The frosty embrace of winter gave way to the warmth of spring, the air alive with birdsong and the earthy scent of freshly tilled soil. Farmers bustled about, preparing their fields to sow the crops that would nourish Suntails Hollow for the year ahead. Life hummed with purpose and renewal.
At the training ground, Lucas moved among a small group of young hunters, his wooden sword in hand. His sparring sessions had gained attention after his victory at the festival, and now the younger generation sought to learn from him.
Dorian and Ryssa watched from a distance as they made their way to their usual training spot beneath the great oak tree.
"Look at him," Dorian said with a grin. "Our lone wolf has turned into a pack leader."
Lucas noticed them approaching and jogged over, wiping sweat from his brow. "Hey! Didn't expect to see you two this early."
Ryssa smirked. "Early? It's nearly midmorning."
Lucas waved her comment away. "Whatever. Anyway, what do you think? My little duel seems to have made me more famous than I anticipated."
Dorian chuckled. "Careful with that ego of yours, sir knight-to-be."
Lucas laughed and shook his head, returning to his sparring partners while Dorian and Ryssa headed for their training area.
As they prepared for their lesson, Dorian and Ryssa couldn't shake the tension left behind by Tyrn's outburst.
"Have you talked to your mom or your grandpa yet?" Dorian asked, stretching his arms as he looked over at her.
Ryssa sighed. "Not yet. I keep thinking about it, but... the timing never feels right. How do you even start a conversation like that? 'Oh, by the way, did you know Grandma was some world-renowned mage who vanished mysteriously?'" She shook her head. "It's not exactly dinner table conversation."
Dorian shrugged, plucking a tune on his lute. "True. I'd probably find a way to turn it into a song, but even that feels too heavy."
They both fell silent, lost in thought until the familiar sound of footsteps announced Tyrn's arrival.
Tyrn approached without his usual lazy air. His posture was straighter, his expression unreadable as he stopped in front of them.
Neither Dorian nor Ryssa had time to greet him before he said, "I'm sorry."
The words hit them like a gust of wind.
"What?" Ryssa asked, taken aback.
"For my outburst the other night," Tyrn said, his gaze meeting theirs. "The occasion, the drink... it all muddled my sense. It wasn't fair to lay that weight on you."
Dorian exchanged a glance with Ryssa before replying. "It's okay. Really. We were the ones prying too much."
"Exactly," Ryssa added. "You were just... caught off guard. It happens."
Tyrn nodded, a faint flicker of relief passing over his face before he gestured toward the training ground. "Shall we?"
The apology behind them, the trio returned to their lessons with a newfound sense of clarity. Dorian continued working on his bardic inspiration magic, a challenging spell that bolstered stamina and strength in others. His practice sessions involved Lucas and the young hunters during their agility and weight training routines.
Perched on a nearby log, Dorian strummed his lute as Lucas pushed himself through a grueling agility course. With each carefully timed chord, a pulse of magic surged through Lucas, making him faster, more fluid, and less fatigued.
"How's it feel, Sir Famous?" Dorian called with a teasing grin.
Lucas paused for breath, glaring at him through the sweat dripping from his brow. "Like you're making me run circles faster than a rabbit chased by wolves!"
"Perfect," Dorian said cheerfully.
Ryssa, meanwhile, was deep in her own exploration of magic. Her strong foundation in fire and water allowed her to branch out into other elements with varying success. Some spells flowed easily from her fingers, while others fizzled out or felt clunky and unnatural.
One afternoon, as she practiced manipulating a sphere of air, the orb suddenly expanded with a burst of force, blowing her hair back and startling Dorian.
"Ryssa!" Dorian yelped, steadying his lute. "A little warning next time!"
Ryssa stared at her hands in disbelief. "That wasn't supposed to happen..."
Tyrn's lazy drawl drifted over. "Don't look so shocked. Magic isn't all formulas and precision—it's intent. You're probably better at it than you realize. The challenge is learning to trust yourself."
…
Spring passed in a blur of progress and discovery. The training ground had become not just a place for skill-building but a haven where they pushed each other and grew stronger together.
