Chapter 8: Blade Shadows

The training yard lay silent beneath the three-quarter moon. Practice dummies stood like sentinels along the western wall, their burlap bodies bearing the scars of countless training sessions. Wooden swords and staffs rested in racks, meticulously organized by length and weight. The sand-covered ground, raked smooth each evening by diligent servants, showed no footprints yet—the night's perfect stillness undisturbed.

Until Elysia stepped from the shadows.

Her small form moved with practiced stealth, each footfall placed deliberately to minimize sound. She wore her sleeping gown with a dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders—practical garments for nighttime movement, unlike the constraining dresses that filled her daylight hours. In one hand, she carried a small lantern, its flame turned so low it cast barely enough light to navigate by.

This midnight excursion represented a calculated risk. If caught wandering the manor at night, she would face consequences—likely increased supervision that would limit her already precious moments of freedom. Yet the potential knowledge to be gained outweighed the danger.

For three nights, Elysia had hidden in the rafters of this same yard, watching Victoria's advanced sword lessons with Commander Blackthorn. The massive wooden beams that supported the training yard's partial roof provided perfect concealment for a small child, assuming one could climb the nearby apple tree and transfer to the rafters without being seen—a maneuver Elysia had perfected after multiple practice attempts.

From that hidden vantage point, she had observed her sister's training sessions with rapt attention, memorizing each stance, each movement, each correction from the stern commander. The Pembroke Bladesong fighting style fascinated her—not merely for its practical applications, but for its almost artistic approach to combat. Each sequence flowed like a dance, blending defense and attack in continuous motion.

Tonight, Elysia would attempt those movements herself.

She placed the lantern on a stone block near the center of the yard, positioning it to cast the maximum light with minimal visibility from the manor windows. Then she approached the rack of practice weapons, examining each with critical assessment.

Most were far too large for her five-year-old frame—heavy wooden swords designed for adults or older children like Victoria. She finally selected the smallest training blade, a simple wooden short sword used for teaching foundational forms. Even this felt awkwardly heavy in her small hands, but it would have to suffice.

Standing in the center of the yard, Elysia closed her eyes briefly, recalling Victoria's training sessions. She had watched her sister repeat the same basic sequence dozens of times, Commander Blackthorn's voice counting the positions: "Guard position. Forward stance. High block. Lateral strike. Recovery position."

Elysia opened her eyes and began.

Her first attempt at the sequence was clumsy, her balance precarious with the unfamiliar weight of even the smallest practice sword. She stumbled during the transition from high block to lateral strike, catching herself before falling but feeling frustration rise like a tide.

"Again," she whispered to herself, unconsciously echoing Commander Blackthorn's frequent command to Victoria.

Her second attempt flowed marginally better. By the fifth repetition, she had established a rudimentary rhythm, though her movements lacked the precision she'd observed in her sister's training.

The physical limitations of her child's body presented the greatest challenge. Her muscles simply hadn't developed the strength or coordination necessary for proper swordplay. What appeared effortless when Victoria performed it required straining concentration from Elysia.

Nevertheless, she persisted, repeating the basic sequence until sweat dampened her nightgown despite the cool night air. After nearly an hour, she could execute the foundational movement with recognizable form, if not true skill.

"Not entirely hopeless," she murmured to herself, lowering the practice sword. "Though Victoria would likely disagree."

A sudden sound from the direction of the manor froze her in place—the distant creak of a door opening. Elysia extinguished the lantern with a quick puff of breath, plunging the training yard into darkness broken only by moonlight. She crouched behind the nearest practice dummy, clutching the wooden sword to her chest.

Footsteps approached, accompanied by the bobbing light of another lantern. Elysia held her breath, calculating escape routes and plausible explanations if discovered.

The footsteps paused at the training yard's entrance. The lantern light swept across the space, illuminating equipment racks and sand-covered ground.

"Hello?" called a voice—one of the night guards, Elysia realized. "Is someone there?"

She remained motionless, trusting the shadows and her small size to conceal her. The guard took several steps into the yard, lantern held high.

"Strange," he muttered. "Could have sworn I saw light from the manor window."

The guard made a perfunctory circuit of the yard, his attention more performative than thorough. Elysia controlled her breathing, making herself as small and still as possible behind the practice dummy.

After what felt like an eternity, the guard apparently satisfied himself that the yard was empty. He returned to his regular patrol route, the lantern light gradually receding until darkness reclaimed the training area.

