V2C7 - Lumen and Shadow

The morning mist hadn’t lifted yet.

Pale beams of sunlight broke through the trees like sleepy fingers, spilling across the clearing behind Veyren’s shack. Dew clung to the grass. The air felt sharp, but not unpleasant. Just awake.

Lucen stood with his eyes closed, breathing slow. Calm. Steady.

He felt the mana stir within him—less like fire or wind now. This time, it shimmered. Faint. Gentle. Like something waiting just beyond reach.

“Light magic isn’t about force,” Veyren said from behind him. “It’s clarity. Presence. You don’t command light. You let it answer.”

Lucen nodded slightly.

“Lumen,” he whispered.

The word tasted like breath and warmth.

A soft glow sparked in his palm—small, like a dying ember. It flickered. Faded.

He exhaled.

Veyren clicked his tongue. “Too much control. Light doesn’t like to be strangled. Let it breathe.”

Lucen tried again.

This time, he thought not of power, but purpose.

Of the moment Maeli first smiled down at him when he sparked as a baby. Of the gentleness in her voice. The way light had answered his heart, not his hand.

The magic stirred.

And this time—responded.

A faint orb bloomed in the air above his palm. Warm, steady, casting a soft white glow over the grass.

Veyren’s voice shifted—lower now. More thoughtful. “Good. You’ve got the spark.”

Lucen opened his eyes. The light hovered like a tiny sun, unmoving.

He smiled slightly. “So… that’s it?”

“Not even close,” Veyren said flatly. “You can make a lantern. Big deal. You want to use light in combat? You’ll need focus, precision, and resilience. Not just flash.”

He tossed something toward Lucen.

A small, curved mirror.

Lucen caught it instinctively.

“What’s this for?”

Veyren’s grin returned. “Lesson two. Deflect my bolts before they hit you. With that.”

Lucen blinked. “Wait, you’re going to—”

A searing lance of light shot toward his shoulder.

Lucen yelped, stumbling as he barely twisted the mirror up in time. The bolt reflected off the edge and ricocheted into a tree, charring the bark.

“I hate this training arc,” he muttered.

Another bolt of light cracked through the air—narrower this time, sharper. Lucen twisted the mirror just in time, catching the angle and redirecting the beam into the dirt with a hiss.

“Better,” Veyren called. “Still slow.”

Lucen grit his teeth, adjusting his stance. “You could just say ‘good job,’ you know.”

“Not until you stop nearly searing off your own arm.”

The glow around Lucen’s palm wavered. He exhaled, steadying it. The orb of light hovered beside him again, soft and loyal—like a companion.

Veyren approached, arms folded. “Light magic’s tricky. It listens to emotion, but doesn’t draw from it like fire or wind. It reflects. Mirrors what’s inside you.”

Lucen gave a tired grunt. “So if I’m frustrated, it…?”

“Shatters,” Veyren said. “Or blinds you instead of your target. But if you find balance… light can become your shield. Your eyes. Even your sword.”

Lucen looked at the hovering glow. “You said before… it’s not just for combat.”

“It isn’t. Light purifies. Heals. Illuminates. But that takes years to master—and the patience of a saint.”

Lucen nodded slowly. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of mana, the orb gently orbiting his shoulder now. He felt clearer. Not stronger—but more… present.

Still, he didn’t notice the figure crouched on the hill beyond the tree line.

Elsewhere — Nyari’s POV

Nyari sat low on a thick tree branch, crouched like a shadow, one leg hanging loosely as she watched the clearing below.

Her tail flicked behind her, not impatiently—but thoughtfully.

She saw the way he moved. Awkward at first, like he was wrestling with something invisible. But each movement grew smoother. Sharper. More focused.

“Tch,” she muttered under her breath. “Dumbass’s actually improving.”

She hadn’t meant to come out here.

Said she’d go for a walk. Grab some dried fish. Stretch her legs.

But somehow… her feet brought her here.

She pulled a thin strip of dried meat from a pouch and chewed absently, golden eyes tracking Lucen’s every motion. She watched the glow of his magic—soft, focused, steady.

It was different from before.

He used to flail. Swing wildly like someone trying to punch a storm.

But now?

Now, he was starting to move with the wind instead of against it.

Nyari’s ear twitched as she heard Veyren scold something again. Lucen barked back in protest.

She smiled faintly.

Then, almost too quiet to hear—

“Keep up, sword-boy.”

Her tail gave a small sway, and she leaned back into the branch, arms folded behind her head as the light in the clearing shimmered on.

