The First Step Towards Strength

Lucian's legs ached. His body still felt like it had been torn apart and barely stitched back together, but he kept walking.

Or rather, stumbling.

Garran walked ahead, arms crossed, unimpressed. "Are you dying, or are you just pathetic?"

Lucian gritted his teeth. "I was stabbed in the chest."

"And?" Garran glanced back. "You plan on using that excuse forever?"

Lucian scowled but didn't argue. Complaining wouldn't change anything. Weakness wouldn't change anything.

He forced himself forward.

They had been walking through the wilderness for nearly an hour. The fresh air should have been a relief after the smoke and blood of his village, but it wasn't. The further they got, the more the reality of it all sank in.

Lilia was gone.

His home was gone.

The man in white armor—the one who had stolen everything from him—was still alive.

Lucian clenched his fists.

"I will kill him."

He didn't care how long it took.

But first, he needed to survive.

"Where are we going?" Lucian asked, breaking the silence.

"Somewhere you won't die in the next two days," Garran said dryly. "Which, at this rate, is still questionable."

Lucian ignored the jab. "And then?"

"Then you learn how to actually fight," Garran said, not slowing his pace. "Your sword form is a joke. You swing like a farmer trying to cut wheat."

Lucian frowned. "I learned from my father."

"Your father must have been awful with a blade, then."

Lucian bristled. "He wasn't."

Garran glanced back, his expression unreadable. "Then he should have taught you better."

Lucian stopped walking. His body tensed, anger rising. "Say that again."

Garran sighed. "And here I thought you had potential."

Lucian's fingers twitched toward his sword. His head was still foggy, his body was still sluggish, but—

Garran moved first.

In the blink of an eye, Lucian's feet were swept out from under him. He hit the dirt hard, his breath leaving him in a gasp.

Pain shot through his side, but before he could react, a cold blade pressed against his throat.

"Do you get it now?" Garran asked, looking down at him. "You let your emotions control you, and you lost before you even drew your sword."

Lucian swallowed hard. His body screamed at him to move, but his limbs wouldn't obey.

Garran pulled the blade away and stood. "Your father's sword won't save you," he said. "Not until you know how to actually use it."

Lucian pushed himself up, his breath heavy. He wanted to snap back, to say something sharp—but he couldn't. Because Garran was right.

Garran sighed. "Good. You're finally thinking instead of just reacting." He sheathed his sword. "Now get up. Lesson one starts now."

Lucian wiped the dirt from his face, his fingers tightening around his father's sword.

If he wanted revenge… if he wanted to be strong enough to survive…

He had to start here.

And he wouldn't stop until he won.