Elysia exhaled slowly, uncurling from her hiding place. That had been entirely too close. She waited several minutes to ensure the guard had truly departed before retrieving her own extinguished lantern.

Returning the practice sword to its rack, she considered the risk versus reward of continuing her midnight training. The former now clearly outweighed the latter—at least for tonight.

As she prepared to depart, a thought occurred to her. If she couldn't safely practice here, she needed an alternative location and equipment. Her secret garden alcove might work for basic movements, but its uneven stone surface made footing treacherous. As for a practice weapon...

Elysia glanced toward the surrounding forest. Fallen branches of appropriate size and weight could substitute for wooden training swords. Not ideal, but serviceable for her current needs.

With this new plan forming, she slipped from the training yard and back into the shadows of the manor, her mind cataloging tonight's observations for future reference. She would need to document the basic forms she'd witnessed and create a structured training program for herself. Progress would be slow given her physical limitations, but with disciplined practice...

The thought trailed off as she carefully navigated the darkened corridors back to her chambers. What was she really doing? Learning swordplay as a five-year-old girl in a society where noble daughters were expected to master needlework and etiquette, not combat?

Yet something about the Pembroke Bladesong called to her. Perhaps it was the discipline and focus required. Perhaps it was simply the desire to acquire skills that might prove useful in this world so different from her previous one. Or perhaps it was the connection to this body's heritage—the Blackwood legacy of martial excellence that manifested so clearly in Victoria.

Whatever the reason, Elysia felt compelled to continue. Another secret to add to her growing collection.

---

The following evening found Elysia in her chambers, carefully documenting her observations in her hidden journal. Her childish handwriting frustrated her, but she forced herself to record everything methodically:

*Basic Pembroke Bladesong Forms:*

*1. Guard position: feet shoulder-width apart, right foot slightly forward, blade held at chest height*

*2. Forward stance: right foot steps forward, weight shifts, blade extends*

*3. High block: blade raised diagonally, left foot pivots*

*4. Lateral strike: blade sweeps horizontally, weight transfers to forward foot*

*5. Recovery position: right foot retreats, blade returns to guard position*

After completing her notes, Elysia sketched crude diagrams illustrating each stance. The drawings lacked artistic merit, but they would serve as useful memory aids.

A knock at her door interrupted her work. She quickly concealed the journal beneath her mattress before calling, "Enter."

Agnes opened the door, carrying a tray with Elysia's evening tea—a nightly ritual in the Blackwood household. "Still awake, my lady? It's nearly time for bed."

"I was reading," Elysia replied, gesturing to the book of children's tales left conspicuously on her bedside table.

Agnes set the tray down, pouring chamomile tea into a delicate porcelain cup. "More adventures of Sir Roland? You seem quite taken with those stories."

Elysia nodded, accepting the tea. "I like how he outsmarts his enemies instead of just fighting them."

"A wise preference for a young lady," Agnes replied, busying herself with turning down the bed linens. "Fighting is best left to those with the constitution for it, like your sister."

"Doesn't wisdom require understanding all options?" Elysia asked before she could censor herself. "Even those we don't intend to use?"

Agnes paused, giving her young charge a curious look. "What an unusual observation. Your tutors mention your thoughtful questions, though they sometimes find them... unexpected for your age."

Elysia inwardly cursed her lapse. Once again, she had allowed her adult perspective to slip through her childish façade. "Master Ellington says curiosity is the foundation of learning," she replied, deliberately adopting a more simplistic tone.

"Indeed it is," Agnes agreed, though her expression remained thoughtful. "Drink your tea before it cools, my lady. I'll return shortly to help you prepare for bed."

After the door closed behind Agnes, Elysia sipped her tea, mind racing. These momentary slips were becoming more frequent. The constant performance of childish behavior taxed her mental discipline, especially when intellectual stimulation presented itself. A sustainable solution would require better compartmentalization or a gradual, controlled revelation of her capabilities.

The latter option carried significant risks. If her intellectual development appeared merely precocious, she might be celebrated as a prodigy. If it seemed unnatural or inexplicable, however, suspicions of supernatural influence might arise—a dangerous possibility in a world where the Church maintained authority over magical matters.

No, continued secrecy remained her safest course. Which meant redoubling her efforts to maintain consistent performance as a normal, if somewhat bright, five-year-old girl.

