Chapter 10 – The Blade That Strikes

Ariel woke with soreness embedded deep in his muscles, a familiar ache that had become a constant presence over the past weeks. Every motion, from rising out of bed to rolling his shoulders, reminded him of how far he had pushed himself the day before. But beneath the fatigue, there was something else—progress.

For the first time since he had begun training the sword under Selene, he felt like he was actually moving forward. He had not won, had not even come close, but he had held his ground. He had seen an opening. And that meant something.

He arrived at the training grounds as the first light of dawn stretched across the sky. Selene was already waiting, her stance composed as ever. Today, however, there was a shift in the air. He could feel it. The rhythm of training was changing.

"You have learned to defend," Selene said, wasting no time. "Now, it is time to learn how to attack."

Ariel nodded, gripping his practice blade tighter. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

Selene stepped forward. "But first, tell me—what do you think makes an attack effective?"

Ariel considered her question. "Speed? Power? Accuracy?"

"All important," Selene agreed. "But an attack without control is nothing more than reckless movement. True offense is not about striking faster or harder—it is about knowing when to strike and making it count."

She raised her practice sword, motioning for him to do the same. "An undisciplined warrior throws attacks wildly, hoping one will land. A trained warrior makes every strike serve a purpose."

Ariel positioned himself, blade in hand, stance solid. He felt the weight of her words settling into his mind, the lesson forming before the practice had even begun.

Selene shifted into a stance he had seen countless times before—balanced, poised, unreadable. "Attack me. And this time, do not just swing. Strike with intention."

He exhaled, adjusting his grip, then moved.

His first strike was clean, controlled—far better than the wild swings of his earlier training. But Selene deflected it effortlessly.

"Again," she said.

He attacked once more. And again. And again. Each time, Selene guided his blade aside, barely exerting any force to redirect his strikes. Yet, as he continued, something became clearer.

She was not overpowering him. She was outmaneuvering him. Every movement had a counter, every opening a consequence.

He needed to think.

He stepped back, breathing hard, analyzing the rhythm of their exchanges. He adjusted his stance, watching for the shifts in her positioning. Then, he struck again—this time, instead of committing fully to a single attack, he adjusted midway, transitioning into a second strike.

Selene blocked—but just barely.

A small pause. A flicker of something in her expression.

Ariel felt something stir inside him. That was the right move.

Selene reset her stance. "Better. Again."

And so they continued, the sun climbing higher as Ariel learned not just how to attack, but how to fight.

And once again, days blurred together, each one a relentless cycle of sparring, failure, and exhaustion. Every morning, Ariel stepped onto the training grounds, his hands raw from gripping the sword, his muscles aching from the previous day's lessons. Yet, he did not stop. He couldn't. Each strike that missed, each counter that failed, was another lesson carved into his bones.

Selene remained as unwavering as ever, her movements precise, her defenses unbreakable. Every session, she pushed him further, forcing him to refine not just his technique but his instincts. There was no wasted motion, no unnecessary words—only the clash of steel and the space between each strike where the real lessons were learned.

Some days, frustration clawed at him, the weight of constant failure threatening to crush his resolve. But on others, there were moments—small, fleeting moments—where his sword moved just a little faster, where his reactions came just a little sharper. He was no longer the boy blindly swinging at an untouchable opponent. He was learning. Slowly, painfully, but undeniably, he was learning.