Learning to Hunt

Dawn broke over Aetheris Academy, casting long golden rays through the training grounds. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew and freshly turned soil. Most students were still in their dorms, savoring the last moments of sleep before another grueling day.

But Caelum was already there, waiting.

Varian had said at dawn, and Caelum had no intention of being late.

The Silent Blade arrived without a sound.

One moment, Caelum was alone. The next, Varian was standing in front of him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"Good," he said, nodding slightly at Caelum's presence. "You learn fast."

Caelum didn't respond. He wasn't sure if that was a compliment, but he took it as one.

"Today," Varian continued, "we sharpen what you began to see yesterday."

The dagger appeared in his hand again—without a single movement.

Caelum tensed. He still hadn't figured out how Varian did that.

"Tell me." Varian held the blade loosely between his fingers, letting the morning light glint off the edge. "Where am I going to strike?"

Caelum's gaze locked onto him.

He focused on everything—Varian's posture, his grip, the angle of his shoulders. His weight was slightly forward, knees bent, ready to spring. His free hand was relaxed but too still—as if hiding its true intent.

Lower right.

Before the thought fully formed, Varian moved.

Caelum twisted to dodge—

Too slow.

A sharp sting grazed his ribs.

Not deep. Not enough to wound. Just enough to remind him.

"You hesitated." Varian's voice was cool, almost disappointed.

Caelum clenched his jaw.

Again.

They reset.

Varian's stance shifted. This time, Caelum watched closer, tuning into the subtle shifts in weight, the minute movements that hinted at action.

He saw it.

A flicker of tension in Varian's left wrist. A barely noticeable tensing of his leg muscles.

Left.

Caelum moved first.

Varian struck—only to find Caelum wasn't there.

The dagger cut through empty air.

Caelum skidded to the side, his breath sharp, his heart pounding.

Varian stilled. His expression didn't change, but there was the faintest ghost of approval in his gaze.

"You're learning."

Caelum exhaled, steadying himself.

But before he could savor the small victory, Varian disappeared.

A shadow flickered.

A whisper of air—

Something slammed into Caelum's back.

He hit the ground hard, dirt scraping against his skin.

Varian stood over him, arms folded. "And you got cocky."

Caelum coughed, groaning.

Varian offered no sympathy. "Seeing isn't enough. A wolf that watches the hunter's spear still gets killed if it doesn't move fast enough."

Caelum sat up, wiping sweat from his brow. "So what do I need to do?"

Varian's eyes sharpened.

"Become the hunter."

The training continued relentlessly.

Caelum's body ached, his muscles screamed in protest, but he didn't stop.

Every strike from Varian was faster. Every feint more deceptive.

And every mistake Caelum made was punished.

But he adapted.

Slowly, he began to anticipate not just the attack, but the intent behind it.

Varian tested him mercilessly, forcing him to think beyond the immediate threat. If he dodged left, what came next? If he blocked high, was it a real strike or a bait for something lower?

By the time the sun reached its peak, Caelum's breath was ragged, his limbs burning.

But he had landed one counterstrike.

A single graze across Varian's sleeve.

A sign that, even if barely—he was catching up.

Varian examined the faint tear in his sleeve, then looked at Caelum.

A pause.

Then, a single nod.

No words.

But Caelum understood.

He was improving.

Slowly.

But surely.

And that was enough.

For now.