After finishing her tea, Elysia retrieved her journal once more, adding a final note to her Bladesong observations:

*Commander Blackthorn emphasizes "intention precedes motion"—decide the strike before executing it. Victoria struggles with this concept, often telegraphing her intentions through subtle tells (left shoulder tensing before overhead strikes, weight shift before advancing).*

Useful information if she ever found herself facing an opponent trained in the Blackwood style. Not that she anticipated such a confrontation, but Elysia believed in thorough documentation of all potentially valuable knowledge.

Agnes returned to help her prepare for bed, and Elysia submitted to the nightly rituals with practiced patience. Once alone again, she lay awake in the darkness, mentally rehearsing the sword forms she had observed. Physical practice would have to wait for her next opportunity to visit the forest, but mental rehearsal could begin immediately.

Guard position. Forward stance. High block. Lateral strike. Recovery position.

She repeated the sequence in her mind, visualizing each movement with as much detail as possible. Research from her previous life suggested that mental practice could enhance physical performance, creating neural pathways that facilitated actual execution. Whether such theories applied across dimensions remained unclear, but the practice certainly couldn't hurt.

As sleep finally claimed her, Elysia's last conscious thought was of blades dancing in moonlight, their movements flowing like water—elegant, precise, and deadly.

---

Weeks passed, each day following its established rhythm. Mornings filled with lessons in literature, mathematics, and the ever-tedious deportment. Afternoons officially dedicated to "appropriate leisure activities" but increasingly spent in her secret garden alcove, practicing both swordplay and flame control. Evenings with family meals where Sebastian dominated conversation with academic and ecclesiastical achievements, Victoria reported martial progress, and Elysia maintained her carefully crafted persona of quiet, unremarkable child.

During this time, Elysia established a new routine. Every third night, she would slip from her bed after the household settled into silence, making her way to the forest edge where she'd created a small practice area among the trees. There, using a fallen branch carefully shaped to approximate a practice sword, she would drill the Pembroke Bladesong forms observed during Victoria's training sessions.

The work progressed slowly. Her five-year-old body lacked the strength and coordination necessary for true mastery, but consistent practice yielded steady improvement. She documented each session in her journal, noting refinements in technique and areas requiring further development.

One particularly productive night, Elysia attempted to integrate her Abysmal Flame abilities with the sword forms. The experiment yielded mixed results. While she could maintain a small flame along the wooden "blade" during basic movements, more complex maneuvers caused her concentration to fragment, extinguishing the fire.

"Integration requires further practice," she muttered, making mental notes for her journal. The combination of physical movement and flame control taxed her abilities to their limit, yet the potential applications seemed worth pursuing.

On her eighth week of secret training, disaster nearly struck. Having completed her usual practice routine, Elysia was working through a new sequence of movements she'd observed during Victoria's most recent session. Fully absorbed in maintaining proper form, she failed to notice the gradual intensification of the black flames dancing along her wooden branch-sword.

Only when the branch suddenly crumbled to ash in her hands did she realize her error. The Abysmal Flame, responding to her growing frustration with a particularly difficult transition, had consumed her practice weapon entirely.

Elysia stared at the ash drifting between her fingers, sudden understanding dawning. The flame responded not only to conscious commands but to emotional states as well. Heightened emotions—in this case, frustration—amplified its destructive capabilities without deliberate intent.

A dangerous discovery. If strong feelings could trigger flame manifestation or intensification without conscious direction, maintaining secrecy would become significantly more challenging. Emotional control, already important for her childish façade, now became absolutely critical.

The incident taught her two valuable lessons: first, the need for stricter emotional discipline, and second, the limitations of wooden implements for flame-enhanced practice. She would need a more durable practice weapon if she intended to continue integrating the Abysmal Flame with sword techniques.

The solution presented itself during her next secret visit to the training yard rafters. Commander Blackthorn, instructing Victoria on more advanced techniques, emphasized the importance of weight distribution during complex maneuvers. To demonstrate, he used an iron training sword—heavier than standard practice weapons but designed to build strength and control.

"Iron," Elysia whispered to herself, making note of this detail. Unlike wood, metal might withstand the flame's effects, at least temporarily. Acquiring such an item, however, posed considerable challenges. She could hardly request an iron practice sword without raising alarming questions.

After consideration, Elysia identified a potential solution. The manor's blacksmith crafted simple iron rods used to support climbing roses in the formal gardens. With appropriate timing and distraction, she might be able to acquire one of these rods from the smithy's scrap pile.

