The smell of stew simmering over the campfire filled the crisp night air. The four of them sat around the fire, its warmth a welcome reprieve after their journey. Sylorin stirred the pot casually, his weathered face calm, but there was something in his eyes that hinted at a lifetime of stories left untold.

Kale couldn't help but look around at their surroundings. It suddenly seemed peaceful out here, the jagged rocks somehow less menacing than they had been before. Still, he wondered why someone would choose to live here, surely there must be more habitable places to hide from the world.

"So, why are you hiding out here?" Kale asked.

Sylorin's hand paused over the pot, turning to Kale with a raised eyebrow. "Who says I'm hiding?"

Rika leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Well, they did say you were hiding from something."

Sylorin smiled. "So, how did you guys find me?"

Rika shot a sheepish glance at Kale before answering. "Uh, they told us where you were…"

At this, Sylorin let out a deep, hearty laugh. "So, if everyone knew where to find me, I'm either the worst at playing hide-and-seek or..."

"Or you weren't hiding," Kale said.

Sylorin chuckled, giving him an approving nod. "Now you're catching on."

Kale leaned back, resting on his hands. "So, why are you out here, then?"

Sylorin shrugged, giving the pot a stir. "I just like it. It's quiet. Peaceful. There are no people. No one to annoy you. It's great, you should try it sometime."

Kale chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, I don't think we really have time for that."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," Sylorin said. "You're probably here for a reason."

Kale nodded. "Yeah… is it true? Am I really the last bladeweaver?"

Sylorin's head snapped up, amused. "Kale, what do you think I am?"

Kale flushed, realizing the obvious. "Right. But... are we the last?"

Sylorin leaned back, considering Kale for a moment before answering. "No, there are a few of us left. Not even close to how many there used to be, of course, but there are still bladeweavers scattered about."

"Where are they, then? I haven't exactly seen many," Rika said.

Liliana, who had been quietly observing, chimed in. "I hadn't seen one in over fifty years until I met Kale."

Sylorin shrugged, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "We're a rare breed these days, but we're around. We just don't go advertising our class, you know? It doesn't usually end well for those who do."

Kale felt a strange mix of emotions wash over him. On one hand, relief—he wasn't the last of his kind. But on the other hand, there was frustration. Why hadn't he found them? Why had no one reached out to him?

"And what about the Illari?" Kale asked. "They say you're the last."

At this, Sylorin laughed again. "The last? Hardly. The Illari aren't that easy to kill, my friend. There are plenty of us left. There are even one or two strongholds still in this region, though far from here."

"Strongholds? But they said the Illari were wiped out after..." Liliana said.

"Wiped out? No, no. After the fall of the empire, most of us retreated to Eryndar. That's where you'll find the bulk of the Illari now. You should visit Eldruin some time. It's a city unlike any other, carved into the mountain. Truly a marvel to behold."

Liliana's expression shifted, a spark of interest in her eyes. It was clear that there was more to this story than they had been told.

"So what about me? Why me?" Kale asked.

Sylorin turned to him, and his expression softened. "Well, it seems the Blademother has her plans for you."

"Does that mean you'll train me?"

Sylorin's eyes darkened, his tone suddenly shifting. "I will train you... even if it kills you."

A chill ran down Kale's spine, his eyes widening as the campfire flickered. For a split second, Sylorin's eyes seemed to glow with an intense blue light, his presence overwhelming.

"What?" Kale asked.

Sylorin's face broke into a wide grin, his laughter booming through the camp. "Just kidding, kid! I probably won't kill you."

Kale exhaled, his heart still pounding in his chest. He looked over at Rika and Liliana, who were both grinning at him, clearly amused by the exchange.

"Relax, Kale," Sylorin said, still chuckling as he ladled stew into bowls. "I'm sure you'll make it through, though I can't promise you won't regret it."

As they ate in silence, the fire crackling softly between them, Kale couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead. He looked across at Sylorin, watching him in quiet contemplation, the way the seasoned bladeweaver moved with such ease, as though every motion had been honed by countless battles. There was a stillness to him, like the calm before a storm.

