Kael took a deep breath, regaining his composure after the teasing, and brought the cup to his lips again. The tea was lukewarm, but it helped clear his mind. He looked at Amelia and Irelia, who were now calmly drinking their own breakfast—as if they hadn't just emotionally tortured him.

"So…" Kael began, resting his elbows on the table. "What are you two going to do today? Since, for now, we don't exactly have… much to do in this place."

Amelia snorted before he could even finish the sentence.

"Oh, wonderful," she said, crossing her arms. "Another day trapped in an enchanted castle with witches who wake up singing to crystals and plants that talk to me when I walk by. I love living magic, but even for me this is too much."

Irelia gave a low, more elegant laugh and shook her head. "Amelia is exaggerating. The plants only talk to her because she tries to steal forbidden flowers."

"I don't 'steal.' I collect," Amelia corrected, indignant—but not enough to hide her mischievous smile. "And I collect with style."

Kael rolled his eyes. "Collect, of course. Is that what you call breaking a protective barrier to get a luminous flower at three in the morning?"

"I wasn't doing anything useful at that hour," she retorted, taking a piece of mana bread. "And besides, you weren't doing anything useful at that hour either…"

"Amelia." Irelia cut her off, without raising her voice. Amelia stopped, gave a guilty little smile, and bit into the bread to shut up.

Kael sighed, rubbing his nose. "Straight to the point, please."

Irelia, calmer now, explained:

"Today, judging by the schedule, there are no external missions for us. The court is still organizing the kingdom's defenses, and until they decide how to involve us, we are… distinguished visitors."

She paused, clearly uncomfortable with the word "distinguished."

"Basically, we're on standby," Amelia finished, throwing herself back in her chair. "Which means we'll be bored to death until someone comes to ask for help with some complex ritual or monsters trying to invade."

"Or," Irelia added, "we can take the opportunity to train."

Amelia rolled her eyes dramatically. "Sure, sure… Irelia's standard response. If we're bored, let's train until our bodies collapse. If we're anxious, let's train until we faint. If the kingdom is going to fall—"

"We train harder," Kael and Irelia finished at the same time.

Amelia crossed her arms, offended. "You two are impossible."

"And you're lazy," Irelia replied, taking a sip of tea.

Kael rested his chin on his hands and looked at the two with a slight smile—finally a genuinely peaceful smile.

He needed this.

Their presence.

Their silly arguments.

The balance that only the three of them could achieve together.

"So that's it," Kael concluded. "A day of waiting. Training, rest… or collecting forbidden flowers."

"It was ONE little flower ritual," Amelia murmured softly.

Kael took another sip and then, with a deep sigh, added:

"Well… if we're going to be stuck here until Ygg finishes what needs to be done… maybe we should take advantage of it so we don't go crazy."

Irelia nodded.

"I agree. I can help you train after lunch, Kael. Your mana is still unstable."

He frowned. "I'm fine."

"The castle walls disagree," Amelia teased immediately.

Kael banged his head on the table—or almost. He nearly did.

"Okay," he muttered, defeated. "Training after lunch. But you two promise not to talk about yesterday anymore?"

"Absolutely not," said Amelia.

"Never," added Irelia, with a rare mischievous smile.

Kael looked up at the ceiling, as if begging the heavens for patience.

"I should have stayed asleep."

"Ah, but then we couldn't laugh at you," said Amelia, patting his hand. "And that would be a tragedy."

…

The training area of the witches' royal castle was outdoors—a vast circular courtyard suspended between three towers, connected by living bridges of enchanted wood. In the center, the floor was made of smooth black stone, reinforced to withstand magical impacts. Above them, the clear sky of the Witch Kingdom seemed closer than anywhere else, as if the entire space were higher, lighter, more full of mana.

When Kael and Irelia arrived, the wind was blowing strongly, making the purple flags on the towers sway from side to side. Amelia had decided to stay in the living stands—a row of logs shaped into benches that grew from the ground—with a basket of fruit and a smile that said, "I will observe and judge you in silence."

Kael shrugged, taking a deep breath. Fatigue still coursed through his veins, but his mind seemed clearer. Training with Irelia always had this effect—as if everything around them aligned, as if the world became simpler. Irelia removed her long overcoat, revealing light training clothes—black with bluish details, typical of the Ainsworth style. Her white hair was tied in a tight bun, and her silvery eyes shone with quiet determination.

"How long has it been?" she asked, drawing her sword from its sheath.

Kael smiled slightly. "Since we left your uncle's castle."

"Too long," she said, without apparent emotion, but Kael knew: Irelia missed this as much as he did.

He drew his own sword—a black blade, forged from condensed shadows and spiritual steel. The tip cut the air with a soft whistle.

Irelia raised her eyebrows. "The shadow responded immediately. It's stronger."

