Hope. The feeling was unfamiliar. For most of my life, it was like I’d been like forcing my way upstream, every step a fight. Now, for once, it felt as though the current had shifted in my favour. Things were lining up and I wasn’t about to waste that.

  I finished the scones quickly and without ceremony, skipping the cream and jam. My knife was… compromised, and blood wasn’t a flavour I felt like testing. I wrapped my hand as best I could, fastened the sword at my hip, and headed for the stairs before doubt had time to catch up.

  As I moved down through the tunnels, the runes didn’t flare to life the way they had for Amelia. They responded more faintly instead, glowing a muted red that barely pushed back the darkness. I took that as a sign that whatever they sensed in me, it wasn’t much.

  I felt my way along the wall, careful not to rush. When I reached the round stone door, I had to press my palm against it and push manually. The mechanism answered sluggishly, as if weighing whether I was worth the effort.

  Beyond it, the training hall lay quiet. No Rob. No Amelia. Just empty space and still air.

  That was fine by me. They’d likely taken their books and vanished upstairs, same as I had earlier. For now, I had the place to myself.

  I lingered at the entrance, aware of the quiet weight of the foundation elixir in my pocket. I had a choice to make. My thoughts drifted to what Rob had said about the barracks, then back to the way I’d faced the troll. Amelia’s path of study, craft, patience… it all felt wrong. Swordcraft, at least, was something I could understand.

  And if I was honest, the knights in Jerald’s old notes had always drawn my eye more than healers or scholars ever had. As a kid, I’d swung sticks at shadows, whispering bold promises to empty air. The memory pulled a faint smile from me.

  I looked across the room to where my practice blade rested and wondered if the version of me standing here now would look any less foolish trying to live up to those heroes.

  So, the sword. Enough distance to stay safe, close enough to strike. That much, at least, made sense to me. In theory.

  All that remained was to see if my body agreed.

  I set the elixir aside and collected the practice sword and shield. This wasn’t the moment for shortcuts. I needed to understand the basics first. Testing the weight of the wooden gear, I approached the training dummy, glanced around to be sure I was alone, and settled into a stance.

  “Okay… ready,” I said to the dummy.

  Nothing happened.

  I waited a beat, then another. Heat crept into my cheeks. I exhaled and tried to recall what little I’d seen Rob do to turn the magic thing on.

  “Activate?” I muttered.

  Still nothing.

  Feeling faintly ridiculous, I circled behind the dummy and noticed a panel set into its back. On it ran a vertical line of symbols, fading from green at the bottom to red at the top. Beside them sat a small sliding stud and an obvious ‘on’ button… simple and worn smooth with use.

  A difficulty setting?

  “…Right,” I murmured, adjusting it toward the lowest mark. Rob had left it set somewhere in the middle. “I hope green means easy.”

  The dummy stirred as I pressed the button. This time it came to life slowly, deliberately, only a single wooden arm unfolding instead of the full array.

  I stepped back to give myself room and tightened my grip on the practice sword and shield. The first strike came sooner than I expected. I barely caught it on the shield, wood thudding against wood with a jolt that shivered up my arm. I swung back in response, awkward and overcommitted, and watched as the dummy turned aside and knocked my blade away with effortless precision.

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  I huffed, retreated a step, then tried again. Three swings missed. Two were turned aside. On the sixth, the blade finally struck the dummy’s torso with a flat, hollow thunk. Clumsy and slow… but it landed.

  A small round target flipped out from the dummy’s side.

  “Oh. Right,” I muttered.

  Hit the body, draw out the targets. And don’t get hit in the process.

  I moved in again, lining up the next strike, only for the dummy to parry once more. Slow and methodical, it defended with far more precision than I had any right to expect. Even at its lowest setting, it was faster than me.

  Relieved there was no one watching, I tried again. And again. Each attempt ended the same way, my strike turned aside, my timing off by a heartbeat. The sword that had felt merely heavy at first began to drag with every swing. Still, with the blade resting at my side, the curse stayed quiet. No flare up. No burning. If anything, the effort steadied me.

  Soon sweat soaked through my clothes. My arms shook, lungs burning, until, finally, with a hoarse breath and a dull crack, I landed a solid hit. The dummy’s arm snapped back, the target folding in, and the construct stilled.

