Training Under Pressure

The cold of the froststone seemed to cling to me, not on my skin but somewhere deeper. I raked my fingers through my hair, trying to dispel the lingering uneasiness. Today was training again, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was building, waiting.

"Lost in thought again, are we?" Lothar's voice cut through the silence, sharp and amused.

I glanced up to find him leaning lazily against the froststone wall, tossing the coin from yesterday between his fingers. His silver eyes gleamed with a familiar mix of mischief and smugness.

"You know," he continued, grinning as he caught the coin mid-air, "if you spent half as much time practicing your magic as you do brooding, we'd be done with your training in a week."

I frowned. "I wasn't brooding."

"Sure, you weren't." He slipped the coin into his pocket and clasped his hands behind his head, looking far too pleased with himself. "But don't worry, that's what I'm here for. To drag you out of your head and back to reality. Starting with your next challenge."

I crossed my arms. "Does this mean you're done throwing random objects at me?"

"Done? Not even close." His grin widened. "After all, I've got apples, spoons, and maybe a chair or two lying around if you're feeling particularly pathetic."

I snorted despite myself. "Do you ever train anyone normally?"

"Of course," he replied.

I shook my head, already bracing for whatever nonsense he had planned. "So, what's next? Or are you just making this up as you go?"

"Making it up?" Lothar clutched his chest dramatically. "How dare you, Ali. I put at least ten seconds of thought into every exercise I create."

"Ah, a master strategist," I quipped dryly.

"You're catching on," Lothar said with a wink, dropping the theatrics as he straightened. "But I hope you're ready, because this next part isn't going to involve any spoons or apples."

I raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. "What, no props this time? Should I be worried?"

"Oh, definitely." He stepped forward, casually unsheathing the blade at his side. Its rune-etched steel gleamed faintly, humming softly with latent magic. "Time to see if you can actually think on your feet or fall flat on your face. Either works for me, really."

I let out a short laugh, though my stomach tightened at the sight of the blade. "And what am I supposed to fight you with? Harsh language?"

"You've got those shadows of yours, don't you?" Lothar said, spinning the sword in his hand like it weighed nothing. "This is your first time putting them to the test, huh? Let's see if they're as strong as you think. Unless, of course, you freeze up and embarrass yourself."

I scowled, the shadows at my feet curling and uncurling as if they sensed my unease. "I won't freeze," I said, though my voice wasn't as confident as I wanted it to be. The knot in my stomach tightened, but I couldn't let him see that.

"Big words for someone who's never been in a fight," he said, but there was something softer in his tone. "Let's see if there's any bite to match that bark. Don't overthink it, just move."

Lothar moved faster than I expected, too fast. One moment, he was standing across from me, his sword spinning lazily in his hand, and the next, he was a blur of silver, his blade slicing through the space where I had been moments ago. I stumbled back, the froststone cold under my boots, and the shadows reacted instinctively, snapping forward like a whip between us.

But Lothar was already gone. He twisted out of the shadows' reach with infuriating ease, the edge of his cloak barely catching the dark tendrils as they fizzled out against the frosted air.

"Sloppy," he called over his shoulder, his tone maddeningly cheerful. His movements were fluid, almost relaxed, as though he wasn't fighting but dancing.

"Yeah, thanks for the commentary," I muttered. Of course, I noticed. Hard not to when his sword nearly shaved an inch off your dignity. Steadying myself, I adjusted my stance and let the shadows surge again. This time, they coiled tighter, weaving through the air like snakes. They darted low, aiming for his legs, but Lothar sidestepped the attack without losing a beat.

"Better," he commented, spinning his blade so casually it felt like mockery. "But you're making your moves too obvious. I don't even have to try to guess what's coming next."

Before I could respond, he lunged again, closing the distance in an instant. His blade flashed toward me, and I barely managed to throw up a barrier of shadows between us. The sword struck the dark tendrils with a sharp crack, the force of the impact reverberating through me. My magic held, but just barely.

A flicker of satisfaction lit his face. "Not bad. But you're still relying on the shadows to do all the work." He twisted his wrist, his blade cutting cleanly through the barrier. The shadows recoiled, snapping back to me like startled animals, and I was forced to duck as Lothar's blade swept overhead.