The opportunity arose three days later, when the household's attention focused on preparations for the Duke's departure on diplomatic business. Amid the commotion of packing and planning, Elysia slipped away to the smithy at the edge of the manor grounds.

The blacksmith and his apprentices were busy crafting specialized shoes for the Duke's horses, leaving the scrap pile momentarily unattended. Elysia quickly identified and claimed a thin iron rod approximately the length of a short sword. Not ideal, but serviceable for her purposes.

Concealing her prize beneath her cloak, she returned to the manor, the stolen rod hidden first in a hollow tree and later transferred to her secret garden alcove. That night, she tested her theory, manifesting the Abysmal Flame along the iron rod while executing basic sword forms.

The results exceeded her expectations. The metal conducted the flame without deteriorating, allowing sustained practice of flame-enhanced techniques. The rod's weight—heavier than her wooden branch but lighter than a true sword—provided better resistance training for her developing muscles.

As weeks turned to months, Elysia's secret training continued. Her journal filled with detailed observations, refinements, and theoretical applications. The integration of Bladesong techniques and Abysmal Flame abilities progressed steadily, though still far from mastery.

One evening, returning to her chambers after dinner, Elysia overheard Sebastian and Victoria arguing in the library.

"Father clearly expects you to follow the martial path," Sebastian was saying, his tone condescending. "Your academic limitations make it the obvious choice."

"At least my skills have practical application," Victoria snapped back. "Your ecclesiastical connections amount to nothing more than collecting powerful friends who tolerate you for our family name."

"Politics requires subtlety beyond your comprehension, sister. The Church's influence extends throughout Britannicus—far more useful than the ability to wave a sword about."

"Tell that to the Francean border lords who respect Blackwood steel more than Blackwood diplomacy."

Their bickering continued, neither noticing Elysia lingering in the corridor. Their competitive dynamic remained unchanged—each seeking to establish superiority in their chosen domain, each dismissing the other's accomplishments as inferior.

What would they make of their younger sister's secret pursuits? Elysia wondered. Sebastian would likely view her intellectual development as competition for their father's academic approval. Victoria might see her interest in swordplay as encroachment on her martial territory.

Neither reaction would serve Elysia's purposes. Better to remain the unremarkable youngest child, beneath notice and beyond suspicion, while quietly developing skills that might prove useful in whatever future awaited her.

Elysia slipped away undetected, leaving her siblings to their familiar argument. In her chambers, she retrieved her journal from its hiding place and added a new entry:

*Pembroke Bladesong integration with Abysmal Flame: progress continues. Iron rod maintains integrity under flame manifestation for approximately twenty minutes before becoming too hot to handle. Consider alternatives for extended practice.*

*Emotional discipline remains essential. Accidental flame manifestation during moments of frustration presents ongoing risk. Meditation techniques may help establish better control.*

*Next steps: observe Victoria's advanced lessons focusing on footwork and evasion techniques. Current forms emphasize direct engagement—multiple options would provide tactical flexibility.*

She paused, considering what else to document. After a moment's reflection, she added:

*Family dynamics unchanged. Sebastian increasingly immersed in Church politics. Victoria focused exclusively on martial development. Both remain oblivious to my activities.*

*Duke Dominus departs tomorrow for Francea border negotiations. Reduced supervision may allow expanded practice sessions.*

*Maintaining childish façade grows increasingly difficult as intellectual development continues. Consider strategic revelation of limited capabilities to reduce cognitive dissonance while preserving core secrets.*

Elysia closed the journal, returning it to its hiding place beneath the loose floorboard. Tomorrow, while the household adjusted to the Duke's absence, she would return to her secret garden alcove for another training session. The Abysmal Flame responded more readily each day, requiring less concentration to manifest and maintain.

The Pembroke Bladesong forms, too, became more natural with each practice session. Her child's body still limited perfect execution, but the foundation was being laid—muscle memory developing despite physical constraints.

In the darkness of her chamber, Elysia manifested a small flame above her palm, its black core and purple edges now as familiar as her own reflection. Two years after arriving in this world, she had discovered an unexpected truth: the fantasy powers she had invented as Mizuki Kamiya somehow existed in Elysia Blackwood's reality.

What other elements of her imagination might prove real in this world? The question haunted her, both thrilling and terrifying in its implications.

For now, she would continue her methodical approach—observing, documenting, practicing, perfecting. The Abysmal Flame and Pembroke Bladesong represented just the beginning of whatever path lay before her.

A path she would walk in shadows, hidden from those who would not—could not—understand