  I bent forward, hands on my knees, drawing in air. Waiting.

  Nothing.

  No surge. No sign. No quiet click of understanding settling into place.

  Maybe I’d expected too much. Or maybe this was the sort of thing you didn’t feel at all.

  My head swam as the effort caught up with me. I slowed my breathing until the room steadied.

  Had I done it wrong?

  Or was this meaningless without a soul card to notice it? Rob’s card had glowed during his training. But it seemed after a lot of effort.

  This is going to take a while.

  As I stretched my aching limbs, the black scabbard at my hip shifted with me. For now, it was the only thing keeping the curse at bay, a thin, fragile safety net. I glanced down at my training sword, then at the pile of splintered remains of Rob’s old swords in the corner. Mine was barely marked. That alone told me how far behind I was.

  I reset the dummy and stepped in again.

  This time there was no momentum to carry me. My movements were slower, heavier. I couldn’t even force the target to flip before the sword slipped from my grip. I brought up the shield, but it was knocked aside just as easily. The dummy’s arm snapped forward and struck my side.

  I cried out as I hit the ground on top of my shield arm screaming where the troll had struck me earlier.

  “Fuck.”

  The dummy showed no mercy. It wasn’t meant to. Training didn’t care if you were tired or hurt.

  I looked up just in time to see its arm descend again. My side screamed in protest as I rolled, the impact from earlier flaring hot beneath my ribs. The black scabbard pressed against my hip and before I could think better of it, I moved.

  The blade came free in one smooth motion.

  It was heavier than the training sword, yet it felt… right. The weight carried itself. I swung on instinct.

  The black metal struck the dummy’s arm and sheared clean through it. The blow didn’t stop there the blade carried upward in a wide arc, humming softly as it cut the air and sent me off balance.

  The dummy paused. Its broken limb dropped to the floor. Another arm unfolded, readying to strike.

  I scrambled to my feet, breath ragged, the antique sword steady in my hands. I lunged. The dummy raised an arm to block, but the blade cut straight through it and struck the frame beneath. A target snapped into view.

  I didn’t hesitate. I drove the flat of the black blade into it.

  The dummy went still.

  I stood there, chest heaving, trying to understand where that sudden surge had come from. For a brief moment, strength had answered me without resistance. Then it was gone, as quickly as it had arrived.

  I waited for the mechanism to power down like before.

  Instead, the hum deepened.

  Something shifted inside the dummy. A sound I hadn’t heard yet followed, sharp clicks echoing through the hall. One by one, additional limbs unfolded from its frame, far more than before. Then it drew legs.

  “Oh… shit.”

  I barely had time to register the change before the construct charged. A hidden compartment split open, revealing a metal blade etched with a glowing rune. An empowered weapon.

  Somehow I triggered something.

  “Oh fuck!”

  The dummy lunged.

  I snatched up my fallen shield just in time, its strike slamming into it and jolting my arm to the bone. Wincing through the pain I locked my grip, panic tightening in my chest. There was nowhere to retreat. I held the shield firm and raised my sword, bracing for the next impact.

  When the enhanced blade met the black metal, I flinched.

  The force was not what I expected. Instead of being thrown back, a sharp shock ran through my arms. Sparks burst where the blades touched, followed by a faint hiss as dark ash scattered into the air. Thin lines of ember-light spread across the rune, creeping along the blade like fractures forming in cooling glass.

  I shoved forward on instinct.

  The dummy’s weapon broke apart mid-swing, bursting into ash and dull sparks. The force carried the construct forward, straight into my blade. The black metal cut through the wooden frame as though it offered no resistance at all.

  The glow within the dummy faltered. Its limbs twitched, grasping at nothing, then went slack. With a final hollow thud, the construct collapsed in on itself.

  The hall fell quiet.

  Ragged breaths escaped my lungs as I held onto the sword like my life depended on it.

  “Good,” echoed a deep voice.

  I spun around. “What…?” I mumbled.

  Noone was there. The voice was rich and seemed to reverberate around the entire training hall.

  My eyes quickly scanned the room. “Hello?”