The Forsaken Heir

Lorian's mind raced as he tried to gather his thoughts, but his emotions were all over the place. His pulse thudded in his ears, and the faint warmth from Lysara's kiss still lingered on his lips, adding to the confusion. "You could've warned me," he finally managed to say, though his voice lacked the conviction he intended.

Lysara's laughter was light and melodic, filling the air around them. "And miss the look on your face? Never." She tilted her head, her horns catching the light as her smile softened into something almost fond. "Besides, Lorian, if you're going to get flustered every time I do something like that, we're going to have a lot of fun in here."

He huffed, trying to regain some composure. "I just didn't expect... I mean, I didn't think..." He trailed off, realizing he was only digging himself deeper. Instead, he shook his head and tried to shift the focus. "Okay, so what now? Do we just start training?"

Lysara took a step back, giving him a little space, though the playful glint never left her eyes. "Eager to move on, are we?" she teased. "Fine, we'll start slow. You'll need to acclimate yourself to your mindscape first." She gestured to the estate surrounding them, the gardens and courtyards stretching out in every direction. "Everything here is a reflection of your mind—your thoughts, your memories, even your subconscious fears and desires. The more you explore and train here, the better you'll understand yourself."

Lorian glanced around again, still in awe at how real everything felt. He could smell the faint scent of the blooming flowers, hear the rustling leaves, and feel the warm sunlight on his skin. It was surreal, yet it seemed so familiar that it was almost comforting. "So, I can just... do anything I want here?" he asked, curious.

"Within reason," Lysara replied, folding her arms. "Remember, while your physical limitations don't apply, the rules of magic still do. If you can't do something outside this mindscape, you won't be able to do it here either. This place will let you push yourself further without breaking, but you still have to put in the work."

Lorian's expression hardened with determination. "Good. Then I want to start with my light magic," he said. "If I can learn to control it better here, I'll be able to use it without hurting myself back in the real world."

Lysara nodded approvingly. "That's the spirit. Just be aware that the deeper you dive into your training, the more you'll feel it when you return. Your body may not be affected here, but your mind will remember everything."

"Right," Lorian said, steeling himself. "I'm ready."

Lorian extended his hand and summoned his light and shadow magic, focusing on the warmth that stirred in his chest. The familiar glow of light began to coalesce in one palm, while shadows swirled in the other—soft at first, then steadily growing more intense as he fed more mana into both. Here, within the mindscape, he could sense the opposition between them; light and shadow seemed to resist each other, yet there was also a deeper sensation—a pull that hinted at something more. It felt as though his very being wanted to merge them, to bring together what naturally opposed.

Before he could explore the sensation further, a sudden movement blurred toward him from the corner of his vision. Lorian barely registered the threat before a massive blade sliced through the air, aimed right at him. He stumbled back with a startled cry, his instincts kicking in just in time to avoid being cleaved in two. The hulking creature loomed before him, its grotesque form contrasting sharply with the familiar setting of the Aeloria Estate. It swung the sword with terrifying force, and the impact of the blade crashing into the stone pathway sent vibrations coursing through Lorian's legs.

Heart pounding in his ears, he scrambled to his feet, struggling to gather himself. There was no time to catch his breath. The beast advanced with relentless speed, and its next strike came faster than he could react. He barely managed to summon a shield of light, the hastily constructed barrier cracking under the force of the blow and sending him staggering backward.

"Good," Lysara's voice echoed from somewhere above, filled with a mix of amusement and challenge. "You need to sharpen your magic, yes. But more importantly, you need to sharpen yourself—your instincts, your senses, your reactions… everything."

Lorian's limbs felt heavy as he fought to stay on his feet, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He was completely off-balance, each swing from the creature's massive sword sending him into a frantic scramble to avoid being pulverized. He couldn't seem to gain any ground, every attempt to strike back met with overpowering force. A blast of shadow magic barely slowed the beast, and his light spells fizzled out before they could even reach it.

"You've got the technique," Lysara continued, her voice laced with taunting encouragement. "But what you lack is real battle experience. You've practiced spells and polished your skills, but none of that matters if you can't adapt in a fight. You need to feel the danger—learn to thrive in it."

The beast lunged at him, and Lorian desperately threw himself sideways, hitting the ground hard as the blade tore through the space he had occupied just moments before. His vision spun, pain shooting through his side as he struggled to roll to his feet. The attack had barely missed him, but there was no time to be grateful. The creature was already closing in again, its blade raised high for a crushing overhead strike.

Lorian's panic surged, and he hastily raised a barrier of light. The impact of the sword against the barrier rattled his bones, the force driving him down to one knee. Sweat dripped down his face as he strained to keep the shield from shattering entirely, but cracks were already forming in the shimmering surface.

"Keep your focus, Lorian," Lysara's voice rang out, her tone calm but demanding. "Don't try to force them together. Light and shadow must remain distinct. Use their tension—channel it to your advantage."

