Morning sun spilled softly across the Dawnbreakers’ keep, warming the stone corridors with a faint amber glow. The air still held the hush of dawn; only a distant clang of steel from an early-rising trainee rippled through the quiet.

  A knock shattered the calm.

  Buried beneath a mound of blankets, Kaelen groaned as consciousness pulled him back from sleep. Too early, he thought, rubbing at his face with a sluggish hand. He dragged himself out of bed, hair sticking in every possible direction, and shuffled to the door.

  When he opened it, Lysera stood framed in the hallway’s pale light — crisp white tunic, leather strap across her chest, posture straight as a drawn arrow. Her eyes were bright but oddly intent.

  “I need your help practicing with my new gear,” she said, as if this were perfectly normal morning conversation.

  Kaelen blinked at her. “…Lys? Is something wrong?”

  “Nope,” she replied, voice sweet but edged with determination. “I just want to train.”

  He squinted at her for a long second… then broke into a half-awake grin. “I’m in.”

  They walked down the corridor in companionable silence, their steps echoing along stone walls warmed by the rising sun. Dust motes floated lazily in the beams of light seeping through narrow windows. As the pair pushed open the heavy doors to the training hall, the familiar scent of sweat, oiled leather, and old iron washed over them.

  Racks of weapons stood neatly along the walls. Scars and dried blood on the floor marked yesterday’s battles. A cool draft drifted down from the hall’s high arches, brushing Kaelen’s tunic as he stopped in the center.

  “Alright,” he said, clapping his hands. “Bring it out already.”

  Lysera smirked. “Let’s do this.”

  She lifted the pendant resting against her collarbone — a polished shard of aurenite encased in silver. Her fingertips lingered on it before she whispered, almost reverently, “Valkryss.”

  The stone pulsed. Runes spiraled out like ripples across water. Light bled from the pendant in thin golden threads as plates of gleaming white metal formed around her body, swirling and locking into place with a low, resonant hum. Aether-winged boosters unfolded behind her, catching the light like luminous halos.

  When the glow dimmed, she stood reborn — radiant, armored, formidable. A knight carved from dawnlight.

  Kaelen let out a long whistle. “Damn… that is so cool.”

  A faint flush colored Lysera’s cheeks beneath her helm as he circled her admiringly. He tapped his chin. “So? What do you wanna practice first? Offense, defense, or movement?”

  “Movement,” she answered without hesitation.

  He smirked. “You wanna know my trick to running fast?”

  She shot him a flat look. “I didn’t know you had one. I thought you just ran around like an idiot.”

  “You can’t do that,” he protested, pointing a finger at her. “You’ll slam into walls. Or worse—into me.”

  Lysera snorted.

  “You’ve gotta scan the field,” Kaelen continued, slipping back into instructor mode. “Know where you are. Know how fast you’re going. Adjust before you lose control.”

  She tilted her head, genuinely curious. “You just… know how to do this?”

  “Well, I was the fastest runner in my village,” he said, with the proudest grin imaginable.

  Lysera rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched upward.

  “Alright,” Kaelen said. “Try it out. Let’s play a little game of tag.”

  Her grin sharpened. “You can’t beat me.”

  “Let’s see how you do first.”

  She activated the boosters.

  A sharp vwooom ripped through the hall as the engines flared to life, wind sweeping her hair back. Lysera rocketed forward, a streak of white light aimed straight at him.

  Kaelen shifted at the last moment, a crackle of lightning bursting beneath his boots as he dashed aside.

  “Too slow—!”

  Lysera attempted a hard right turn to pursue him, but her momentum betrayed her. Her balance overcorrected—

  —and she slammed shoulder-first into the wall with a thunderous CRASH. Dust showered down as cracks spidered through the stone.

  Kaelen’s heart lurched. “Lys!”

  He sprinted over, boots scraping against the floor. She sat in a small crater of powdered mortar, coughing but laughing, soot smeared across her cheek.

  “You okay?” he asked, kneeling beside her.

  “That’s… so much harder than I expected,” she wheezed, still grinning. “Again.”

  Relief washed through him. He offered his hand. She took it.

  “Alright,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Get ready.”

  They repeated the drill. Again and again she launched across the hall, each attempt faster than the last. Sometimes she skidded. Sometimes she stumbled. Sometimes she clipped a training dummy and sent it spinning across the floor.

