Chapter 4 : The Storm

The rain was merciless.

Sheets of water pounded the earth, carving rivulets through the training field. Wind screamed across the open ground, and every drop stabbed like needles against my skin.

I hit the mud again—face-first.

Pain surged through me. My limbs quivered, fingers numb, breath shallow and jagged. Steam curled from my lips only to vanish into the storm.

"Get up," Frey's voice rang out—sharp, commanding.

I groaned, groping for the wooden sword half-buried in sludge. My hand trembled as I pushed myself upright. Every movement was a war. My knees buckled. My lungs burned.

"What are we even doing?" I growled, teeth clenched. "It's freezing. It's filthy. And I'm just swinging a stick at the rain."

She didn't respond.

Her expression was still—unreadable.

Colder than the storm itself.

I'd had enough.

"I came here to learn magic. Not this."

Frey exhaled, brushing a streak of mud from her silver hair.

Her voice, when it came, was calm. Rehearsed.

"To control mana, you must first feel it.

To feel mana… you must understand your body."

She circled me slowly, her steps deliberate, boots sloshing through the mire.

"This isn't about fighting. It's about awareness. Precision. Alignment."

She paused behind me.

"Magic isn't something you wave or chant. It's a limb. An extension of your will. And if you can't even control your own limbs…"

Her voice trailed.

Then—

Without warning—she struck.

I barely raised my sword in time.

Wood clashed against wood.

"Until you move with intention—not panic—we keep going."

Her eyes locked on mine.

Then—

A knee drove into my gut.

I gasped.

Another strike—my wrist.

The sword slipped from my hand.

Then a brutal kick slammed into my chest.

I flew backward, landing hard in the mud.

"Get up," she said again. Cold. Flat.

I didn't move.

Shame. Frustration. Rage.

And then—

Something flared inside me.

Heat.

Wild.

Familiar.

I screamed.

My hand slashed the air.

A jagged arc of raw light tore through the rain—untamed, crackling—and raced straight at her.

Frey's weapon shimmered, shifting from wood to radiant steel in an instant. She struck the blast mid-air.

The explosion rocked the field.

Frey was thrown back, boots carving deep furrows through the mud until she planted her sword and stopped herself.

And then—she charged again.

Faster. Fiercer. Her blade glowing like a star, bearing down on me.

I couldn't move.

I braced—

Clang!

Sparks erupted.

A man stood between us.

Golden armor. Gleaming.

Rain hissed as it struck his pauldrons.

His sword—immaculate—locked with Frey's glowing edge.

I recognized him.

One of the elders. From the hall.

"Stand down, Frey," he said, voice firm. "This was your idea."

Frey didn't yield. Her eyes blazed.

"He lost control," she snapped.

"He's learning," the man replied. "So were you, once."

Her gaze darkened.

She shoved him aside and pointed her blade at me.

"If you ever do that again," she said quietly, "I will kill you."

Then she turned.

Walked away into the storm.

Each step sizzled as rain met mana.

The man sighed. "Shouldn't have done that, kid."

He offered a hand. I took it.

"I didn't mean to," I whispered.

He studied me for a beat, then gave a tired smile.

"Come on. Let's get you a warm drink."

"I don't drink," I muttered.

"Even better."

We walked in silence. Rain still soaking through me. Limbs still trembling.

"Can I change first?" I asked.

He stopped. Eyed me.

"What?"

I frowned. "What?"

He shook his head. "You really don't know. Just come."

We reached the grand doors.

He pushed them open.

Warmth rushed over me—not from a fire, but the very

Sure! Here's a rewritten version of your scene with clearer flow, simpler grammar, and strong emotional pacing—while keeping the tone and tension intact:

The rain came down hard. Sheets of water slammed into the ground, turning the training field into a muddy mess. The wind howled, and each drop felt like a needle stabbing my skin.

I hit the mud again—face first. Pain shot through me. My limbs shook. My fingers were cold and stiff. I could barely breathe, each breath short and shaky, stolen by the storm.

"Get up," Frey's voice cut through the rain—sharp and firm. "We're not done."

I groaned and reached for the wooden sword half-buried in the mud. My hand trembled as I pulled myself up. My knees wobbled. My lungs burned.

"What's the point of this?" I muttered, teeth clenched. "It's cold, it's filthy, and I'm swinging a stick at the rain."

Frey didn't answer. Her face was blank. Calm. Distant. Colder than the storm around us.