Sylorin was the first bladeweaver he'd ever met. Before that, he'd only heard the stories from Zorian and Liliana. In those stories, the bladeweavers were legends, figures of fear and respect, their prowess unmatched. But Sylorin... Sylorin was different. He wasn't a hero lifted from a tale; he was a man shaped by wars, hardened by the battles he'd fought. He was real. And that made him far more dangerous.

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Kale finished his stew, the food heavy in his stomach. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had allowed himself to believe that training to be a bladeweaver would lead to glory, an ascent to legendary status. Get strong, stop the bad guys, save the world, eternal glory. But sitting across from Sylorin, he realized with growing certainty that his journey wouldn't be about glory at all. It would be a constant fight. A battle for survival. A test of his will. Sylorin himself was a walking reminder that bladeweaving wasn't some graceful art, it was a brutal discipline that turned survivors into something darker, something shaped by the violence they endured.

Kale knew, deep down, that he was stepping into something far bigger than himself. His training with Sylorin wouldn't be about learning the moves and skills of a bladeweaver, it would be about learning to live with the weight of the blade, the responsibility it carried, and the sacrifices it demanded. Sylorin had fought battles that Kale couldn't even fathom, had lived through things that no story could prepare him for. For a moment, Kale wondered if he was truly ready for what lay ahead.

But then he remembered why he had come. He had no choice. He had to learn, no matter how brutal or painful it might be. He set his bowl down with a quiet resolve, and made a silent vow to himself: he would become more than just the stories. He would survive this. And he would rise.

***

The night air was cool, the stars bright above as Kale stood opposite Sylorin in a small clearing just outside the camp. The crackling of the fire was the only sound, save for the wind sweeping through the valley. Sylorin stood calmly, his eyes focused as he regarded Kale with the kind of patience reserved for someone who had seen far too many battles.

"Let's see what you've got," Sylorin said, unsheathing a simple sword. With a fluid motion, he summoned a handful of spectral blades that hovered around him, glowing with an ethereal blue light. "Raw talent will only get you so far. You might be able to summon blades, but you need control, discipline." He gestured toward the blades, which began to whirl around him in a tight, controlled spiral.

Kale watched in awe as the blades moved faster and faster, forming a whirlwind of steel that blurred in front of him. Sylorin directed them toward a nearby tree, the blades slicing through the trunk like it was made of paper. The tree collapsed with a thunderous crash, and before the dust could settle, the blades darted toward a spot on the ground, embedding themselves into the earth with perfect precision.

Sylorin turned to Kale. "Your turn."

Kale blinked. "I can't do that."

"What do you mean?" Sylorin raised an eyebrow.

"I'm only level five," Kale muttered, almost embarrassed to admit it.

Sylorin stared at him for a long moment before sighing heavily, shaking his head. "Level five?" He chuckled, though it was more out of disbelief than humor. "You've got a long, long way to go, kid."

Kale's frustration bubbled up inside him. "I don't have time for this! Xeroth's followers are after me, and they're not going to wait until I'm ready. I need to learn how to fight—now."

Sylorin's eyes narrowed as he studied Kale's face, reading the desperation written in every tense muscle. For a moment, he remained silent, but then he crossed his arms. "You want to learn how to fight?" He tilted his head slightly, considering. "I can get you some levels fast… but you're not going to like it."

"I don't care," Kale said. "We don't have time."

Sylorin gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Very well. But understand this: there's no easy path to becoming a bladeweaver. If you want to survive, if you want to stop Xeroth, you're going to have to train harder than you've ever imagined. You'll be pushed to your limit. You'll be training non-stop, until you feel like you're dying. That's how we used to do it."

Kale hesitated for a moment, Sylorin's words sinking in. His whole body felt heavy just thinking about it, but he steeled himself. "I don't have a choice," he said quietly. "I'll do it."

Sylorin gave a slight smile. "Good. Then your real training starts now."

