Chapter 26: A Test of Control

The training grounds were quiet, the mist still lingering over the stone-paved floor. Adrian stood across from his father, the wooden training sword in his grip. His breath came steady, the cool morning air swirling around them like a living thing. The weight of the moment hung in the space between them—not with tension, but with an unspoken understanding.

Cedric Zenith studied him, his eyes unwavering, the same unreadable gaze he always wore. His posture was relaxed, but there was a sharper focus to it today—a new edge to the way he held himself.

"You've been different lately," Cedric said, his voice calm yet tinged with something deeper. "Faster. Sharper. More aware."

Adrian didn't answer, merely adjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword. He could feel the weight of the weapon in his hand, but it felt different now, like it was a part of him. He wasn't sure what had changed, but his instincts told him that it was something important. Something he couldn't quite explain. He had only recently started to sense this new awareness within himself—this surge of power, of clarity. But he wasn't going to talk about it. Not yet.

Cedric let the silence stretch, his gaze never leaving Adrian's face. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed his own sword into the air and caught it effortlessly.

"We'll see if those instincts of yours can hold up against experience," he said, his voice flat but full of meaning.

Without warning, he moved.

The first strike came fast—too fast. Adrian's eyes widened, his body reacting before his mind could process. He twisted away, narrowly avoiding the blade. The wooden sword grazed past his side, missing by mere inches.

But Cedric didn't stop. He advanced again, his movements fluid, every strike calculated. Each step was precise, every swing deliberate. Adrian blocked, parried, and countered as best as he could, but it wasn't enough. His father wasn't just fast—he was a master. The rhythm of the fight was effortless for Cedric, like he had been practicing these moves for years longer than Adrian had been alive.

A sharp strike to the shoulder knocked Adrian off balance. The sword tapped him lightly, a clean hit. It wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough to send a clear message.

Adrian clenched his jaw, his mind racing. He could feel it—the difference between them. His instincts told him what was coming next, but his body couldn't keep up. His movements were too reactive, too wild. Cedric's strikes were planned, honed, and executed with the kind of precision Adrian could only dream of.

"Not bad," Cedric said, stepping back, his voice never raising. "But not good either."

Adrian took a slow breath, gathering himself. It wasn't frustration he felt—it was the understanding that his instincts weren't enough. He had the raw material, the potential, but it needed refining. He needed more.

Cedric studied him for a long moment, his eyes scanning Adrian's every movement, every shift in posture. There was no judgment, no reprimand, just a quiet analysis. Then, to Adrian's surprise, his father extended his sword toward him—not to strike, but to offer.

"Your footwork is sloppy," Cedric continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "Your counters lack purpose. You move like a wild beast, not a swordsman." He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "But you have something rare—something most don't. You feel the fight, don't you?"

Adrian hesitated, the weight of his father's words sinking in. Then, he nodded.

Cedric's lips curled upward in a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. "Then we'll refine that."

A pause. Then, softer—almost too quiet to hear:

"You're my son. I wouldn't expect anything less."

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, Adrian felt something stir within him. It wasn't warmth, not exactly. It wasn't the comfort of parental affection. No, it was something more subtle. More profound. A quiet recognition that his father wasn't just testing him today. He was teaching him. Pushing him.

For the first time, Adrian realized something he had never truly understood before.

This—this was only the beginning.