The sun had not fully risen in Everiven. The eastern sky was still a bruise of purple and gray, yet the Royal Training Arena was already awake.

  Mira stepped into the circle of white quartz sand. The cold morning air pierced her skin, covered only by a thin white linen training tunic and tight brown leather leggings. Around her waist, there was no knife belt. Just an empty leather belt that felt strange and light.

  Across the arena, Prince Arlen was warming up. He was shirtless. The muscles on his back moved like liquid beneath the thin layer of sweat on his skin. But what caught Mira’s attention wasn’t the definition of his muscles, but the fine scar network in a lightning pattern that spread across his back and shoulders. A mark of a lightning element user who had fused his body with high voltage.

  "You came right on time," Arlen said, turning around. He wasn’t out of breath at all, even though he had just sliced the straw dummy to pieces.

  He grabbed a towel, wiped his face quickly, then walked over to Mira. The wooden training sword hung casually in his hand.

  "Beautiful morning for a little bloodshed, isn’t it, Rhea?" Arlen greeted, his crooked smile appearing with the rising sun.

  Mira gave an awkward curtsey—the kind of bow that didn’t quite fit in the sand arena. "I hope there won’t be any blood today, Your Highness. I... I only brought a small bandage."

  Arlen laughed heartily. He tossed a wooden sword toward Mira. "Catch."

  Mira's reflex screamed: Grab the handle. Twist your wrist. Ready to strike. But she forcibly restrained that nerve impulse. She let the sword hit her palm with a rough sound, then pretended to stagger slightly from the weight of the weapon. She held the handle with both hands, too stiffly, her elbows flared wide—a bad beginner's stance.

  "Heavy," Mira murmured, staring at the solid ebony wood.

  "That's Ironwood. As heavy as steel," Arlen explained. He walked around Mira, inspecting her posture like a horse trainer.

  Suddenly, Arlen gently kicked Mira's left ankle. "Your feet are too close. You'll fall if the wind blows."

  Mira let her feet shift. She widened her stance, but still looked unsteady. In the corner of the arena, Arlene stood still with a tray of drinks. Her face was blank, but her eyes sent a signal: Good. Keep up that foolishness.

  "Raise your sword," Arlen commanded. He stood five meters in front of Mira, assuming a relaxed one-handed stance. "Attack me. Don’t be afraid. Think of me as... a big fish you want to catch."

  Mira took a breath. She had to strike, but she had to fail. She lunged forward. Her steps were heavy on the sand. She raised the wooden sword high above her head—a wide vertical slash full of gaps.

  Arlen didn’t move until the very last second. As Mira’s sword came down, Arlen merely shifted his body sideways by one step. He brushed Mira’s sword with his own. Just a light touch, but Mira’s messy momentum made her stagger forward.

  Mira "tripped" over her own feet, falling to her knees in the sand.

  "Too much energy, too little direction," Arlen commented from above. He didn't help her to stand. He watched Mira kneeling with a satisfied look.

  Mira looked up, blowing the hair covering her face. She put on a cute frustrated expression. "This is hard, Your Highness. The sword won't listen."

  "That sword is an extension of your hand, Rhea. If it won't obey, it's because your mind is divided," Arlen extended his hand, pulling Mira up with a strong jerk.

  Their hands touched. Suddenly, static electricity appeared again. This time, stronger, stinging Mira's palm. Arlen was starting his trick.

  "Now, it's my turn to attack," Arlen whispered. His eyes gleamed blue. "Defend yourself."

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  Arlen attacked. This time, he was serious. He swung the wooden sword horizontally, aiming for Mira's ribs. His speed was beyond normal human speed. He used Micro Lightning Step to accelerate his muscles.

  Mira's eyes widened. This wasn't practice. This was a reflex test. If Mira didn't block, her ribs would really break. Mira's left brain screamed: Fall! Scream! Her right brain screamed: Parry! Counter!

  Mira chose a middle path. She awkwardly dropped her body backward, as if losing her balance out of fear. Arlen's sword hissed above her nose—only a centimeter away. The wind from the slash cut through a strand of her hair.

  Mira fell on her back in the sand.

  "Slow," Arlen teased, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. "But your instincts are sharp. You sensed the danger before I moved."

  Arlen jumped, aiming to stab at Mira's chest as she lay down. Mira rolled to the side. Silly, full of sand, like a child rolling on the beach. Arlen's thrust hit the sand where Mira's heart was just a second before.

