The Forsaken Heir

Lorian 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.

Time blurred as the battles repeated. Lorian lost count after a dozen attempts, each encounter ending with him on the ground, gasping for breath, or staring up at the sky as his vision faded to black. The beast's relentless strength and sheer brutality kept breaking through his defenses, overwhelming his strategies, and pushing him to his limits.

He managed to win only once, and even that victory was far from ideal. Desperation had driven him to impale himself on the creature's sword just to get close enough for a final strike. It had worked, but the cost was his life. He fell alongside his opponent, and though the mindscape revived him unscathed, the memory of that fatal blow lingered, reminding him that he had survived through sacrifice, not skill.

Lorian found himself standing once more in the courtyard, the marble pristine and the air still. The beast loomed before him, as relentless as ever. He took a steady breath and tightened his grip on his sword. This was more than just training—it was an opportunity to truly test himself in ways the real world would never allow. Here, he could die a thousand times and still rise to fight again.

And he intended to make use of that advantage.

Each time he fell, he rose with a little more understanding. He began experimenting, trying new approaches and even mimicking some of the beast's moves, using his own agility to replicate the raw, sweeping strikes. His movements were clumsy at first, lacking the sheer power the creature possessed, but slowly, he began to find a rhythm—each clash of steel against steel refining his technique.

He started to anticipate the beast's attacks, stepping into the flow of battle rather than fighting against it. When the creature swung down with its usual crushing force, Lorian dodged and countered with a slicing arc aimed at the beast's exposed side. The blow landed but only grazed the creature, barely drawing any blood. Still, it was progress.

"Good," Lysara's voice echoed from somewhere above, calm yet challenging. "You're learning to adapt. But don't get too comfortable. The beast is relentless because it has no fear, no hesitation. You must learn to be the same."

Lorian's body ached from the countless encounters, his limbs heavy and his breath ragged. But with each fight, he moved with more confidence, his instincts sharpening. He began to combine different techniques, weaving light and shadow magic into his swordplay. A burst of shadow would obscure his movements just enough to give him an opening, while a flash of light could throw off the creature's aim for a split second.

He learned to use the environment as well—the courtyard's stone pillars, the fountain, even the raised platforms—all became tools to aid his tactics. He darted between obstacles, forcing the beast to adjust its movements while he exploited its slow recovery after each heavy strike.

Even with his growing skill, the beast remained a formidable opponent. It seemed to adapt to him just as quickly as he adapted to it. It adjusted its attacks, feinting where it had previously committed, or sweeping low when Lorian expected an overhead swing. There was no pattern, no easy way to predict its next move. Each fight was a brutal struggle, and every mistake was punished without mercy.

Lorian gritted his teeth as the beast lunged at him again, its sword carving a path toward his chest. He twisted his body and sidestepped, feeling the rush of air as the blade narrowly missed. In the same motion, he pivoted on his heel and brought his sword up in a sweeping arc, aiming to slash across the beast's back.

The strike landed, a deep cut tearing through the creature's hide, but it barely flinched. It whirled around, and its clawed hand lashed out faster than Lorian anticipated. The blow struck his shoulder, sending him stumbling backward.

"Don't let up!" Lysara's voice cut through his pain like a whip. "Press the attack. If you give it a moment's respite, it will crush you."

Ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder, Lorian surged forward, gritting his teeth against the pain. He drew upon his magic, casting a brief flare of light into the beast's eyes to blind it momentarily. Then, taking a cue from one of the creature's earlier tactics, he swung his sword in a low, sweeping motion, forcing the beast to step back.

The creature recovered quickly, its eyes narrowing in what seemed like irritation, and lunged once more. Lorian dodged to the side, using a burst of shadow to conceal his movement. As the beast's blade passed through the dark mist, Lorian closed in, aiming for the exposed side with a thrust.

But the beast was already a step ahead. It spun with unexpected speed and met his strike with a brutal backhand. The impact sent Lorian crashing into the marble steps at the edge of the courtyard. His vision swam, and for a moment, all he could hear was the echo of Lysara's voice.

"Again."

The command was absolute. Even before the pain faded, Lorian found himself back on his feet, sword in hand. The creature was already advancing, its relentless eyes locked onto him. This time, however, he was ready.

He wouldn't let the repeated failures deter him. Instead, he embraced them. He had learned to die and rise again, each time bringing him a step closer to victory. Now, he would test just how far he could go before the beast broke him completely—or before he finally broke it.

***

From her vantage point above the courtyard, Lysara watched the spectacle unfold, her crimson eyes gleaming with a mixture of intrigue and satisfaction. Lorian was growing, improving with each clash and every fall. His movements, once frantic and uncertain, were now developing a certain rhythm. He was learning to navigate the chaos of battle, his instincts sharpening as he adapted to the beast's relentless assault.

"Not bad, young master~," she murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she observed his latest maneuver. He had managed to dodge a sweeping blow by rolling to the side and then counterattacked with a strike aimed at the creature's exposed leg. It was a risky move, but it showed courage, and more importantly, a willingness to exploit every opening.

But it wasn't just his improvements that caught her attention—it was the speed of his recovery after each death. Most people who trained in their mindscape would struggle with the experience of dying, the sensation causing a backlash on their psyche. It was common for their consciousness to be jolted back to reality, with the body suffering various aftereffects—shaking limbs, cold sweats, or even temporary paralysis. For some, the trauma could be severe enough to discourage them from re-entering the mindscape for days, or even weeks.

Yet Lorian was different. Each time he was cut down, crushed, or torn apart, he returned to his feet almost immediately, as if the previous death had been nothing more than a fleeting nightmare. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no trembling in his limbs. He met the beast head-on every time, his resolve burning brighter with every failure.

