The nights in Ardentis were colder than Lucius remembered.
A chilling wind swept across the empty training grounds, rustling his sweat-drenched clothes as he stood alone beneath the pale moonlight. His entire body ached from the relentless training under Commander Darius earlier that day, but the pain was secondary now.
Because this was his real training.
With slow, controlled breaths, he focused on the flickering energy within him.
Basic magic—that was all he could use.
His body was too weak for anything advanced, but he didn't need grand spells. He only needed enough magic to keep his muscles from collapsing—to push through another hour, another night.
His hands hovered over his trembling legs, and a faint blue light pulsed beneath his fingertips. It wasn't healing in the truest sense, but it dulled the worst of the pain, allowing him to move.
He exhaled sharply.
That was enough.
Unbeknownst to Lucius, he wasn't alone.
A shadow loomed from the higher balcony of the estate, hidden behind the stone railing. Adrian Ardentis stood in silence, arms crossed, watching.
He had noticed it a few days ago.
The way Lucius' posture had started shifting. The way his hands had started gripping his utensils with more control at meals. The faint stiffness in his movements that suggested aching muscles.
Lucius was training. And he was hiding it.
At first, Adrian dismissed it. He'll give up. He always does.
But night after night, Lucius returned.
Failing. Falling. Standing again.
Tonight was no different.
Adrian narrowed his gaze as he watched his younger brother struggle to swing the training sword with shaky arms. His form was sloppy, his stance uneven, but his determination never wavered.
The older brother let out a quiet breath, almost amused.
"You stubborn fool."
He said nothing.
He made no move to interrupt.
Instead, he simply continued to watch.
Watching as his little brother slowly crawled out of his own weakness.
Meanwhile, Lucius was reaching his breaking point.
His swings were getting slower. His legs were shaking.
His magic reserves were running dangerously low. Any more, and he wouldn't even be able to stand.
"Just a little more."
But his body didn't listen.
The wooden sword slipped from his hands. His vision blurred. His legs gave out.
Lucius collapsed to the ground, his breath ragged, his fingers gripping the dirt in frustration.
He clenched his jaw.
Weak. Still too weak.
For a long moment, he lay there, catching his breath, feeling the cold seep into his bones.
And then—he exhaled.
Slowly, he pushed himself up.
One more time.
And from above, Adrian smirked.
"Let's see how far you go, little brother."