  Mira crawled back, panting (half real, half acting). "Wait! Wait! That's too fast!"

  Arlen didn't stop. He was enjoying this. He was the cat, and Mira was the agile mouse. "The enemy won't wait, Wildflower. Stand up!"

  Mira stood unsteadily. She raised her sword defensively. Arlen attacked again. The sound of wood clashing filled the silent arena.

  Mira 'fought' desperately. She blocked Arlen's attacks in a way that looked panicked and inefficient. But behind that panic, there was precise calculation. She blocked exactly at the points where Arlen's wooden sword had the least destructive force, keeping her hands from getting seriously injured.

  Sweat began to soak Mira's body. Her tunic dress clung to her skin. Sand stuck to her cheeks and arms.

  "Better," Arlen grinned, pressing his sword against Mira's sword, forcing them to clash with strength. Their faces were close. "I can feel your fire, Rhea. You don't want to lose. You hate losing, don't you?"

  Mira stared into Arlen's blue eyes. She let a little of her "true nature" slip. A bit of stubbornness. "Nobody likes losing, Your Highness."

  "Then..." Arlen's eyes flared brightly. Blue aura exploded from his body. He channeled real electricity into his wooden sword.

  The wood didn't conduct electricity well, but it was enough to create a shockwave. The wooden sword in Mira's hand shattered into pieces.

  Mira was thrown backward, rolling twice on the sand before stopping. Her right hand felt numb, tingling intensely. She lay there, staring at the dawn sky beginning to brighten. Her breath came in short gasps. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

  Arlen walked closer. He stood over Mira, blocking the sun, his shadow swallowing the girl. He pointed the tip of his wooden sword at Mira's neck.

  "Die," said Arlen.

  Mira swallowed. Her jaw moved up and down. She didn't move. She stared at the tip of the wooden sword, then looked into Arlen's eyes. Instead of crying, Mira smiled—a weak, tired smile, but full of admiration.

  "You... are amazing," Mira whispered, her voice hoarse. "I didn’t even see it coming."

  Ego Arlen exploded with satisfaction. He looked at a woman he had just defeated, yet she looked at him as if he were a God of War.

  Arlen dropped his sword. He reached out his hand. Mira took it. Arlen pulled her up, then—without warning—drew her into an embrace. Arlen's body was still charged with residual static electricity and sweat.

  "You have potential," Arlen murmured into Mira's sand-filled hair. "You didn’t run when I unleashed the lightning. Iva must have passed out. Elodie must have already complained about the rules."

  Arlen released his hug, but his hands still clung to Mira's shoulders.

  "Clean yourself up. Have a big breakfast."

  "Is the training over?" Mira asked, brushing sand off her scraped elbow.

  "Physical training, yes," Arlen said, taking a towel from Arlene who was waiting nearby. He wiped his neck. "But the real lesson won't start until later this afternoon."

  Arlen looked to the east. Toward the rising sun. Toward King’s Cliff.

  "Prepare your travel dresses," Arlen commanded. "This afternoon, we are going on a picnic."

  "A picnic, Your Highness?"

  "Yes. As I said yesterday, we will go to King’s Cliff. To the explosion site."

  "Actually, what is your purpose in bringing us there, Your Highness?" Mira asked, her voice trembling. This time, the tremor was entirely genuine.

  Arlen smiled coldly. A smile with not a hint of empathy. "Because I want to see the remains of that explosion. The generals say they don’t know what caused it. Fascinating, isn’t it? Not the magic we know, yet capable of causing something like that."

  Arlen walked away from the arena, whistling softly.

  Mira stood frozen in the middle of the white sand. Her legs felt weak, not from training, but from the sudden wave of nausea rising in her throat. She had to see that place. She had to see the crater. And she had to do it while smiling at the spot where Kars had disappeared.

  Arlene approached, handing her a bottle of water. "Drink," Arlene ordered softly. "Your hands are shaking too much. He's gone already."

  Mira took the bottle, drinking greedily to moisten her dry throat.

  "Swallow it," Arlene whispered sharply. "Swallow your anger along with that water. This afternoon is your biggest acting test. If you cry there, make sure it's because you're 'afraid' of the crater, not because you're mourning."

  Mira wiped her lips roughly. The sun had finally risen fully, bathing the arena in blinding golden light. But for Mira, the world felt pitch dark.

  "I'm ready," Mira said coldly. She walked out of the arena, leaving footprints in the sand that would soon be erased by the wind.