He gritted his teeth, the pressure bearing down on him as his barrier shattered, the remnants of light magic dissipating into the air. The creature's sword came crashing down again, and Lorian barely threw himself out of the way in time, the blade carving a deep gouge into the ground where he had just been. His chest heaved as he struggled to summon more magic, but his concentration was slipping. The pull to merge the light and shadow gnawed at him, confusing his attempts to separate them.

With a frustrated growl, he tried to cast another blast of shadow magic, but the spell sputtered out weakly. The beast showed no mercy, swinging its blade in a wide arc that sent Lorian scrambling back yet again. He was running out of space to maneuver, his reactions sluggish and his magic faltering.

"You can't rely on overwhelming force alone," Lysara called out, her tone sharp. "Mastery comes from control, not just raw power. Separate them, and let each do its part. You can't afford mistakes here."

Lorian's pulse raced, frustration burning in his chest as he desperately tried to focus. He cast a burst of light toward the creature's eyes, hoping to blind it, but the spell barely slowed the beast's advance. His arms ached, and his legs felt like lead as he dodged another swing, stumbling over the uneven ground.

He was struggling. Every step, every spell was a fight just to keep from being crushed under the weight of the relentless assault. His body felt heavy, his magic sluggish, as though the mindscape was amplifying the pressure instead of easing it. Yet he could sense the faintest thread of understanding beginning to form—a recognition of the pull between light and shadow, of the tension that surged through him each time he cast a spell.

But understanding was not enough. Not when the creature loomed over him, raising its massive sword for yet another strike. Lorian forced himself to his feet, his movements unsteady and his breathing ragged. He had to push through the chaos, to find clarity amidst the storm of magic and steel.

The beast swung down with terrifying force, and Lorian summoned what little strength he had left to conjure a barrier of light once more. It buckled immediately under the weight of the blow, but it bought him a split second to evade, rolling away as the sword shattered the shield and crashed into the earth.

"You're not ready yet," Lysara said, her tone both instructive and harsh. "But you will be. I'll drill this into you until it becomes second nature—until you can fight in your sleep."

The beast advanced again, and Lorian felt a surge of desperation rise within him. He lashed out with a mixture of light and shadow, the spells intertwining briefly before separating again under Lysara's unseen influence. It wasn't enough to stop the creature, but it was enough to keep it at bay for a moment longer.

"Remember, Lorian," Lysara's voice echoed as the beast roared and lunged for another attack, "we're going to train everything out of you—spears, swords, glaives, daggers, magic, claws… You'll face them all. Your instincts will be honed, your reactions sharpened. But you have to survive this first."

The next swing came faster than he anticipated, and Lorian barely managed to dodge, the blade grazing his arm and sending a sharp jolt of pain through him. He bit back a cry, stumbling back as he clutched his injured arm. The beast did not relent, closing in on him with terrifying speed.

Lorian's vision blurred, but he steadied himself, the burning in his chest igniting into a resolve he hadn't yet tapped into. This wasn't just about winning or losing. It was about survival. He could feel it now—just a flicker of understanding—that light and shadow were not only separate forces but reflections of each other. And somehow, even if they couldn't merge, he would learn to wield both to their fullest potential.

But first, he had to survive. He wouldn't give up. Not here, not now.

Lorian gritted his teeth and poured his mana into his limbs, channeling it to surge through his muscles, bones, and veins. The familiar warmth ignited within him as the power flowed through his body, enhancing his strength. With a desperate resolve, he drew his own sword, its familiar weight settling into his grip, and rushed forward to meet the beast's next swing.

The clash of steel against steel rang out through the courtyard, sending vibrations up his arms. The impact jarred him, his muscles straining against the brute force behind the creature's massive weapon. It was like trying to hold back a boulder tumbling down a mountain. Step by step, Lorian was driven back, the beast's strength seemingly limitless.

Just as he tried to shift his stance for better footing, the creature's predatory eyes flashed with a dangerous glint. It lashed out with a sudden, powerful kick, catching him square in the chest. The blow sent him flying through the air, his body tumbling like a ragdoll until he crashed against the marble edge of a fountain.

The impact left him sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath. Pain shot through his ribs, and he could taste blood on his lips. As he struggled to move, he felt a deep, pulsing agony from the wound—a fatal blow, if this were real. The beast loomed closer, its enormous sword raised to deliver the final strike.

Before his vision darkened completely, Lysara's voice echoed through the haze. "This beast may have a sword, but at the end of the day, it's still a beast, Lorian."

The world went black.

With a gasp, Lorian's eyes shot open. He found himself back on the undamaged marble of the courtyard, the fountain pristine and his body whole again. He blinked rapidly, disoriented by the sudden shift. The wounds he had suffered were gone, and there was no blood or bruises to be found.

Standing over him, Lysara's gaze was sharp and unyielding. "Again," she commanded.

Before Lorian could catch his breath, he heard the familiar rush of air behind him. Instinctively, he threw himself to the side as the beast's massive sword carved through the space he'd just occupied. The creature was already attacking, its relentless assault giving him no time to think.

He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding, and drew his sword once more, bracing himself for another round. This time, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.