One mild morning, Tyrn arrived at their usual spot beneath the oak tree. His manner was uncharacteristically serious as he folded his arms and looked between Dorian and Ryssa.
"That's it for today," Tyrn said after a particularly productive session. "In fact, that's it for my lessons entirely."
Dorian blinked, confused. "What? Why?"
"Because I've taught you all I can," Tyrn replied. "Anything more, and I'd just be forcing you to follow my way of magic. If you keep looking to me, you'll only see a ceiling instead of a path forward."
Ryssa tilted her head, her tail swishing thoughtfully. "You're saying we have to find our own way?"
Tyrn nodded. "Exactly. You've both got the foundation, but how you build on it is up to you. My way of magic is mine. Yours has to be your own."
The gravity of his words settled over them as he walked toward the village, his back to the spring breeze.
Dorian and Ryssa exchanged a glance. There was sadness in the realization that their lessons with Tyrn were over, but also a sense of exhilaration.
As Tyrn's figure disappeared into the distance, silence settled beneath the great oak tree. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the training ground with shifting patches of gold.
Dorian sat down heavily on the ground, leaning his back against the wide trunk of the tree. His lute lay beside him, quiet for once. Ryssa plopped down next to him, her tail curling around her legs as she stared at the grass, deep in thought.
"I thought I'd feel relieved," Dorian said after a long pause. "I mean, Tyrn isn't exactly the warm and fuzzy type of mentor."
Ryssa snorted. "You mean he isn't the type to pat you on the back and call you a good piglet after every lesson?"
Dorian smiled faintly, then sobered. "But... it's strange. Knowing the lessons are over—it makes everything feel so much... bigger. Like I'm finally supposed to know what I'm doing, but... what if I don't?"
Ryssa glanced at him, her expression softening. "You're not supposed to know everything yet. Tyrn didn't give us a map; he just gave us the tools to find our way. It's scary, but..." She hesitated, her fingers brushing the grass. "It's exciting too, isn't it?"
Dorian tilted his head, considering her words. The fear of the unknown was real, but so was the spark of possibility—of discovering something new, of creating his own magic.
"Yeah," he finally admitted. "Exciting. Terrifying, but exciting."
They fell silent again, the gentle rustle of leaves their only company.
"You've changed," Dorian said suddenly, glancing at Ryssa.
She blinked, startled. "What?"
"You've changed," he repeated. "When we started, you couldn't even imagine doing anything other than fire magic. And now you're blowing me off logs with wind spheres and messing with elemental combos I didn't even know existed."
Ryssa opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. A faint smile curved her lips instead.
"I guess I have," she said quietly. "And so have you. You're not just making sparks and noises anymore, Dorian. You're creating magic. Real magic."
He blushed, scratching the back of his neck. "I had a decent teacher."
Ryssa rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.
"Do you think Tyrn's right?" Ryssa asked after a while, her voice hesitant.
"About what?"
"About finding our own way. About us having what we need to grow." She looked at him, her expression uncertain.
Dorian tilted his head back against the tree, closing his eyes. "I think... he's probably right. Tyrn always seemed like he knew a lot more than he said, even if he played it lazy most of the time. If he thinks we can do this on our own, maybe we really can."
Ryssa's gaze dropped, and she tugged idly at the grass. "I just hope... I don't mess it up."
"You won't," Dorian said, his tone certain. "You've already come so far, Ryssa. And you've got people who believe in you."
She looked up, meeting his green eyes. "Thanks, Dorian."
"Anytime."
By the time they stood to leave, something unspoken had shifted between them. Tyrn's words had not only marked the end of their lessons but also ignited a new sense of determination.
Dorian picked up his lute and strummed a quiet, hopeful melody as they walked back toward the village.
"What are you playing?" Ryssa asked.
"A new tune," he said. "Something for this next chapter."
Ryssa smiled, the weight in her chest easing slightly.
For the first time in years, the path ahead felt both uncertain and full of possibility. And together, with their friends and the strength they'd gained, they knew they could face whatever lay beyond the horizon.
**A/N**
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**A/N**