  But each try was better.

  Her turns sharpened. Her posture tightened. The boosters steadied. She learned to let her momentum roll rather than fight it. Meanwhile, Kaelen darted around her like a storm of sparks, lightning crackling at his heels, always just out of reach. Once, she came close enough that the wind of her passing brushed his sleeve.

  The hall filled with the chaos of training — roaring boosters, sharp impacts, laughter, and shouts. Scrolls flew off tables. Sparring dummies toppled like frightened villagers. A few Dawnbreakers peeked inside… and immediately decided they did not want to be involved.

  By afternoon, the hall looked like a battlefield.

  The two stood in the center, panting. Sweat traced a line down Kaelen’s jaw. Lysera’s hair clung to her forehead beneath her helm, her breaths ragged but determined.

  “If you’re this good at running…” she managed between gasps, “why don’t you run when we actually need to?”

  Kaelen froze. The smile faded from his face.

  He stared at the scorched wall — the one she had crashed into first. The hall suddenly felt much quieter.

  “After that night in the village,” he said quietly, “I stopped running.”

  Lysera’s expression softened. She removed her helm slowly, letting the cool air hit her flushed skin.

  Kaelen looked at her, eyes shadowed. “I’d rather die than run like a coward again. Leaving people I care about behind.”

  Silence stretched.

  Lysera stepped closer, her voice gentler. “You don’t have to run anymore.”

  For a moment, he didn’t reply. But the look he gave her — steady, grateful, vulnerable — said everything he couldn’t put into words.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  A silent thank you.

  The muffled clang of boots echoed through the stone corridor as Master Caelum stepped out of his office, an old parchment still pinched between two fingers. He paused mid-step. Laughter drifted from down the hall—sharp, youthful, unrestrained. A metallic whoosh. A faint crackle of lightning. The kind of sounds that meant two things: Lysera was testing her armor… and Kaelen was involved.

  Caelum exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh.

  He followed the noise, his long cloak whispering across the floor behind him. As he rounded the corner toward the training hall, he spotted several Dawnbreaker recruits—barely past eighteen, chins still soft with inexperience—clustered around the door, peeking through a narrow gap like children spying on a forbidden ritual.

  The moment they spotted him, their giggles died with military precision.

  “Scatter,” Caelum said dryly, flicking two fingers in a lazy gesture.

  They vanished in three different directions, tripping over each other in their haste. Caelum shook his head and pushed the heavy door open.

  Inside, chaos danced.

  Lysera lunged across the room with a burst of speed, her boosters igniting in a brief white flare that lit her armor—Valkryss—like moonstone caught in torchlight. She wasn’t running; she was slicing through space. Kaelen, laughing breathlessly, blinked away in a sharp arc of lightning, sparks nipping at the floor where he had stood a heartbeat prior.

  The hall smelled of sweat and scorched stone. Ozone hung thick in the air, sharp and metallic, clinging to the back of Caelum’s throat. Scorch marks and cracked tiles formed a mosaic of their morning’s enthusiasm.

  Kaelen’s voice rang out as he dodged another charge. “After that night in the village, I stopped running. I’d rather die than run like a coward—leaving people I care about behind.”

  The sentence lingered like a bruise. Caelum’s expression softened, just barely, before he cleared his throat.

  Both Lysera and Kaelen jolted, spinning toward him. Lysera’s boosters sputtered as they powered down, the light fading into the engraved sigil at her collar. The white armor retracted in smooth, fluid plates until only her tunic remained. Kaelen straightened, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist.

  Caelum stepped inside fully, crossing his arms. “Well,” he said, tone even, “looks like you’ve got the movement down for the armor, Lysera.”

  Lysera tilted her head with a small, warm smile. “Thank you, Master. When did you come in?”

  “Oh, around the time you were finishing that little game of tag,” Caelum replied. His gaze flicked between the two of them, amused. “Smart to rope Kaelen into training with you.”

  Kaelen lifted his chin, smirking with a spark of pride. “Heh. I suggested that, Master.”

  Caelum’s eyebrows rose theatrically. “Well, that’s unprecedented.”

  Kaelen’s face twisted into a wounded pout. “Hey, I’m not that dumb.”

