The Last Lesson

I turned fifteen this morning.

There was no stew. No song. No candle on the table.

Just silence.

And two figures waiting for me outside.

My father stood in the practice field, arms crossed, face unreadable.

My mother stood opposite him, barefoot in the grass, robe tied short, wind brushing the ends of her sleeves.

No words.

Because none were needed.

This wasn’t punishment.

This was the promise.

I stepped into the dirt ring where I’d first learned to stand.

Where I’d stumbled. Bled. Grown.

The weight of it settled in my chest—not fear, but something heavier.

I bowed.

So did they.

And the duel began.

My father moved first—fast.

A sweep of his blade low, testing my balance. I caught it, just barely, and slid back.

My mother raised her hand. Wind snapped like a whip.

I dropped. Rolled. Came up gasping.

They weren’t holding back.

Not even a little.

And that’s when I felt it:

Not pressure—

But pride.

They weren’t trying to stop me.

They were showing me how far I’d come.

And how far I still had to go.

I steadied my breath.

Raised my hand.

The orb came—brighter than before, crisp and steady.

My sword met my father’s. Sparks flew. Then I turned—

And fire surged.

Uncontrolled. Hot. Desperate.

My mother lifted her hand, and a ripple of water spiraled out—extinguishing the flame before it reached her.

She didn’t flinch.

But her eyes flickered—something like worry. Or maybe… sadness.

I froze.

Was this proof I wasn’t ready?

That I still couldn’t control it?

I looked down at my hands—shaking.

But then I heard her voice. Quiet. Not a spell. Not a command.

Just one word.

“Again.”

I breathed.

Slow.

In and out.

And this time, the flame bloomed gently. Warm. Calm.

Not angry.

Just present.

I moved forward.

Sword in one hand. Fire in the other.

Not one after the other.

Together.

We fought like that.

Steel and magic.

Wind and fire.

They pushed me hard—but I didn’t fall.

Even when I stumbled, I didn’t break.

And then—it stopped.

I didn’t strike a final blow.

They didn’t fall.

We just… stood.

Breathing. Watching.

And in that stillness, I saw it.

My father’s mouth lifted—just slightly.

A proud curve. Brief. Real.

My mother’s eyes glistened—but not with tears.

With peace.

They stepped back.

My father lowered his blade.

My mother lowered her hand.

No victory.

No defeat.

Just understanding.

I wasn’t perfect.

But I was ready.