Alph’s week unfolded in a rigid pattern, a series of unyielding cycles that defined his existence. Each day, he awoke before dawn, his body acclimating to the demanding rhythm of life as a blacksmith’s apprentice at Grimforge Smithy. From the eighth bell until the fifth, he engaged in the monotonous labor of shaping metal, stoking fires, and maintaining tools. The minutes crawled by, the forge’s heat clinging to him alongside the stink of burnt metal and his own salt-stained shirt. This wasn’t smithing—it was just hauling, hammering, repeating the same mindless motions until his arms burned. But the real work, the kind that demanded more than just muscle, started when the sun dipped below the rooftops.

  As the sixth bell tolled, Alph transitioned from the calm predictability of the forge to the chaotic intensity of the Noble District Training Hall. Here, Nylessa awaited, her presence a whirlwind of energy that cut through the lethargy of the day. The evenings morphed into a frantic flurry of movement as Alph grappled with the demands of his new skills.

  He practiced Flicker and Twin Strike under Nylessa's watchful eye, but every action felt a clumsy imitation, not true skill execution. His attempts at Flicker often ended with jarring landings; his body stumbled awkwardly as he stepped in range. He found himself half a step out of position, struggling to align his next move for the Twin Strike. Each strike felt heavy, lacking the sought-after fluidity and grace.

  Nylessa found his struggles entertaining and enjoyed teasing him both physically and verbally. She became a constant challenge, using her speed to trip him when he stumbled or poke him in the ribs whenever he slipped up. The training sessions turned into a loop of awkward mistakes, all while her laughter rang out. Alph had gained some freedom to fail; he didn't need constant guidance anymore, but his technique still felt rough around the edges. Each night, he walked out of the hall bruised in spirit and annoyed, the excitement of combat buried under the weight of his shortcomings.

  The slow, steady work at Grimforge clashed with the chaotic energy of his training, setting the beat for his week. Each day, the forge took up his time, a monotonous routine that merged into one long stretch. He dealt with materials, stoked fires, and kept the smithy running, while Varrick felt content with his efforts. But as evening rolled in, the change in pace snapped him into another reality, where physical pain mixed with Nylessa's relentless teasing.

  Throughout the week, Alph slipped away to the Mind Garden, looking for the Shaper’s advice. In those quiet moments, he realized that his Rogue Tier 1 node had sped up. The Shaper pointed out the faster progress since he started training with Nylessa, crediting her valuable feedback. Alph absorbed this, realizing that the torment he suffered fulfilled its purpose.

  Seven days slipped by in an unending loop, each one merging into the next. Alph felt stuck in a gray area, not quite a blacksmith and not yet a rogue. As the evening of the seventh day approached, he braced himself for another grueling session. He had a different plan for the evening, not realizing that his carefully arranged schedule would soon face disruption.

  The training hall fell silent except for the sharp percussion of wood on wood. Alph ran through the sequence for the hundredth time that week, forcing his body to turn constant repetition into pure, automatic reflex. Alph had trained himself to accept the delay between thought and motion. His practice daggers lashed out, striking toward Nylessa’s ribs in the rhythm of Twin Strike.

  She parried both strikes effortlessly. The impact reverberated through his forearms, jarring but familiar. His wrists absorbed the force, shoulders adjusted, and feet stayed grounded—unlike the times he had stumbled off balance when he began. This was not their first exchange. So far, Alph had failed to reach her before she could respond.

  Nylessa flipped the practice dagger between her fingers, a smirk tugging at her mouth. "Pathetic. Again." She shook her head, like this was the most entertaining failure she’d seen all week. "Flicker isn’t about moving fast—it’s about making sure they don’t even see you shift position. And surprise? Forget it. You revealed your presence like a drunkard in a tavern brawl."

  Her gaze raked over him, sharp with amusement. "And don’t think just going through the motions counts for anything. A skill’s useless if you can’t make it real."

  Alph snapped his wrist, the practice blade whistling through the dull light. Irritation burned in his gut, fueled by his own clumsiness and Nylessa’s sharp tongue.

  She read the tension in his jaw and lunged without warning. Three exchanges followed, a rapid-fire staccato of wood clashing against wood. Alph gave ground, but his focus narrowed on the subtle shift of her weight. He no longer chased her blades; he anticipated the angle of her strike. His daggers met hers at the apex of her swing, catching the impact in the narrow space between intention and execution.

  The fourth exchange was where he collapsed.

  Nylessa feinted left, and Alph committed his weight to the parry. In that fraction of a second, her blade slipped past his guard like water through fingers. The strike caught his ribs with surgical precision, and the breath left his body. He dropped to one knee, gasping, his practice daggers hanging loose at his sides.

  Nylessa lowered her weapons, taking a moment to assess him. When she finally spoke, her tone shifted from the mockery of the previous week.

