Deep beneath the fortress, in chambers forgotten by time, Lysara watched Elaris fail again. The illusion he'd been trying to maintain—a simple mirror image of himself—flickered and died like a candle in wind. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his hands trembling from exhaustion.
"Again," she commanded, her voice echoing off ancient stones.
Elaris shot her a glare but raised his hands once more. This time, the image held longer, almost perfect, before dissolving into mist.
"You're thinking too much like a squire," Lysara said, circling him. "Magic isn't about perfect forms or rigid discipline. It's about understanding the truth beneath reality—and then learning to bend it."
"Easy for you to say," Elaris panted. "You've had years to—"
His words cut off as Lysara's magic struck, a blast of pure force that should have sent him sprawling. Instead, acting on instinct, Elaris twisted reality around himself. The attack passed through him like he was smoke.
Lysara smiled. "That's better. When you stop trying to be perfect, when you let your instincts guide you—that's when real power flows."
Night after night, they worked in secret. Lysara pushed him beyond what she'd thought possible, and Elaris responded with a hunger for knowledge that surprised even her. He absorbed complicated theories of magical manipulation as easily as he'd once memorized sword forms.
"Show me again," he would demand, even when exhaustion made his voice shake. "I need to understand how to counter divine magic."
His specialty emerged naturally—the subtle arts of deception and manipulation. Illusions became his favorite tools, each one more convincing than the last. He learned to wrap shadows around himself like a cloak, to move unseen through crowded halls, to whisper thoughts directly into minds.
"Your position is your greatest advantage," Lysara explained one night as they practiced counter-spells. "No one expects a squire to wield magic. They see your sword, your armor, your submission to Dain's command. They never think to look deeper."
Elaris's grin was sharp in the darkness. "Their mistake."
His progress in combat enhancement magic was equally impressive. He learned to strengthen his muscles with arcane power, to speed his reflexes beyond mortal limits, to heal wounds that should have been fatal. Combined with his martial training, these skills made him deadly in ways few would suspect.
But it was his talent for counter-magic that truly set him apart. He showed an innate understanding of how to unravel divine spells, as if some part of him had always known the gods' power could be undone.
"Divine magic relies on faith," Lysara taught him as they worked to dismantle a blessed artifact. "Not just the faith of those it's used against, but the faith of those who wield it. The moment that faith wavers..."
"The power breaks," Elaris finished, watching the divine light fade from the object in his hands. "Just like Orin's blessed weapons."
Weeks passed, and Elaris changed. The naive squire who had once defended the gods without question became something far more dangerous—a blade hidden in plain sight, capable of striking at the very foundations of divine power.
One night, as they finished a particularly grueling session, Elaris asked the question that had been building between them.
"Why are you really teaching me all this?" He watched her carefully in the dim light. "It's more than just having an ally. You're preparing me for something specific."
Lysara was quiet for a long moment, considering her words carefully. "Because when Icarion comes—and he will come—we'll need more than just sabotage and secrets. We'll need someone who can fight on their level. Someone they'll never see coming."
Elaris absorbed this, his fingers tracing patterns of power in the air. "You think I can match a demigod?"
"No," Lysara's smile was sharp as a blade. "I think you can help defeat one. Because while Icarion and Kael clash with earth-shattering power, you'll be the knife in the dark they never expected."
In the shadows of their training chamber, Elaris nodded slowly. He was no longer just a squire playing at rebellion. He had become something new—a weapon forged in secret, tempered by forbidden knowledge, and aimed at the heart of divine power itself.
The gods would never see him coming.