Later That Evening

Lucen sat outside the mage’s cottage, his arms resting on his knees as the last orange sliver of sun dipped behind the forest ridge. His shirt clung to him from hours of training, and the spot where he’d taken a misfire to the shoulder still tingled faintly beneath the salve Veyren had slapped on.

The glow orb he’d summoned earlier now hovered beside him—soft, golden, and steady.

He stared at it quietly.

Not to show off. Not to test it.

Just… to see it.

“Guess you’re starting to like light magic,” came a voice behind him.

Lucen turned.

Nyari stepped out from the trees, hands tucked behind her back, her hair catching the fading light. Her tail swayed lazily behind her, but her eyes had that alertness that never fully rested.

He chuckled. “Starting to. Still prefer wind. Less chance of accidentally blinding myself.”

She smirked, then flopped down beside him without a word. Her presence carried the usual casual confidence, but she didn’t say anything more for a long moment.

Just sat with him.

Listened to the crickets.

Watched the light drift lazily between them.

“Veyren’s really going hard on you, huh,” she finally said, glancing sideways.

“He’s… intense,” Lucen admitted. “But he knows his stuff.”

She nodded slowly. “You’re handling it better than I thought you would.”

Lucen raised an eyebrow. “Is that your way of saying you thought I’d flake out?”

“No.” She gave a small shrug. “Just… wasn’t sure you’d stick to something that burns you every time you try to use it.”

Lucen grinned. “Kind of like talking to you.”

That earned him a soft snort. “Tch. You wish you were that charming.”

They fell quiet again.

Then—Nyari’s voice came softer.

“Hey… you’re getting stronger. A lot faster than most.”

Lucen blinked, surprised at the tone. “Thanks. That’s… rare encouragement from you.”

She scratched her cheek, looking away. “Don’t get used to it, wind boy.”

Lucen smiled, the glow orb still floating gently above them—warm and quiet. A reflection of something else, maybe.

Something growing.

Veyren’s Cottage – Early Evening

The last of the sunlight filtered through the trees, golden and low, casting long lines across the forest floor. Veyren leaned against the porch post, arms crossed as he watched Lucen steady the glowing orb of light still flickering at his shoulder.

“Better,” the old mage muttered. “Your mana’s steadier. Light’s responding faster.”

Lucen exhaled, letting the orb drift out and fade.

“But your footwork?” Veyren’s eyes narrowed. “Still sloppy.”

Lucen blinked. “I thought we were practicing magic.”

“We are. But you’re not a mage.” Veyren tilted his head. “You’re something in between. Magic doesn’t stop just because you start swinging.”

Lucen sighed, wiping his forehead. “So what do I do? Practice casting while running in circles?”

Veyren smirked. “Not a bad idea. But no—what you need is motion training. Controlled reaction. Fluid spellcasting while moving your body.”

He stepped down into the grass. “You need a sparring partner. Someone fast. Unpredictable. Forces you to adapt.”

Before Lucen could even reply—

“I’m fast,” came a voice behind them.

Nyari leaned against a tree, arms folded behind her head, one leg kicked lazily over the other. She’d been watching since the last few spells, silent as a shadow.

Lucen blinked. “Wait—you’ve been there this whole time?”

Nyari gave a smug smile. “Observation is part of training, wind boy.”

Veyren didn’t look surprised. “She’ll do.”

Lucen frowned. “Do what?”

Nyari pushed off the trunk and started walking toward them, her grin already forming.

“Help you move like a fighter—not a statue with a sword.”

Lucen crossed his arms. “You’re not supposed to enjoy this.”

“Oh, I won’t,” she said, stepping past him. Her tail brushed his leg lightly as she passed. “I’ll love it.”

The Next Morning – Forest Clearing Behind Veyren’s Cottage

The mist hadn’t fully lifted yet. Dew clung to the grass, and the air still held that soft silence only early mornings knew. A faint breeze stirred the leaves, brushing against Lucen’s face as he stepped barefoot into the clearing.

His sword rested at his side.

He stretched his shoulders with a quiet groan.

Behind him, a yawn echoed.

“I thought I was the lazy one,” Nyari said, stepping into view and tossing him a half-eaten fruit. “You look like you just rolled out of a grave.”

Lucen caught it one-handed. “I was up late practicing.”

“Practicing what? Snoring?”

He gave her a look. She just grinned.

Nyari already had her daggers drawn, casually flipping one between her fingers. Her hair was still a little tousled, tail flicking lazily with the rhythm of her steps.

“You ready?” she asked.

Lucen raised an eyebrow. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Beating you into the dirt always puts me in a good mood.”

He rolled his neck. “We’ll see about that.”

They squared off.