***

The moon hung in the sky as Kale and Sylorin stood facing each other, the open field between them.

Sylorin summoned his blades with a casual flick of his hand. They materialized from the ether—sleek, gleaming swords swirling around him in perfect harmony. "You have Bladeweaver's Will, don't you? Use it," Sylorin commanded.

Kale nodded, summoning Mistress of the Enria and Aeloria's Promise, the two blades hovering in the air in front of him, Aeloria's Promise now the shape of a sword, their faint blue glow casting an ethereal light.

Sylorin didn't give him time to prepare. The first of his summoned blades came flying at Kale with the speed of an arrow. Kale barely managed to deflect it with Mistress, using Bladeweaver's Will to move the blade telekinetically. Before he could catch his breath, two more blades hurtled toward him, forcing Kale to send Aeloria's Promise spinning in their direction. The clang of metal against metal echoed across the field.

"Faster!" Sylorin barked. "You're too slow."

Kale gritted his teeth, focusing all his energy on controlling both swords at once, moving them to parry and block the continuous assault. But Sylorin was relentless. More blades materialized, and Kale found himself struggling to keep up. He tried to move the blades with more precision, but exhaustion was already creeping into his limbs.

Each time Kale managed to deflect one of Sylorin's blades, another came at him from a different angle. One sliced across his arm, another grazed his leg. Blood seeped from the cuts, but Sylorin didn't stop.

"You won't survive like this!" Sylorin shouted, sending another wave of blades at Kale. "Stronger! Faster!"

Kale barely kept his footing. His vision blurred as sweat and blood mixed on his skin. His two swords spun frantically, barely keeping him alive. Sylorin's blades cut him again and again, tiny wounds adding up to unbearable pain. Kale felt his strength draining, his connection to Bladeweaver's Will slipping. He couldn't control his swords anymore, he wasn't strong enough, not yet.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Kale collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. His body trembled from the strain, his muscles screaming in agony. Mistress of the Enria and Aeloria's Promise fell to the ground beside him, his control over them lost. His blood stained the stone beneath him.

Sylorin stood over him, his expression disapproving, almost cold. "If you can't handle this, you're better off letting Xeroth's followers find you now. You'll die just as easily by their hand."

Kale's chest heaved as he struggled to push himself up, his arms shaking. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to stop, but he couldn't. He wouldn't. With a growl of determination, he forced himself to his knees, then to his feet. His vision swam, but he remained standing, blood trickling down his skin.

"I'm not quitting," Kale rasped, his voice hoarse but firm. "I'm… not… quitting."

For a moment, Sylorin said nothing. Finally he gave a small nod, barely noticeable, but enough to show a flicker of approval. "Good," Sylorin muttered, his tone softening slightly.

Kale's legs buckled, but he didn't fall. He had survived the first lesson. Barely.

***

The morning was still and quiet. Rika sat on a large rock near the edge of the clearing, focused on the sunrise that painted the sky in shades of orange and pink. Liliana floated nearby, her eyes half-closed in what almost seemed like contemplation.

"You ever just stop and appreciate a sunrise?" Rika asked.

Liliana turned toward her. "I don't exactly have the luxury of appreciating much these days, Rika."

Rika chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I figured. But you know, it's not all bad. Even with everything going on, we've had some good moments."

Liliana scoffed. "I suppose the festival was nice."

Rika smiled softly. "You're not as cold as you pretend to be, Lili."

"It's Liliana," Liliana said, but her voice lacked the usual venom.

Rika leaned back, watching as the sunlight filtered through the trees. "You know, for all the crap we've been through, I'm glad you're with us. You keep us grounded... even if you're floating most of the time."

A brief silence fell between them, and then, to Rika's surprise, Liliana's lips curved into a faint smile. "You're just as bad as him, you know that?"

Rika laughed loudly. "I'll take that as a compliment!"

Liliana shook her head slightly, though her smile lingered a moment longer than usual. What am I going to do with these two? she thought.

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