wet grass, and the moment shattered.

His father caught him before he hit the ground, one hand grasping Kyres' collar while the other smoothly disarmed him. The wooden sword went spinning, embedding itself point-first in the soft earth nearby.

"Better," his father said, helping him up. "You found it for a moment there. Did you feel it?"

Kyres brushed grass from his knees, trying not to show his frustration. "The balance thing?"

"The Resonance." His father's eyes grew distant for a moment, the way they always did when something reminded him of his past life. "In the city, they had fancy words for it. Theories about ancient magic and noble bloodlines. But out here?" He gestured at the misty training yard, the distant mountains, the sleeping town. "Out here it's simpler. It's just about finding your place in the world's flow."

A sharp whistle cut through the morning air - Shalia's signal that breakfast was ready. His father's expression softened further at the sound.

"You're doing well, son. Better than I was at your age." He retrieved the wooden sword, examining its tip before handing it back. "Now go help your sister. And remember-"

"I know, I know," Kyres grinned. "Don't tell her you let me train longer than usual."