Days turned to weeks. Rael's body hardened under relentless training. His hands blistered, his muscles screamed, but each failure pushed him further.
Selene was merciless. She drilled him in close-quarters combat, forcing him to refine his reflexes. He sparred against Black Sun warriors, each one a veteran of countless battles.
But Rael had one advantage.
He adapted.
With every bout, he read their movements better, reacted faster. He learned not just how to attack, but when to strike.
And then, finally, he held his own.
The sun hung low as he clashed with Orin, one of the Order's strongest warriors. The heavyset man wielded a longsword, striking with brutal force.
Rael dodged left. Too predictable.
Orin adjusted, bringing his sword down in a diagonal arc.
But Rael was faster.
He feinted, letting Orin overcommit—then moved in. His dagger slid past Orin's guard, stopping just before the man's throat.
Silence.
Then Orin grinned. "Hah. Finally." He stepped back, sheathing his sword. "Looks like you're not completely useless after all."
Selene, watching from the sidelines, nodded. "Good. Now, let's see if you can do the same in a real fight."
Rael's stomach twisted. A real fight?
Selene's smirk was almost cruel. "Tomorrow, you hunt."