The grass whispered around their feet.

Lucen took his stance—Dawnbreak form, steady grip, breath calm. He began channeling wind magic to his legs, just as Veyren had drilled into him the day before.

Nyari didn’t pose.

She simply stood, blades loose, body relaxed.

“Y’know,” she said casually, “for someone with six affinities, you’re kinda slow.”

Lucen smirked. “And for someone with one, you talk a lot.”

“Oooh. Cute. You’ve got spirit.” Her smile curved a little higher. “Let’s see how long it lasts.”

She blurred forward.

Wind surged beneath her, kicking dust into the air—and Lucen barely deflected the first strike.

Steel met steel. Sparks flew. Their feet shifted through the dew-slick grass in bursts and pivots, Nyari flipping and twisting like a leaf caught in a gale, Lucen steady and focused, trying to time his slashes to the wind.

He missed twice.

Landed a graze on the third.

She whirled behind him, but he spun faster than expected—his sword sweeping in a shallow arc that forced her to jump back.

They both stepped away from each other, breathing hard, sweat rising off their skin in the early light.

Lucen gave her a lopsided grin. “Still think I’m a statue?”

Nyari flicked her tail. “Less of a statue. More like a stiff tree.”

“Getting better, then.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Mmm… a little. But you’re still not gonna land a clean hit.”

Lucen lowered into another stance.

She mirrored it—closer this time.

“You’re not holding back, are you?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said with a smirk. “I just like making you sweat.”

Lucen darted forward first this time—no warning, no banter. Just movement.

Nyari’s eyes widened a half-second before his blade swung in a rising arc, guided by a sharp wind pulse at his heel. She twisted, narrowly avoiding the strike, but the rush of air clipped her balance.

She stumbled.

He didn’t follow through.

Instead, he stopped short—sword angled just enough to tap her shoulder.

“Hit,” he said between breaths.

Nyari stared at him.

Then sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I blink once and you get cocky. Great.”

Lucen’s shoulders rose and fell with heavy exhales. “Admit it. That was clean.”

She flipped a dagger back into its sheath. “Fine. You get one. Try not to let it go to your head.”

They stood there for a moment, breathing, surrounded by the quiet hush of swaying trees and distant birdsong.

Then, without a word, Nyari dropped into the grass.

Lucen followed a beat later, collapsing beside her with a soft grunt. The blades of dew-chilled grass clung to their skin as they lay flat on their backs, staring up at the leafy sky.

“This is exhausting,” Lucen muttered.

“And you love it.”

“…A little.”

Nyari turned her head just slightly, catching a glimpse of his face. His hair was a mess, dirt smudged across his cheek, eyes still sharp with focus despite the fatigue.

She smiled, small and genuine.

“You’re not bad, sword boy.”

“Sword and magic boy, thank you.”

“Hmm. Sounds dumber when you say it.”

Lucen chuckled. The breeze carried the sound away between them.

They lay there for a while longer, no words—just shared silence and the subtle rhythm of their breathing syncing beneath the morning sun.

Later That Morning – Edge of the Clearing

Lucen knelt by the stream, shirt draped over a nearby rock, water trickling through his fingers as he splashed it over his face and neck. His skin gleamed faintly in the sunlight—sweat, effort, and the last traces of adrenaline clinging to him from the sparring match.

He exhaled slowly, letting the coolness of the stream wash away the heat in his limbs.

Behind him, soft footsteps barely disturbed the grass.

“You’re gonna catch a cold like that, y’know,” Nyari called out casually.

Lucen didn’t look back. “It’s not even noon.”

“Still.”

Her tone was light, but as she stepped closer, something in her gaze flickered. She stopped just behind him, taking in the ripple of lean muscle across his back and the way his arms tensed slightly as he reached for the water again.

“Hmm…” She tilted her head. “When’d you get these?”

Lucen turned slightly, confused—then froze.

Nyari’s fingers brushed along his side—over his abs, slow and curious.

“Not bad,” she murmured with a sly smirk. “Didn’t think sword training would give you actual definition.”

“You done?” Lucen asked, his voice tight with a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

“For now.”

She stepped back, flipping a dagger between her fingers. Her tail flicked once, amused.

“Next time I knock you flat, I might not let you get back up so fast.”

Lucen raised an eyebrow. “Was that a threat or a promise?”

Nyari grinned over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

She strolled off toward the trees, every step light and unbothered.

Lucen sighed, pulling his shirt back over his head, though his face still burned faintly.

As he stood alone by the stream, brushing droplets from his arms, one thing became very clear:

This training wasn’t going to be the only thing testing his focus.