I didn't care.

"I came here to learn magic. Not this."

She sighed and brushed a muddy strand of silver hair from her face.

"To control magic, you must first feel mana. To feel mana, you must understand your body," she said, voice steady and practiced.

"This training—combat, movement, control—it's not about fighting. It's about focus. Alignment."

She walked slowly around me, each step careful and measured.

"Magic isn't a wand or a scroll. It's part of you. Like your hands. Your breath. If you can't control your body, how can you control the magic inside it?"

She stopped behind me.

Then—without warning—she attacked.

I barely blocked in time. Wood struck wood with a loud crack.

"Until you stop moving in fear, and start moving with purpose—we continue."

Her eyes locked onto mine.

Then—

A sudden knee to my stomach. The air rushed out of me. I stumbled backward, choking.

She struck my wrist. The sword flew from my hand.

A solid kick to my chest knocked me flat. The mud swallowed me.

"Get up," she said again, calm and cold.

I didn't move. I was angry. Embarrassed. Exhausted.

Then I felt it—heat building in my chest. My vision blurred.

That feeling… I hadn't felt it since that night.

I screamed.

I slashed the air with my bare hand.

A jagged blade of light burst forward—wild, untamed—and flew at Frey.

She reacted fast. Her wooden weapon shimmered, turning into a glowing blade. She met the attack mid-air.

The explosion lit up the field.

Frey was thrown back. Her boots tore through the mud until she slammed her blade into the ground to stop herself.

She didn't stop.

She charged again.

Faster. Stronger. Like a storm with a sword.

Her glowing blade cut through the rain, heading right for me.

I couldn't block it.

I closed my eyes.

Clang!

Sparks flew.

I opened my eyes.

A man stood in front of me. His golden armor gleamed in the rain. Water hissed off his shoulders. His glowing sword clashed with Frey's.

I recognized him from the hall.

"Stand down, Frey," he said, firm but calm.

"You're the one who told me to teach him."

Frey didn't move. Her eyes burned.

"He lost control," she said, voice tight.

"He's still learning," the man replied. "So were you, once."

Frey's face darkened. She shoved him back and pointed her sword at me.

"If you ever do that again," she said, voice low and sharp, "I will kill you."

Then she turned and walked into the storm. Steam hissed off her armor with every step.

The man sighed.

"You shouldn't have done that, kid," he said, reaching down.

I grabbed his hand, and he pulled me to my feet.

"I didn't mean to," I whispered.

He looked at me for a moment, then gave a small, tired smile.

"Come on. A warm drink will help."

"I don't drink," I muttered.

"Even better," he said, chuckling.

He walked ahead, and I followed, soaked and shivering.

"Can I change first?" I asked.

He stopped and looked at me, surprised.

"What?" I asked.

"You really don't know," he said softly. "Just come."

We reached the hall. He pushed the doors open.

Warmth rushed over me—not from fire, but from the walls themselves. My clothes dried in seconds. My skin tingled.

I froze.

"What… is this?"

He smiled. "Essence Reclaim. A spell woven into the walls. It restores whatever enters—clothes, body, everything."

I stared at the glowing runes on the ceiling. They shimmered like stars.

"Here," he said.

He handed me a drink.

"I don't drink," I repeated.

"I remember. It's non-alcoholic."

I took it and drank. It tasted like mango and orange. Sweet. Refreshing.

"This is amazing," I said.

"It is," he nodded. "Ask for it anytime."

I nodded, then looked up.

Frey sat high on a window ledge, reading a book. Her silver hair, now clean and smooth, fell gently over her shoulder. Her blue eyes looked soft… almost calm.

"What's her deal?" I asked. "Why is she so cold?"

"She wasn't always like this," he said quietly. "She used to be warm. Kind."

He paused.

"Until she lost her parents."

My heart sank.

"What happened?" I asked.

"They died in battle. The rest… isn't mine to tell," he said, eyes drifting toward her.

He took a long breath. "Anyway. I'm off to my room."

He stood and waved.

I sat there, watching Frey.

She looked so peaceful up there.

Then—she looked at me.

Her calm eyes turned cold again.

She scowled.

Jumped down from the ledge.

And walked away.

I finished my drink in silence.

Later, I headed to my room. I collapsed onto the bed. My body was healed—but still tired. My eyes were heavy. I could barely stay awake.

Sleep took me.

And in the silence, I heard a voice:

"Rest, my mage… You have much more to do."