The froststone floor was unforgiving as I hit the ground, breath knocked from my lungs. I rolled instinctively, avoiding the downward strike of his blade as it collided with the floor, sending a sharp clang echoing through the training ground.

"Clever," Lothar said as I scrambled to my feet, my heart racing. "But clever isn't going to save you if you can't keep up."

I didn't respond. The shadows stirred around me, restless and waiting, and this time, I let them take shape without overthinking it. Two tendrils shot outward, twisting together into a single sharp spear. It lashed toward Lothar with purpose, faster and sharper than before, forcing him to spin to his left.

Except this time, I was ready for him.

The shadows split at the last second, diverging into three smaller tendrils that struck from different angles. One snapped low toward his legs, another curved like a hook toward his torso, and the final tendril shot for his sword hand.

Lothar's eyebrows lifted, surprised but not panicked. He moved like the wind, stepping out of the lowest attack while spinning his blade to deflect the others. The shadow hook coiled around his arm for a split second before he twisted free, shattering it with a sharp flick of his wrist.

"Well, that's new," he said, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "Finally decided to think, huh?"

"Less talking, more dodging," I shot back, sending another tendril surging toward him.

The grin widened, and in a blur of motion, he met the shadow mid-thrust with his blade. The rune-etched steel hummed faintly as it collided with the tendril, slicing cleanly through the dark magic like it was paper.

I felt the backlash immediately. It was sharp and hit like a rubber band snapping against my mind. The shadows faltered for half a second, sluggish to reform, and Lothar took full advantage. He swept low, his boot catching the back of my leg, and I went down hard, the froststone biting into my spine.

The shadows scattered wildly as Lothar stood over me, his sword pointed lazily at my chest. He grinned, far too pleased with himself, and offered me a hand.

"Lesson two," he said, his tone maddeningly smug. "Don't leave openings."

I groaned, reluctantly letting him pull me to my feet. My pride stung worse than the impact. "I wasn't leaving openings. You're just cheating."

"Cheating?" He looked faux-offended, sheathing his sword with an almost theatrical flourish. "I don't cheat, Ali. I just win. Besides, It's not my fault you've made those shadows your safety net."

"They're not just something I lean on," I snapped, brushing frost dust off my cloak. "They're-"

"Your greatest strength and your greatest weakness," Lothar interrupted, his expression turning serious. "You're quick, you're resourceful, and your magic's got potential. But if you don't stop treating it like a safety net and start treating it like a weapon, someone, probably me, is going to knock you flat every single time."

I scowled, the sting of his words matching the bruises I'd undoubtedly earned. But deep down, I knew he wasn't wrong. The shadows answered me instinctively, but I was still leaning on them too much. Relying on instinct wasn't enough.

"Fine," I said, exhaling slowly. "What's next?"

"Next?" Lothar smirked, slinging his cloak over one shoulder. "Dinner. I'm starving, we will pick this up in the morning. You've got plenty of time to nurse your bruised ego."

I glared after him as he strolled toward the exit, humming to himself like he hadn't just wiped the froststone floor with me.

But just before he disappeared through the doorway, he stopped and turned back. "Oh, and Ali," he said, his tone shifting slightly, less smug and more serious. "Two or three more sessions like this, and we can start including your decay magic in training."

I froze, caught mid-thought, but quickly nodded. "Yes. Decay." My voice was steady, but the edge of tension in my chest reminded me to stay careful.

Lothar gave a faint smirk. "Good. Keep up, and we'll get there. Keep stumbling, and you'll have to wait."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, I let out a slow breath. "Decay." Yes, let's just stay with that. No one could know its true nature. Not now, not ever.

As much as I hated to admit it, Lothar wasn't wrong. My connection to my magic felt natural, but that didn't mean it was enough. If I was going to master it, I'd have to push far beyond instinct.

I'd heard enough stories about Tier 4 souls to understand the risks. Mages like that had a bond with their magic so deep and so complete that it could amplify their power in ways most people couldn't imagine. But it came with a cost. If that connection wasn't mastered, their magic could overwhelm and break them.

The shadows curled faintly at my boots, restless but waiting. They weren't just a tool. They were a reminder. Every time they moved, every time they listened, they reminded me of what would happen if they ever stopped.

If Lothar was right, and I already knew he was, I wasn't just training to master my magic. I was training to survive it.