Chapter 25—Mentor

By the sixteenth day, the bruises on Raiden’s arms had begun to overlap so thickly that he could no longer tell the fresh ones from the old. He rose each morning with soreness like iron weights pulling his body downward, yet still he took his place in the courtyard, blade in hand, waiting for Tadari’s next strike or Grenald’s frostbound precision.

But that morning, something different awaited.

The courtyard was not empty when they arrived. A figure leaned against the storeroom wall, the mist catching on the wide brim of her pointed hat. She pushed herself upright when they drew close, and Raiden’s companions slowed, their steps faltering.

She wore black trimmed with violet, the robe clinging so tightly it looked stitched to her skin, the collar cut daringly low. Her hips pressed against the fabric as if daring it to tear. When she tilted her head, the movement was all confidence, like a cat certain of its dominance over the room.

“Exemplar course,” she said by way of introduction, her voice cool, practiced. “Liana Ravenwatch. House Raven.”

Randall nearly dropped his bow-case. Tadari’s usually unshakable scowl twitched. Even Grenald, the most composed of them, cleared his throat and failed to keep his eyes above her collarbone.

Ophelin noticed all of it. Her lips drew into a tight line, her hand pressing harder into the walking stick. I have curves too, she thought, biting back the words, unwilling to give them shape.

Liana regarded them all with an expression halfway between amusement and disdain. “Sir Einfried asked me to… how did he phrase it? Ah—‘babysit’ you, Raiden, while he attends to matters of his own.”

The word hit Raiden harder than a blade. Babysit. His jaw tightened, but he only nodded.

Liana’s smile sharpened. “Show me, then. What have you been learning?”

Raiden stepped forward without protest. Tadari was already unsheathing his blade, Grenald drawing ice into his palms. The spar began as all the others had: Tadari pressing hard, Grenald watching, Randall muttering on the bench, Ophelin grinding her teeth as she called corrections. Raiden staggered, blocked, countered too slow.

But before the rhythm could settle, Liana’s voice cut through. “Stop.”

Grenald froze mid-motion, frost still clinging to his fingers. Tadari lowered his blade reluctantly.

“Not enough,” Liana said, her eyes narrowing on Raiden. “Two against one. At once.”

Tadari frowned. “He’ll fold.”

“Then he’ll fold,” Liana replied. “Better he learns now.”

The clash was brutal. Tadari’s strikes came heavy, Grenald’s ice precise. Raiden twisted, ducked, stumbled. He was knocked down twice, managed to stay standing a third time. By the end of it, sweat poured down his back, his chest heaving like a bellows.

Liana’s gaze had not shifted once. She looked at him as though weighing a purchase in the market, deciding if it was worth the coin.

“Passing grade,” she said finally. “You can survive, a little. Against blades.”

Then she stepped forward. “Now survive me.”

The words froze the courtyard.

Randall muttered, “Oh, this’ll be fun,” but his grin was nervous. Tadari only crossed his arms. Grenald looked interested in a way Raiden found unsettling. Ophelin scowled at them all, furious that they could look anywhere but at the fight about to unfold.

Liana strode to the far end of the field, heels clicking on stone. She turned with a flick of her hat, robe clinging as she lifted her hand. Twenty-five, thirty paces—more than enough distance.

Raiden hesitated. Was he meant to close the gap? Wait? His blade felt like a sliver of iron against the presence radiating from her.

Then the air shimmered. A rock, pulled from the earth itself, ignited in her grasp and shot toward him trailing flame. Raiden barely rolled aside before another followed, then another, a staccato rhythm of fire that forced him back step after step.

He had no chance to think. Water slammed toward him next—thin, pressurized jets that hissed like serpents, strong enough that one clipped his shoulder and nearly spun him around. He gasped at the sting, then stumbled as the ground beneath him erupted in jagged stone, a spike tearing upward where his foot had been an instant before.

He ran, not toward her but around her, trying to break the line of fire. Invisible wind caught him, shoved him sideways. His boots skidded, his chest lurched.

He could not fight this. He could only survive.

Her barrage herded him exactly where she wanted. Fire corralled his path, wind shifted his footing, earth erupted beneath him in cruel timing. When the spike caught him clean in the ribs, it launched him from the ground like a child’s toy, his body slamming into the courtyard wall before he crumpled.

“Raiden!” Randall’s bow clattered to the stone as he ran. Tadari and Grenald followed, but Ophelin was the first to reach him, her stick clattering aside as she dropped to her knees.

Raiden groaned, clutching his side. The pain throbbed hot, radiating through muscle and bone. He forced himself not to cry out, his teeth grinding against the sound.

Liana’s steps clicked slowly across the stone. “Move.”

The boys hesitated. Her eyes narrowed. They moved.

She knelt, fingers already sketching patterns in the air. The robe shifted as she leaned, exposing pale skin that drew Randall’s gaze until Ophelin’s glare burned it away.

“Hold still,” Liana murmured. She pulled open Raiden’s tunic, baring his ribs. The bruise was vicious, dark red and violet blooming like a cruel flower across his abdomen.

Her hand glowed faintly as she pressed against the injury. Light sank into the skin, warmth replacing the ache. Raiden exhaled shakily as the pain dulled, the swelling ebbing before their eyes.

Within moments, the bruise had faded to nothing.

Grenald muttered, almost reverently, “Multiple elements in combat, and healing besides. A Raven indeed.”

Liana rose without acknowledgement, dusting her hands as if the act had been trivial.

“You’re not learning to fight Garid,” she said, voice carrying across the courtyard. “You’re learning to live through him. Endure. Survive. Find the breath between his strikes. That’s your only chance.”

Her gaze lingered on Raiden a moment longer, piercing, before she turned away.

“Rest for today,” she said. “Tomorrow, we begin properly.”

The courtyard was silent as she left, only the sound of her heels echoing against the walls.

Ophelin reclaimed her stick slowly, her face unreadable. Randall rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “Babysitter, huh. Remind me to never hire one.”

Tadari said nothing, but his eyes followed Liana until she disappeared through the gate.

Raiden sat up, touching the place where the bruise had been. The skin was smooth now, but the memory of the pain lingered. He stared at his friends, then at the empty end of the courtyard where Liana had stood.

Survive. That was the word she had left him with.

He wasn’t sure whether it felt like encouragement—or a sentence.