Lysara arched an eyebrow, a hint of surprise glinting in her gaze. Impressive, she muttered. He doesn't know it, but his ability to recover like this isn't normal. Not at all.

She had expected some kind of backlash by now—some sign of his consciousness recoiling from the repeated deaths. But Lorian continued to rise, his determination seeming to override the natural limitations of his mind. The most he showed was exhaustion, a sign that his mental stamina was indeed being drained by the constant strain, but even that was receding faster than it should have.

Lysara's smile widened as she watched him charge back into the fray, his blade clashing against the beast's once more. "It's as though he's feeding off his own defeat," she mused, her tone both approving and curious. "He's using each death as fuel to improve, to push past his own limits."

She leaned back, folding her arms as she observed him with renewed interest. He may not realize it, but this resilience of his… it's not just stubbornness. It's something deeper. Something innate. The notion stirred something in her—a recognition that perhaps there was more to Lorian than even he understood. She had seen countless warriors fall in their own mindscapes, unable to shake the dread of death. But Lorian didn't seem to fear it at all.

"How curious," she whispered, her gaze flickering with a hint of pride. "You might just be worth the trouble after all, little light."

As Lorian continued to battle the beast, his form a blur of motion, Lysara's eyes never left him. He was still far from mastering his magic, still struggling to separate and wield his light and shadow with the finesse required. But she could see it now—a glimmer of true potential beneath the surface.

If he could withstand this trial, if he could truly embrace the lessons of the mindscape, then perhaps he could become more than just a desperate heir with something to prove. Perhaps, with time and relentless effort, he could become a force capable of shaking even the foundations of Aeloria itself.

For now, however, the beast would continue to be his crucible—and Lysara would continue to watch, ever eager to see just how far Lorian could go before he either conquered the monster before him… or was consumed by it.

***

Outside Lorian's room, Elara, Selene, Julian, Celeste, and Vivienne stood in the dimly lit hallway, a mixture of concern and frustration etched across their faces. The heavy door had closed behind them with a resolute click, sealing Lorian away from their attempts to reach him.

Elara let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through her golden-silver hair. "I can't believe he's still shutting us out," she muttered, her tone a blend of worry and exasperation.

Selene crossed her arms, her violet eyes lingering on the closed door. "He looked terrible, Elara. Those scars… that wasn't just normal training. Whatever he's doing in there, it's dangerous."

"I tried to tell him," Elara replied, shaking her head. "But you know how stubborn he is. He won't listen, not when he's convinced he has to push himself this hard."

Julian scoffed from the back of the group, crossing his arms. "You're wasting your breath," he said, his tone carrying a hint of bitterness. "Lorian's always been like this. He's got to be the hero, even if it kills him."

Celeste shot him a warning look. "Julian, now's not the time," she said quietly. "We're all worried about him."

Vivienne, who had been standing quietly at the edge of the group, spoke up, her voice soft but steady. "The scars on his arms and legs... they didn't look like any side effects from training spells I've seen before. It was as if he was using magic on himself, pushing it to dangerous levels."

Elara's jaw tightened. "He is pushing himself too far, and I'm starting to think it's because of that fight with Zephyr," she said. "I don't know if he's trying to prove something or just make up for it, but whatever it is, it's not worth destroying himself over."

Julian's lips twisted into a scornful smile. "Oh, it's definitely about proving something. Lorian always had a chip on his shoulder, even back when he thought he was on top. Now that he's lost face, he's desperate to get it back."

Selene glared at him, her voice tinged with anger. "Stop it, Julian. We don't need to hear your snide comments right now."

He shrugged, unbothered. "Just saying it like it is."

Elara took a step forward, her golden eyes narrowing as she looked at Julian. "If you're not here to help, then don't bother staying," she said, her voice cold. "We're all worried about Lorian, but picking at him while he's struggling isn't going to help anyone."

For a moment, tension crackled in the air. Julian's gaze met Elara's, and his expression softened just a little, a flicker of something other than disdain crossing his features. He looked away, breaking eye contact.

"I'm not picking at him," he said quietly, his voice losing some of its edge. "I just don't want to see him get himself killed because he's too proud to admit he needs help."

Celeste placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch gentle. "Then maybe you should try showing a little support instead of criticism," she said softly.

Vivienne nodded in agreement. "He's still our friend, Julian. Even if things have changed, we all care about him."

Julian's mouth tightened, but he didn't argue further. Instead, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the movement. "Fine," he muttered. "What do we do, then? If Lorian's going to keep locking himself away and pushing us out, how are we supposed to help him?"

Elara turned back to face the door, her expression hardening with resolve. "We can't force him to open up," she said slowly, "but we can still be there for him. Even if he doesn't realize it yet."

Selene stepped closer, her voice gentle but firm. "We'll have to keep an eye on him," she added. "Make sure he doesn't push himself too far."

Julian nodded reluctantly. "Guess that's the best we can do for now," he conceded.

Elara gave a small, grateful smile to the group. "Thanks, everyone. I know it's frustrating, but I think it matters that we're all here, even if Lorian doesn't want to admit he needs us."

The group began to walk down the hallway, their footsteps echoing in the silence. As they reached the corner, Julian paused and glanced back at Lorian's door, a strange expression on his face. He shook his head, his thoughts clouded with a mix of memories and regret, before turning away and following the others.

As they departed, the heavy quiet of the corridor settled back in, leaving Lorian's door standing as a solitary barrier between the young warrior and the friends who worried for him from the outside.