Chapter 13: Training Plans

The morning sun spilled molten gold across the Vigil base, painting the training grounds in hues of amber and fire

Lila stood with her arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips as Taro paced before her like a weathered general. His scarred hands gestured emphatically as he spoke, his voice a low, graveled rumble. 

"Stealing isn't just about taking what's in front of you," Taro said, his dark eyes boring into hers. "It's about taking what your enemy doesn't want you to have. Their balance. Their footing. Their advantage."

Lila scoffed, flipping a strand of hair from her face. "Yeah, yeah. Philosophy lessons. Got it." 

Taro's expression didn't waver. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a wooden sword at her feet. The dull *thud* of it hitting the dirt echoed in the quiet morning. 

"Pick it up," he ordered. "Let's see if that mouth of yours can back up your ego."

Lila's smirk widened. "Oh, this'll be fun." She snatched the sword, twirling it lazily in her grip. "You sure you're ready, old man? Wouldn't want you pulling a muscle."

Taro didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he simply raised his own practice blade and said, "Start."

Lila lunged—fast, confident, her blade aimed straight for Taro's ribs. 

She didn't even see the counter. 

One moment, she was striking. The next, the world tilted violently, her back slamming into the dirt with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs. Her wooden sword skittered across the ground, landing several feet away. 

"What the—?!"

Taro's boot nudged her blade back toward her. "Get up."

Lila glared, her pride stinging worse than her ribs. "Lucky shot."

Taro's expression remained impassive. "On a battlefield, what do you rely on? Your weapon?" He tapped his temple. "Your instincts? Your anger?" He shook his head. "None of that matters if you don't understand the fight."

Lila pushed herself up, dusting off her clothes with more force than necessary. "Then enlighten me, oh wise one."

Taro ignored the sarcasm. Instead, he gestured broadly to the training grounds—the uneven terrain, the scattered training dummies, the ropes hanging from wooden frames. "Look around. The battlefield isn't just your enemy. It's the ground beneath you. The obstacles. The opportunities."

Lila rolled her eyes but glanced around anyway. 

"Again," Taro commanded. 

This time, Lila didn't charge blindly. She circled, her steps light, her grip tight on the sword. 

Taro didn't move, his stance relaxed. "Good. Now, what do you see?"

Lila's eyes flickered to the ropes, the dirt, the way the sunlight cast long shadows. "A lot of useless junk."

"Wrong." Taro struck—fast, but not too fast. Just enough to give her a chance. 

Lila parried, the impact rattling her arms. She gritted her teeth, pushing back, but Taro sidestepped effortlessly. 

"The ropes," he said, his voice calm even as their blades locked. "Use them."

Lila blinked. Then, in a flash of understanding, she feinted left—just enough to make Taro shift—before ducking under his guard and kicking one of the hanging ropes toward him. 

Taro blocked it with his forearm, but the distraction gave Lila the opening she needed. She swung— 

Only for Taro to catch her wrist mid-motion, his grip like iron. 

"Better," he admitted. "But predictable."

Lila yanked her arm free, scowling. "You told me to use the ropes!"

"And now I'm telling you to think beyond what's obvious," Taro shot back. "If I can anticipate it, so can your enemy."

Lila exhaled sharply, her frustration mounting. "Then what the hell am I supposed to do?!"

Taro's lips twitched—the closest thing to a smile she'd seen from him all morning. "Steal the fight from them."

They sparred again. And again. And again. 

Each time, Taro pushed her—not just with his blade, but with his words. 

"The terrain isn't just ground. It's a weapon."

"Your enemy's strength? Take it. Make it their weakness."

"You're not just fighting. You're surviving."

By the time the sun hung high in the sky, Lila's muscles burned, her breaths coming in short gasps.

"Still think you could beat me in a real fight?" Taro asked, his tone dry. 

Lila took a long drink from a bottle of water, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Give me a week," she shot back, smirking. "Then we'll see."

Taro snorted. "I'll hold you to that."

And for the first time, Lila felt something other than frustration. 

—at the same time—

The training ground—different from Lila's training ground—lay bathed in the golden glow of late afternoon, where the air shimmered with heat and the scent of crushed thyme rose from the earth with every footfall.

