The training grounds of House Devain stretched wide, a vast expanse of polished stone and sand, encircled by towering pillars adorned with intricate carvings of warriors past. The morning sun cast long shadows across the arena, its golden light glinting off the steel racks lining the edges. Servants and a few knights observed from a distance, their expressions mixed with curiosity and amusement.
Arin took a steady breath, rolling his shoulders as he stepped onto the battleground. Across from him stood his mother, Lady Helena Devain, her regal presence undiminished by the simple training attire she wore. She carried no weapon in hand—only a wooden practice sword strapped to her hip.
"Are you ready?" she asked, her voice calm yet carrying a weight that made the air feel heavier.
Arin nodded. "Yes."
Lady Helena unsheathed the wooden sword with a slow, deliberate motion. "Then let us begin."
Before Arin could react, she moved.
A blur. A streak of motion faster than his eyes could track. The next thing he knew, the cold bite of wood tapped against his ribs. His breath caught in his throat as he staggered back.
"You hesitated," his mother remarked. "Again."
Arin exhaled sharply, gripping his own wooden sword tighter. He activated his Samsāra Shakti, feeling the energy ripple through his veins, and steadied himself. This time, when she lunged, he reacted. He brought up his sword, barely managing to block. The impact rattled his arms, a sharp sting shooting through his bones.
Lady Helena tilted her head. "Better. But still slow."
She pressed forward, her movements fluid, refined—untouchable. Every strike forced Arin on the defensive. He tried to anticipate, to counter, but she was always a step ahead, a ghost dancing around his blade. A sudden feint, a flicker of motion, and before he knew it, her sword was at his throat.
"Dead."
Arin scowled but took a deep breath, stepping back into position. "Again."
His mother smiled, a rare glint of approval in her eyes. "Good. You understand that losing in training is not failure—it is learning."
The spar continued. Blow after blow, Arin adapted. His reflexes sharpened, his reactions quicker, but the gap was evident. Lady Helena was not merely a noblewoman; she was a warrior, forged in battle. She fought not just with skill, but with experience and understanding.
"Do you know what separates a master from an amateur?" she asked between strikes.
Arin gritted his teeth, blocking a particularly powerful blow. "Experience?"
"More than that." She spun, her wooden sword barely grazing his shoulder before stopping just short of a decisive hit. "Understanding."
She took a step back, lowering her sword. "Skill can be trained. Reflexes honed. But true power lies in comprehension—of your weapon, of your enemy, and of yourself."
Arin panted, wiping sweat from his brow. "Then teach me."
Lady Helena nodded, resting the wooden sword against her shoulder. "Then listen well."
She gestured to the pillars surrounding them. "The greatest warriors in Eldoria did not merely wield power—they became it. Their Samsāra Shakti was not a tool but an extension of their very existence. And at its core lies the Growth Stages."
She raised a finger. "The First Growth: Awakening. The moment a child reaches fifteen, their memories of past lives resurface, and their branch of Samsāra Shakti forms."
A second finger. "The Second Growth: Manifestation. When one understands their power and brings it forth, shaping it into a tangible force."
A third. "The Third Growth: Synchronization. Where power and user become one, and their abilities evolve beyond mere technique."
A fourth. "The Fourth Growth: Enlightenment. The rarest stage. A warrior who reaches this level is no longer bound by conventional rules—they reshape reality itself through their mastery."
She lowered her hand. "Very few ever reach the Fourth Growth. Most remain at Manifestation or Synchronization. But the path exists for those willing to seek it."
Arin absorbed her words, his mind spinning. He clenched his fist. "And what about the special paths?"
A flicker of something crossed her eyes—pride, perhaps, or curiosity. "Those are not meant for ordinary warriors. The Four Special Growth Paths are whispered legends, roads walked only by those who defy fate itself."
She took a step closer, lowering her voice. "One of them… might be within your reach."
Arin's heartbeat quickened. "Which one?"
Lady Helena smirked. "That, my son, you must discover for yourself."
She turned away, signaling the end of their lesson. "Rest for now. Tomorrow, we train again."
As Arin stood in the fading sunlight, muscles aching yet mind alight with newfound purpose, he realized something.
This was only the beginning.