The river bent wide and shallow, and on its bank a meadow opened, split by a moss-capped boulder. Ashwyn halted, planting his staff with a soft thump.
"Here," he said. "New gifts cut both ways. Learn the edge before it learns you."
Nyx's mouth curved the faintest bit. Ari tugged her bowstring, letting it hum. Brennar leaned his axe on the boulder, folding his arms. Rowan stood in the grass, restless, unsure what he expected.
Ashwyn turned his head. "The shadows first." His eyes settled on Nyx. "Show us."
Nyx stepped into the long grass without hesitation. The air thickened at her back, and something peeled out of the shade—sleek and black, eyes silver bright. A panther padded forward, as real as flesh and twice as silent. It sat beside her, tail flicking once, twice.
Rowan stared. "Does it… eat?"
Nyx smirked. "You volunteering?"
Rowan spread his hands. "I'm stringy. Not worth the trouble."
Even Brennar snorted at that.
"Fetch," Nyx said, pointing at a fallen birch log lying pale across the grass.
The panther flowed forward, claws flashing. Wood tore with a sharp crack. Another swipe split the halves apart like pages in a book. The beast didn't roar, didn't strain—it worked with precise, cold power.
Rowan felt the hairs rise on his arms. He had seen wolves, even bears, but nothing moved like this. It was beauty sharpened into terror.
Nyx walked with the panther, blades in her hands. They moved together—her low, it high—until the birch lay in neat segments. At her touch, the beast melted into mist and was gone.
She rolled her shoulders. "Not long yet," she admitted. "It drinks from the same well I do. But when it's here…" She glanced around the meadow, that small smirk pulling at her mouth. "…I hear everything. Don't bother hiding in my dark."
"Noted," Brennar muttered, still eyeing the shredded wood.
Ashwyn gestured toward two low birch leaves swaying in the breeze. "Not the branch. The space between. Mark it."
Nyx raised a dagger, let it spin once, then flicked her wrist. For an instant the air thickened into a seam of shadow. The blade vanished—then reappeared on the far side, the leaves untouched, the bark behind them nicked as if ink had burned it.
Rowan's eyebrows shot up. "You threaded it."
"The mark shows the gap," Nyx said, retrieving the knife with a curl of her fingers. The shadow spat it back into her palm, clean and sharp. "Everything has a gap."
Brennar shook his head. "Gods save us from women with knives."
Rowan grinned, shaking his head. "Remind me never to play cards with you."
Ashwyn pointed to a thin cord tied between two saplings with a tiny bell hanging from it. Rowan hadn't even noticed him set it. "Cross the line," he told Nyx. "Cut the cord. Do not ring the bell."
Nyx looked amused. "You could have just asked me to breathe."
She walked. The grass bent under her boots, but no sound came. She stepped to the cord, lifted her blade, and tapped the air. Shadow inked a small line across the cord. The knife itself never touched it. The cord parted. The bell swayed and stilled without a sound.
Rowan let out a breath. "All right. That's not fair."
Nyx tilted her head. "Don't hide in my dark," she said again, softer.
Ashwyn turned then, eyes on Rowan. "Your turn."
Rowan blinked. "Mine?"
"You carry water. Ask it for something new."
Rowan touched the strap at his shoulder and drew the stopper. A thin stream slid onto the iron head of his harpoon. He laid his palm along it, breathing the way the river had taught him when the wolves came.
"Stay," he whispered.
The water clung. He tilted the shaft; it did not fall. He pressed his hand flat and thought of cold. A film of frost spread, feathering white along the edge, sharpening the steel to a whisper.
Brennar leaned close, eyebrows rising. "Hells. That will cut."
Rowan smiled, steadying his breath. The frost held, then cracked in one soft sigh. He lifted the harpoon. "Getting better," he murmured to the water.
Ari nodded from the shade. "Your line was smoother than last time."
"Thanks," Rowan said—and meant it.
"Again," Ashwyn said. "But smaller. Finer. Think thread, not blade."
Rowan set the harpoon down and poured a few drops into his palm. He pinched forefinger to thumb and pulled apart slowly, trying to tease the droplet into a hair-thin string. It kept snapping. He tried again. Snap. Again.
Lyra came to his side and touched his shoulder. "Breathe slower than you think you should."
He slowed his breathing. The water stretched—a thin, trembling line between his fingers. "Easy," he told it. "Easy."
The line held. He looped it over a twig. Ashwyn nodded once. "Now freeze, only the loop."
Rowan focused. For a heartbeat nothing happened. Then a tiny ring of frost formed around the twig, the rest of the water still liquid. He let go. The liquid slid back into his palm. The frost ring stayed, tiny and neat.
He laughed, surprised. "That's new."
"Control before force," Ashwyn said. "Force is loud. Control wins."
Brennar stepped forward, rolling his shoulder. "Footwork wins," he said, not unkind. He stomped a small square in the grass with his boot heel. "Harpoon up. Show me your set."
Rowan lifted the weapon and stood in the square. Brennar nudged his knee with two fingers. "Soften. You're locked. Locks break."
Rowan softened. Brennar tapped his heel. "Weight forward, but not falling. If I push—"
He pushed. Rowan slid half a step, but didn't topple.