The distant clang of wood from Lila's training sessions echoed like ghostly applause, but here, in this secluded corner of the base, only two figures stood amidst the dust and determination. 

Garrett's fingers trembled as he held them aloft, magic flickering between them like a dying ember. Sweat beaded along his brow, his jaw clenched tight as another attempt at conjuring a dagger dissolved into silver mist before it could fully form. 

"Five minutes and forty-two seconds," Regina announced from where she lounged against the fence, her voice dripping with amusement.

She twirled a lock of dark hair around her finger, violet eyes gleaming with mischief. "Tell me, Garrett—do you think the monsters at the Southern Wall will politely wait for you to finish fumbling before they rip your throat out?"

Garrett shot her a glare, his cheeks flushing. "Not all of us can just wish things into existence, witch," he snapped, wiping his palms on his trousers. 

Regina pushed off the fence with a roll of her hips, closing the distance between them in slow, deliberate steps. The setting sun caught the silver charms in her hair, casting tiny, dancing reflections across Garrett's face as she leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. 

"Aw, is the mighty Garrett struggling?" she purred. "Tell you what—conjure a stable dagger in under a minute, and maybe… just maybe… I'll give you a kiss."

Garrett's magic sputtered violently, sparks flying from his fingertips as he choked on his own breath. "Wha—that's your idea of motivation?!"

Regina's smirk deepened. "Seems effective."

Grumbling curses under his breath, Garrett tried again. This time, his magic flared brighter, the dagger forming in his grip—solid, real, the steel gleaming wickedly in the fading light. But it still took him nearly five minutes. 

Regina clucked her tongue, plucking the blade from his hand with effortless grace. "Too slow," she murmured, tracing the edge with her thumb. A bead of blood welled up, and she lifted it to her lips, her tongue darting out to catch the crimson droplet. "But at least it didn't vanish this time. Progress."

Garrett yanked the dagger back, scowling. "You're insufferable."

"And yet," Regina purred, stepping closer, "you're still blushing."

Before Garrett could retort, she flicked her wrist, her wand flashing in the golden light. The air shimmered as illusions burst to life—bullseye targets painted in glowing crimson, obstacles of shimmering blue energy, and above it all, a massive, floating timer that only they could see. 

"15 minutes," Regina declared, her voice laced with challenge. "Hit all the targets. Or don't. Either way, it'll be entertaining."

Garrett gaped. "You've got to be joking."

Regina patted his cheek. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll kiss your bruises better when you fail."

"I hate you," Garrett muttered, rolling his shoulders. 

The timer began. 

Garrett summoned a dagger—painfully slow—and hurled it at the nearest target. It veered wildly off course, embedding itself in a fence post instead. 

"Wow," Regina deadpanned. "Truly, we are witnessing greatness."

Garrett ignored her, gritting his teeth as he tried again. This time, the dagger materialized faster—maybe four minutes—, but his throw was rushed. It clattered against the edge of a target before falling uselessly to the ground. 

"Two minutes down," Regina called, inspecting her nails. "And he's managed to hit exactly nothing."

Garrett's hands clenched. "You're distracting me!"

"Oh?" Regina stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Am I?"

The dagger in Garrett's hand flickered, then solidified. He whipped around and threw it—thunk—dead center of a target. 

Regina blinked. "Huh."

Garrett grinned, triumphant. "See? Not useless."—even though that was just a luck—

"One out of twelve," Regina remarked. "Truly, a marvel."

The timer ran out. 

Garrett groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "This is impossible."

Regina leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. "Or maybe," she murmured, "you just need the right incentive."

Garrett's magic flared—unexpectedly, Violently—and a dagger materialized in his grip in seconds, sharp and gleaming. 

For once, Regina looked genuinely surprised. 

Garrett smirked. "Guess I'm full of surprises."

Regina recovered quickly, her lips curling. "Guess you are." She stepped back, waving a hand. "Now do it again. And this time—hit something."

Garrett sighed, but there was a new determination in his eyes. 

Maybe—just maybe—this wouldn't be a total disaster.