  He nudged Lysera lightly with an elbow, then nodded toward the weapon strapped across her back—the sleek, multi-form rifle known as Triastra, its polished silver edges catching the torchlight.

  “Oh—Lys,” he said, “need help with the gun?”

  Lysera’s eyes gleamed as she patted the weapon with unmistakable fondness. “No. I think I’ll just have some extensive target practice with this.”

  Caelum let out a low chuckle. “That sounds like a plan.”

  His attention shifted to Kaelen, and his tone sharpened just slightly—calmer, but carrying weight. “Now then, Kaelen. Do you want to learn something new?”

  Kaelen brightened immediately, posture straightening as if struck by lightning. “You know I do.”

  “Good,” Caelum said with a firm nod. “But go rest first. I’ll attend to Lysera’s practice.”

  Kaelen flashed Lysera a thumbs-up as he backed away, grinning crookedly. “Good luck, Lys. Don’t shoot your foot off.”

  Lysera laughed softly, returning the gesture. “Only if you promise not to fry yours when it’s your turn.”

  Kaelen snorted, turned on his heel, and left the hall with a swagger that slightly betrayed the ache in his shoulder. The door thudded shut behind him.

  Caelum stepped forward to stand beside Lysera. His eyes drifted to the weapons rack, calculating, thoughtful. When he spoke, his voice was calm—almost too calm.

  “Let’s see,” he murmured, “what this weapon of yours is really capable of.”

  The gates of Netharial closed behind them with a low iron groan, and the air shifted immediately—lighter, fresher, touched by something almost sacred. Caelum and Lysera walked in companionable silence through the thin outer woodland until the trees thinned and gave way to a sweeping meadow at the edge of the Itari Forest.

  Sunlight spilled over the clearing in long golden ribbons, washing over a sea of wildflowers—petals of blue, violet, and fierce red swaying together like strokes of living paint. A crisp pine-scented breeze swept across the field, carrying with it the sweetness of blooming irises. Bees drifted lazily from blossom to blossom, and birdsong rippled from deeper in the canopy like strings plucked in the distance.

  Lysera stopped at the meadow’s edge, her hands settling on her hips, eyes wide with unguarded awe. “This is… beautiful.” She turned to Caelum, her brows pinching with concern. “Master, do we really have to train here? We’re going to destroy this place.”

  Caelum didn’t break stride. “Beauty fades,” he said, tone dry. “What we’re building here doesn’t.” A faint glint of amusement sparked in his eyes. “Besides, it’s not like we’re leveling a city.”

  Lysera crossed her arms with dramatic indignation. “It feels like a crime.” She crouched and gently plucked a delicate blue blossom, cradling it between her fingers. “You deserved better,” she whispered to the flower’s petals before sighing theatrically.

  Caelum chuckled and flexed his hands, joints cracking sharply. “I’ll fetch us some targets. Appreciate the ambiance while it lasts.”

  In a blink, he vanished into the trees. Moments later, the forest echoed with snapping trunks and splintering stone—sharp, violent intrusions into the meadow’s tranquility.

  Lysera sank onto a smooth rock, letting the stillness wrap around her for what might be its final moments. The serene hush felt almost fragile—on the verge of shattering.

  It shattered.

  Caelum returned carrying two boulders the size of small carts, one over each shoulder, and dragging an uprooted pine tree behind him as if it were an afterthought. He dropped the stones with a ground-thudding whump, scattering petals and dust.

  “Let’s start simple,” he said, pointing toward a distant oak with a swaying high branch. “Sniper mode. That one.”

  Lysera straightened. “Got it.”

  She touched the pendant at her neck and breathed the word, “Valkryss.”

  Light burst outward—soft gold turning brilliant white as armor folded seamlessly over her body. Wing-like plates unfurled behind her back with a smooth mechanical hiss. The air hummed faintly as she reached over her shoulder, summoning Triastra. The weapon elongated into her grasp, shifting with living metal until the sniper configuration locked into place with a soft double-click. It resonated with her pulse, a low hum vibrating through her arm.

  Dropping to one knee, she exhaled and lined up the shot.

  CRACK!

  The bullet sang past the branch, tearing a path through the leaves behind it.

  Caelum folded his arms. “Adjust your stance. Breathe with the rifle.”

  She reset.

  Second shot—

  CRACK!

  A glancing hit. The branch trembled but held.

