The training courtyard of Dún Scaith was a brutal arena, its packed earth stained with the sweat and blood of countless heroes. Kael stood in the center, the Gáe Bolg in hand, his body aching from hours of relentless drills. Scáthach circled him like a predator, her emerald eyes sharp, her spear ready to strike. The standing stones around them glowed faintly, their runes casting an eerie light across the shadowed fortress.
"Again," Scáthach barked, her voice cutting through the stillness. "Your stance is sloppy, and your grip is weak. Do you want to die in your first real battle?"
Kael gritted his teeth, adjusting his footing. "I've been at this for hours, lady. Cut me some slack—I'm not exactly used to fighting goddesses.""You're not fighting a goddess," Scáthach snapped, lunging forward. Her spear flashed, aiming for his chest. Kael parried with the Gáe Bolg, the clash of metal ringing out, but Scáthach twisted her weapon, forcing him to stumble back. "You're fighting me. And I'm holding back."
"Holding back?!" Kael dodged her next strike, his enhanced speed barely keeping up. "You've nearly skewered me five times!"
"Then stop whining and fight," Scáthach said, her tone icy. She attacked again, a flurry of strikes that pushed Kael to his limits. He blocked and dodged, his martial arts training blending with Lugh's power, but Scáthach was on another level. Every move she made was precise, every strike a lesson in pain.
Kael's frustration boiled over. He'd taken down Fomorians, crossed a death bridge, and survived Morrígan's tests—why was this so hard? The Gáe Bolg hummed in his hands, its runes glowing brighter, as if feeding on his anger. He felt a heat building in his chest, a primal urge to win, to prove himself.
"Enough!" Kael roared, thrusting the Gáe Bolg with all his strength. The air crackled as the spear's curse activated, thorny energy spiraling toward Scáthach. But she sidestepped effortlessly, her spear slamming into his side—not hard enough to kill, but enough to send him sprawling.
"You're letting your emotions control you," Scáthach said, standing over him. "That's dangerous. For you, and for everyone around you."
Kael coughed, clutching his side as he got to his feet. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm trying, okay? This isn't exactly my world!"
Scáthach's expression softened, just a fraction. "I know. But you carry Lugh's power, and with it, the Ríastrad. I felt it just now—your anger was the trigger. If you don't learn to control it, it will control you."
Kael wiped sweat from his brow, his frustration giving way to curiosity. "You keep mentioning this Ríastrad. What is it, really? Some kind of super mode?"
Scáthach sighed, lowering her spear. "The Ríastrad is a battle frenzy, a state of pure power. It amplifies your strength, speed, and magic, but it warps your body and mind. Cú Chulainn described it as a fire in his veins, a beast that took over. He became unstoppable—but he also lost himself, slaughtering friend and foe alike.
"Kael's stomach twisted. "That… doesn't sound fun. How do I stop it?"
"You don't," Scáthach said. "You master it. But first, you need discipline. Your power is raw, like a storm with no direction. I'll teach you to harness it—but you have to trust me."
Kael nodded, though the idea of turning into a berserk monster wasn't exactly comforting. "Alright. Let's keep going. But maybe with less stabbing this time?"
Scáthach's lips twitched, a rare hint of amusement. "No promises."
The training resumed, but this time, Scáthach shifted focus. She taught Kael to control his breathing, to channel his energy into precise movements rather than wild bursts. Hours passed, and Kael felt a shift—his strikes became sharper, his movements smoother. The Gáe Bolg felt less like a crutch and more like a partner.
But the Shadowlands weren't done with him.
A low rumble shook the courtyard, and the standing stones flared with red light. Shadows coalesced at the edge of the circle, forming into a massive creature—a spectral boar the size of a truck, its tusks dripping with black ichor. Its eyes glowed with malice, and the air around it reeked of death.
"A shade-beast," Scáthach said, her voice calm but tense. "A guardian of the Shadowlands. It must have sensed your power."
Kael raised the Gáe Bolg, his exhaustion forgotten. "Great. Another test?"
"This one's not mine," Scáthach said, readying her spear. "But we'll face it together. Consider it a practical lesson."
The shade-beast charged, its hooves cracking the earth. Kael dodged to the side, his training kicking in, while Scáthach leaped forward, her spear slicing into the creature's flank. The boar roared, its tusks swinging toward her, but Kael was already moving. He thrust the Gáe Bolg into its side, the spear's curse erupting in a burst of thorny energy.
The beast staggered, but it wasn't done. It turned on Kael, its eyes glowing brighter, and a wave of dark energy slammed into him. The heat in his chest returned, fiercer this time, and his vision blurred. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and a primal rage surged through him.
"Kael!" Scáthach shouted, but her voice sounded distant. "Control it!"
Too late. The Ríastrad took hold.
Kael's body warped, his muscles bulging, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light. The Gáe Bolg pulsed in his hands, its runes blazing. He roared, a sound that shook the courtyard, and charged the shade-beast with terrifying speed. His spear struck again and again, each hit a explosion of cursed energy. The boar didn't stand a chance—it shattered into fragments of shadow, its dying scream echoing through the Shadowlands.
But Kael didn't stop. The frenzy consumed him, his vision red, his mind a haze of violence. He turned toward Scáthach, the Gáe Bolg raised, his body trembling with power.
"Kael!" Scáthach's voice cut through the fog. She didn't flinch, her spear ready but her eyes steady. "You are not a beast. Come back."
Her words reached him, a lifeline in the chaos. Kael's grip on the spear faltered, and he collapsed to his knees, the Ríastrad fading. His body returned to normal, but he felt like he'd been hit by a truck. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his hands shook.
"What… what was that?" he gasped, looking up at Scáthach.
"The Ríastrad," she said, kneeling beside him. Her tone was softer now, almost gentle. "Your first taste of it. You're lucky I was here—if you'd lost control completely, you might have killed us both."
Kael swallowed, the weight of her words sinking in. "I didn't mean to… I couldn't stop."
"I know," Scáthach said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was firm, grounding. "That's why you're here. You have the heart of a warrior, Kael Lughson, but you need to temper it with control. We'll work on it—together."
Kael nodded, gratitude mixing with his exhaustion. For the first time, he saw a flicker of warmth in Scáthach's eyes, a hint of the bond forming between them. She wasn't just a teacher—she was starting to care.
As they stood, a flock of crows circled overhead, Morrígan's presence a reminder of the larger world waiting beyond the Shadowlands. Scáthach glanced at the sky, her expression unreadable.
"She's watching," Scáthach said, almost to herself. "The Morrígan doesn't linger for just anyone. You're more than a spear-bearer, Kael. But what, exactly, remains to be seen."
Kael managed a weak grin, despite his aching body. "Guess I'll have to keep surprising you both."
Scáthach smirked, a rare, genuine smile. "Rest now. Tomorrow, we train harder. The Ríastrad won't control you again—not if I have anything to say about it."
As Kael followed her back into the fortress, the weight of his new reality settled on his shoulders. He was a hero in the making, but the path ahead was fraught with danger—and not just from enemies. The power within him was a double-edged sword, and he'd need Scáthach, Morrígan, and whoever else destiny threw his way to survive it.