"Or more unstable," Kael replied. "We'll find out."

They took their positions.

No ornate dueling poses, no magical flourishes.

The Ainsworths' stance was simple.

Simple… and deadly.

Firm feet. Empty mind.

Sword lowered, body relaxed.

As if the world stood still—and only they moved.

Adalric used to say that technique was a dance between the inevitable and the momentary.

Irelia was the first to advance.

The sound of her blade cutting through the air echoed through the courtyard.

Kael blocked at the last instant, and the impact of the two swords reverberated like a silent thunder between them.

Amelia whistled from the stands. "That's it… I felt that from here!"

Kael slid back, spinning his body and counterattacking with a diagonal strike. Irelia dodged with an almost irritating lightness—the typical sharp grace of the Ainsworths—and responded with three quick, consecutive strikes that Kael barely had time to follow.

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

Kael's shadows vibrated, stretching across the stone, but he contained them.

"No magic for now," Irelia warned. "Let's start clean."

He smiled. "Speaks like a true Ainsworth."

The next advance was his.

He moved too fast for someone tired—his body remembered the shape, the routine, the weight of each step Adalric made them repeat until their feet bled.

Irelia intercepted the attack, and the two entered a perfect flow—attack, defense, step back, spin, advance, blade against blade. The metallic sound echoed through the towers, and the air seemed to vibrate around them.

Kael was surprised by how light he felt.

Irelia… was even more precise than before.

"You've improved," he commented between blows.

"And your mind is elsewhere," she replied, dodging by inches. "Focus."

Kael laughed—a short, nervous laugh—and lunged forward with more force.

His black sword clashed against her silver blade, and for a moment, their eyes met in a mutual glint of respect and nostalgia.

It was good to be there.

It was familiar.

It was home.

One misstep from Kael—tiny, almost imperceptible.

But for Irelia, that was enough.

She twisted her wrist, sliding the blade across his and locking him in what Adalric called the short embrace of death—swords crossed, faces close, balance tense.

Kael smiled.

"Are you going to try to take me down with that?"

Irelia narrowed her eyes. "I already did."

And then she pushed him with the calculated force of someone who knew every muscle in her own body and his.

Kael lost his footing for half a second—but half a second was enough.

He fell backward. The air left his lungs with a dry thud.

Amelia stood up, shouting:

"HAHAHAHA! KAEL, YOU FELL!! FINALLY SOMEONE TOOK DOWN THE DARK DRAMATIC ONE!"

Irelia pointed the blade at his chest, the shadow of the sword streaking across the air with absolute perfection.

And then she smiled—a small, rare, genuine smile.

"Point for me."

Kael closed his eyes, laughing at himself.

"I had a rough night…"

"Rough?" Amelia shouted from behind. "I'D SAY NOISY—"

"Irelia," Kael interrupted, opening only one eye, "please get her out of here."

Irelia sheathed her sword with an elegant movement and offered her hand to help him up.

"Let's go again," she said. "This time, without distractions."

Kael took her hand, stood up, and twirled his sword between his fingers.

"Alright. Now I'll take you down."

Irelia raised an eyebrow, defiantly.

"Try."

The blades sang again.

…

The royal hall of the witches was silent—too silent for that time of day.

The large circular windows cast beams of bluish light onto the living marble floor, and the suspended crystals vibrated with a soft, restless sound, as if sensing the tension that permeated the air.

Eleanor Scarlet, the Witch Queen, stood before the central table—a long plank of primordial wood, fashioned from the very heart of the Mother Tree. Its surface pulsed slightly, reflecting the energy that flowed through the realm.

But it wasn't this pulsation that held her attention.

It was the letter.

A piece of bluish-white parchment, sealed with dark ice and runes of Skaldi—the Kingdom of Eternal Ice.

When Eleanor broke the seal, the air in the room dropped several degrees.

Now, she read the message for the third time, her golden eyes narrowing, her expression growing ever darker.

Behind her, Exelia—her general, her shadow, her perfect blade—remained silent, arms crossed over her purple and silver rune armor. The general's narrow eyes analyzed every detail of the room, but mainly… every movement of the Queen.

Eleonor took a deep breath, her long red hair rippling like lazy flames.

"…The wretch finally lost control."

Her voice echoed, low, laden with frustration and disdain.

Exelia tilted her head.

"The King of Skaldi?"

"Himself," replied Eleonor, throwing the letter onto the table.

The parchment slid with a dry sound, revealing part of its contents: veiled threats, desperate pleas, declarations that revealed fear… and growing insanity.

Exelia stepped forward, reading over the Queen's shoulder.

"He… wasn't dead?" "Did the princess lie?" she asked, her voice deep but perplexed.

Eleanor looked closely… "It seems there was resistance and now… he's on his last legs, but… the problem is who took control of Skaldi."