  Third shot—steady breath, softened fingers—

  CRACK!

  The branch split clean through, spiraling downward in a flutter of green.

  Lysera allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

  Caelum nodded once. “Good. Let’s see if that wasn’t a fluke.”

  He indicated three more branches at wildly different angles—one east, one high to the north, and one nearly behind them. “Those. Fast.”

  She pivoted sharply, feet sliding across the grass, and fired three quick shots—

  CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

  All three branches fell in the same instant.

  Caelum’s approval came in a low rumble. “Nice. Rapid fire next.”

  He stabbed twenty slim tree trunks into the ground in a wide semicircle, spacing them unevenly, then carved spiraling bullseyes into their bark with a lazy flick of a clawed finger.

  “Twenty shots. Ten seconds. Center hits only.”

  Lysera shifted Triastra into rapid-fire mode—the barrel retracting, plates sliding aside to reveal a compact, angular frame. Tiny vents hissed as energy condensed inside the chamber.

  She planted her feet, exhaled, and fired.

  Her first attempt scattered—only three precise hits.

  Second attempt: five.

  She grimaced and shook her aching arms. “The recoil feels like trying to get Kaelen to sit still.”

  Caelum barked a laugh. “So you have trained for chaos, then.”

  Lysera chuckled, rolled her shoulders, and tried again.

  Again.

  And again.

  For two relentless hours, the meadow thundered with sharp cracks and sizzling bursts of light. Her breath grew ragged. Her fingers trembled from strain. Sweat dripped into her eyes. The meadow warmed with the scent of scorched wood and energy discharge. But by the end—shaking, panting, her armor radiating heat—she landed all twenty center hits in under ten seconds.

  Caelum let out a soft, approving murmur. “That’ll do.”

  Lysera sagged, wiping sweat from her brow. “I never want to see another bullseye again.”

  “Good,” Caelum said, utterly unfazed. “You’re warmed up. Shotgun next.”

  He dragged a massive boulder into the center of the clearing, crushing a patch of flowers beneath it.

  Lysera gasped. “Master!”

  “Sacrifices must be made.”

  Triastra thickened into shotgun mode—the barrel widening, a swirling core of condensed energy glowing at its heart. The weapon pulsed like a storm trapped inside crystal.

  Lysera braced, crouched slightly, and fired.

  BOOM!

  The boulder exploded into dust and needle-sharp fragments.

  Caelum’s eyes widened. “Remind me never to be on the wrong end of that.”

  Lysera grinned. “Only if you deserve it.”

  He rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms casually—as if preparing to throw a mountain. “Final test. You shoot while I throw things at your head. Sound fair?”

  She stared flatly at him. “Sounds like a plan designed to kill me.”

  “Then don’t get hit.”

  The first projectile—a jagged rock the size of a warhammer—whistled toward her. Lysera spun, switched to sniper mode mid-motion, and split it apart with a perfectly timed shot.

  A smaller, faster rock followed. She slid into rapid-fire mode and shredded it before it could reach her.

  Then Caelum hurled an entire tree trunk.

  She barely had time to leap back before shifting into shotgun mode—the point-blank blast splitting the trunk into two smoldering halves.

  The barrage intensified—boulders, logs, stones, uprooted stumps—flying at her from every angle. Lysera moved through them like a whirlwind: ducking, pivoting, leaping, firing. Triastra shifted modes in seamless bursts of light, her instincts sharpening with every heartbeat.

  When it finally ended, she stood amid the smoking wreckage of the once-pristine meadow. Blades of grass were scorched. Flowers lay flattened. Tree fragments littered the ground. Her armor was scratched and steaming, and Triastra hissed as it cooled.

  Caelum approached, nodding with rare, genuine approval. “You’re ready.”

  Lysera smirked through her heavy breaths. “I was born ready.”

  “Good,” he said. “Let’s get back. It’s Kaelen’s turn.”

  Lysera groaned in sympathy for him but laughed as they started toward the gates. The ruined field stretched behind them—flowers trampled, trees shattered, birds long fled—yet she didn’t look back.

  She kept her gaze forward.

  The wind stirred as they walked, brushing through the grass like an unseen whisper. Somewhere far behind, a lone branch snapped in the settling silence—sharp, sudden.

  A reminder of what they’d left in their wake.

  A promise of what she was becoming.