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  "Three solid parries where you read my intent," Nylessa said, her tone steady. She rotated her wrist, sending the practice dagger skittering across her scarred knuckles.

  "But that feint still caught me off guard." Alph sighed, his shoulders slumping as relief washed over him.

  She stepped closer, "Did you think I am complimenting you?" the sharp scent of her sweat cutting through the damp, earthy air of the training hall. "I let you sense the first three strikes on purpose to bait you. If you cannot mask your aim, do what I did." She berated him.

  "If you cannot execute the skill smoothly, leverage your tells. Stop adhering to a fixed framework." She pointed her dagger towards him, "That is what I meant. Never allow your opponent to predict your move before you fully commit."

  Alph straightened, drawing breath carefully. The assessment landed differently than her previous jabs. He accepted her reprimands even when they did not align with his training goals.

  "Your foundation has grown significantly," Nylessa said, a hint of satisfaction replacing the mockery in her voice. "Do you know how long it took me to imitate Flicker and Twin Strike? A full month! I never expected you to be such a talented pupil; or maybe it’s just my brilliance as a master?" Her expression shifted into the casual arrogance he recognized, an indifference that always bordered on pride.

  She leaned slightly forward, her eyes gleaming with an intensity that demanded acknowledgment. "Just a few more days, and that skill will click into place. You won't flail through the motions like a novice; you'll strike with purpose."

  Dusk settled over the hall, its natural light dimming into shadow. Alph wiped sweat from his brow, the air thick with exertion and worn leather. The 7th bell had just rung before their last bout. He sensed the timing was perfect.

  "Glad to hear that," he replied, keeping his voice calm even though his shoulders ached. His tone left no room for discussion. "I’ve got something else to take care of. We’re done for today."

  He crouched, moving with precision as he collected the scattered training gear.

  "Oi! Where are you going? We had a deal. Practice until 9th bell—you can't expect me to train alone!" Nylessa's voice turned sharp, cutting through the evening dimness.

  "Library," Alph said, rolling up his practice wrappings. "Need to research something before it gets too late."

  Nylessa’s jaw set; the blue tint of her skin deepened as her face clouded. She white-knuckled the hilts of her daggers, then forced her fingers to uncurl. They had a deal. Two hours remained before the 9th bell. She suppressed the urge to lung; instead, she watched him with narrowed, calculating eyes.

  "A scholar," she said, her voice sharp and cutting. "Tell me, what is a scholar doing here anyway, training and bleeding with the rest of us when he should be buried in his dusty books and precious scrolls?"

  Alph didn't respond to the barb. He continued packing, methodical and unhurried.

  "What are you researching?" The question came faster than he expected, her curiosity overriding the annoyance. She approached him, her grey bob catching the last of the fading light.

  Alph sighed. He knew if he didn’t explain, she’d nag him nonstop; she might even follow him. "Tier 1 Druidic spell modules," he said.

  "Huh? Why would you—" She blinked, then her face lit up. "Oh! You're prepping for your advancement, aren't you?" She bobbed her head up and down. "Yes. Master the Rogue skills with me and learn the Druid skills from library, nice plan."

  She misunderstood, again, but this works in my favor. He nodded.

  The annoyance and idle curiosity faded, giving way to a sharp, evaluating gaze. Her eyes narrowed. Alph recognized that look instantly; he had seen it before when she was sizing up opportunities. He halted mid-motion, his wrappings half-bundled in his hands.

  "You know," her voice dragged, "I have a contract coming up," Nylessa said, her voice dropping into a casual tone. "One that could use someone with the right skillset."

  "And why should I care?" He grimaced.

  "Because I can get you the real thing." She tapped her chest with firm determination.

  "The real thing?" Alph asked, keeping his voice neutral even as his pulse quickened.

  "Authentic village teachings," she said looking triumphant.

  She is baiting me, again. Alph's gaze sharpened.

  Nylessa's grin vanished, replaced by a tense expression. "Why waste your night at the library, sifting through dusty records? Help me with this job, and I'll get you firsthand documentation of Tier 1 druidic spells." She spread her hands wide. "Knowledge your library can’t offer. It works because it hasn’t been twisted by translators and wannabe scholars claiming it’s folklore."

  Alph maintained his composure, but his mind was already calculating. She is right. The library had proven frustrating and incomplete.

  "What's the contract?" he asked.

  Nylessa's smile returned, her satisfaction evident. "Details later. So, do we have a deal?"

  Alph looked at her for a long moment, reading the confidence in her stance, the sharpness in her eyes. She had already decided this was happening; she was simply waiting for him to catch up.

  "We have a deal," he said.

  Nylessa's satisfaction deepened into something that resembled genuine pleasure. "Good. Then we can continue our training."

  Alph raised an eyebrow. "You're not just doing this to keep me training, right?"

  Nylessa feigned hurt. "Ouch! Would I ever do that to you?" She giggled. "We'll finish the training, then hit the tavern for a drink to discuss the details."