"Better," Brennar said. "Now swing and stop before you lean too far. Don't let the weapon pull you."
Rowan swung, stopping the harpoon with more control than he'd had last week. The frost edge hissed a little in the warm air.
Nyx watched from the shade, flipping her dagger. "He might live," she said, and Rowan couldn't tell if she was teasing or not.
They trained until the sun pressed shadows short. Nyx summoned the panther again and had it pin a straw bundle Brennar had lashed together—quick tackle, precise hold, no tear. She sent it away before her breath ran thin. Rowan shaped ice along his harpoon, then asked the water to draw itself back into the skin without spilling. It snapped back like a good rope. He tried forming a flat ice coin and flicking it at a leaf. The first coin shattered at his fingers. The second wobbled and fell. The third clipped the leaf and spun into the grass. He grinned like a boy.
Lyra drifted between them with willow bark and dried fruit, reminding them to drink. Brennar split stones with his axe for pride and said nothing when Rowan's frost split one cleaner, though his jaw worked at the sight.
They paused in the shade for bread and cheese. Ari sat with her back to the boulder, eyes half-closed as if saving strength. Nyx tossed her dagger from hand to hand in an easy rhythm. The meadow buzzed with small life. The river kept its slow talk.
Rowan held up his hand. A bead of water sat on his palm. He closed his fingers around it, then opened them. The bead was gone. "Back," he said, and the waterskin bulged a little at his hip, as if it had swallowed a grape.
"Show-off," Brennar said, but he smiled.
Ashwyn wasn't done. He walked them to the river's edge and pointed at a flat stone just beneath the surface. "Three breaths," he told Rowan. "Make the water hold still around that stone. Only there."
Rowan crouched. The current slipped past his fingers. He set his palm in the water, found the pull and the push, and asked it to quiet over the stone. The surface didn't stop, not truly, but it smoothed. A mirror bloomed there while the rest of the river kept moving.
"Good," Ashwyn said. "You will need that—small calm in big trouble."
He turned to Nyx and pointed to the same stone. "Cross to it. Touch it. No ripples."
Nyx's mouth twitched. She stepped onto a dry rock, then another, then nothing at all. For a blink Rowan thought his eyes lied to him. The water under her foot dimpled, but did not splash. She crossed to the smooth patch Rowan held and tapped the stone with her toe. No rings. She backed away the way she had come, light as a thought.
Rowan's calm broke and the mirror vanished. He laughed, shaking his head. "All right. Now you're just being rude."
Nyx hopped to shore and bowed the smallest bow, mocking and graceful all at once.
They worked until arms went heavy and minds went foggy. When Lyra finally lifted her hand, even Ashwyn nodded. "Enough," he said. "Tired bodies learn the wrong lesson."
They sat with their backs to the boulder. The sun slid lower. The meadow cooled. A dragonfly hung over the river like a bit of blue wire.
Rowan let out a long breath. They were different now—Nyx with the silver-eyed shadow still echoing in his head, himself with frost that held when he asked and melted when he let it. But instead of fear or envy, he felt simple, clean wonder.
"Better," Brennar said, finally breaking the quiet. He nodded at Rowan's weapon, then at the water pouch on his belt. "Keep at it."
Rowan grinned faintly. "I will."
"And you," Brennar added to Nyx without looking at her, "stop sneaking up on me. I'm too old to be dying of surprise."
"You'd hear me if you listened," Nyx said.
"I listen fine," Brennar said. "I just don't hear lies."
Nyx's smirk grew. "Then you'll hear me never."
Ari cracked one eye open. "Please don't start."
"We're not starting," Brennar said. "We're finishing."
Ashwyn pushed himself to his feet. "One more thing," he said. He pointed to the bell he'd used before and hung it again, this time high. "Rowan—ice the clapper. Small, quick. Then Nyx, cut the cord."
Rowan stood under the bell, rolled the waterskin in his hand, and flicked a tiny bead upward. It kissed the clapper and froze. The bell went stiff. "Now," he said.
Nyx flicked her wrist. The cord parted. The bell dropped into the grass with a dull thud. No ring.
Ashwyn's beard twitched—almost a smile. "Good. You learn."
They packed up when the sun tipped afternoon-ward. As they shouldered their gear, Rowan found he wasn't tired the way he used to be after training. He was used up in a better way, like a field after rain.
They moved out, quieter than they'd come. Rowan took the river side again. He watched the place near Nyx where the air stayed a shade darker, as if the panther still walked there, invisible. He touched the waterskin and felt the cool shape pushing back, steady and ready.
"You'll have yours," Brennar said, falling in beside him without looking over. "Whatever it is."
"I'm not in a hurry," Rowan said.
"Good," Brennar answered. "Because I am." He flashed a quick, wolfish grin, and the heaviness that had hung on him since the ruined town shifted a little, like a pack settled better on shoulders.
Behind them, Ashwyn tapped his staff once against the stone. "Enough for today," he said. "Tomorrow, more."
The river kept its slow talk. The grass whispered at their knees. South lay dust and wheels and whatever waited. For now, they had learned a little more of who they were—and how not to cut themselves on it.