Three months.
That's how much time had passed since Voren regressed.
From the blood-soaked floor of the exam arena to the vast grasslands of Cobblestone, the difference was night and day. And yet, he had spent most of that precious time doing exactly what he was now best known for—
Losing to his father.
Clang!
Steel met steel with a sharp, ringing cry that cut cleanly through the open air.
Voren twisted his wrist at the last moment, redirecting Aldric's blade just enough for it to slide past his guard instead of cleaving straight through it. His feet shifted instinctively, left heel digging into the dirt, right foot gliding back half a step. The movement was smooth. Controlled. Deliberate.
Three months ago, he would have stumbled.
Now, he didn't.
Aldric's eyes flickered with faint approval, though his expression didn't change.
"Your footing's better," Aldric said, already pressing forward. "You're not overcommitting."
Voren didn't answer. He couldn't afford to.
He rotated his shoulders, bringing his sword up again as Aldric struck from the side. The impact rattled through his arms, but he absorbed it, letting the force travel into his stance instead of resisting it outright.
Footwork first.
Balance second.
Strength last.
That had been Aldric's mantra from the beginning.
Voren pivoted, blade flashing as he attempted a counter. It wasn't reckless. He waited for the opening. A fraction of a second where Aldric's weight shifted forward.
He went for it.
Aldric stepped inside the swing.
Swoosh!
The air rushed past Voren's ear as Aldric's blade stopped a hair's breadth from his neck.
Defeat.
Again.
Voren exhaled slowly as his sword slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. His knees buckled and he dropped onto his back, staring up at the sky, chest rising and falling hard.
Aldric didn't gloat.
He never did.
Instead, he reversed his grip on the sword and extended a hand.
"Up."
Voren took it.
Aldric hauled him to his feet with ease, the strength in his grip firm but steady. There was no disappointment there. No frustration.
Only expectation.
They moved together up the slope, boots crunching softly against the grass until they reached the crest of the hill. It was Aldric's chosen training ground. High enough to overlook the town, far enough that no one bothered them.
Then they sat.
For a while, neither spoke.
Below them, Cobblestone stretched out in quiet familiarity. Crooked rooftops. Narrow dirt roads. Thin lines of smoke rising from chimneys as midday meals were prepared. The town wasn't much. It never had been.
But it was home.
Voren let his gaze wander, committing the sight to memory. The market square where Iris used to drag him along, pointing out things they couldn't afford. The old well near the eastern edge of town. The cluster of houses near the fields, including Iris's.
Three months ago, he had thought he would lose all of this.
In another life, he had.
Aldric rested his sword across his knees. "You've improved."
Voren let out a breath, forcing a faint smile. "Still can't beat you."
Aldric snorted. "You're not supposed to. Not yet."
He then tossed a towel at Voren.
"Your form is cleaner," Aldric noted. "You've stopped swinging like you're angry. You're actually thinking now." He then paused, giving Voren a pointed look. "That's good. For many, the difference between winning and losing is the second they calm their mind and begin to think."
Voren just nodded, accepting the towel.
"Everyone fixates on the magic portion of the exam," Aldric continued, almost to himself. "They forget the sword duel. They forget that eventually, a mage has to rely on steel. Don't be one of the ones who forgets."
His gaze hardened slightly. "I won't be there to pull you up when you fall."
Voren swallowed.
"As your father," Aldric went on, voice steady, "this is the best I can do. I can't buy you tutors. I can't keep guiding your palms. I can't always shield you from noble brats who think the world owes them."
He then placed a hand on Voren's shoulder. "But I can make sure you don't freeze when steel's pointed at your throat."
Voren met his eyes. "I won't."
Aldric studied him for a moment longer, then nodded once.
They sat in silence again.
The wind rolled across the grassland, carrying the distant sounds of the town. Somewhere below, a dog barked. Somewhere else, laughter drifted faintly upward.
Cobblestone looked small from up here.
Fragile.
Voren clenched his hands unconsciously.
In his previous life, this town had remained exactly the same.
Poor. Overlooked. Powerless.
He had left it behind chasing the academy, chasing strength, chasing glory. Not knowing that the path he eagerly wished to walk, was one that led to his death.
Not this time.
This will be different. Aiden Hartwright won't have his way anymore.
"You're thinking too hard again," Aldric said, interrupting Voren's thoughts.
Voren chuckled quietly. "You always notice."
"That's because you make the same face your mother does when she's worried."
That earned a real smile.
Aldric then stood and stretched, joints popping faintly. He looked up at the afternoon sky, exhaling a long, weary breath.
"Two weeks until the exam starts," he said, more to the clouds than to Voren. "Doesn't leave much margin for error. With the carriage arriving at dawn, you'll be in the capital by tomorrow evening."
He turned his gaze back to his son, his expression hardening into something serious.
"Listen to me, Voren. The capital isn't Cobblestone. You bump into someone here, you apologize and buy them a drink. You bump into the wrong person there?" He held up a finger. "Always know when to keep your head down."
"That does not mean bowing to every noble you meet," Aldric continued. "It means understanding timing, weight, and consequence. A truly wise person knows it's better to smile at your enemies and let them believe you are harmless than to bare your fangs too early and invite their attention. Power that is revealed before it is needed becomes a target. Power that is hidden survives, grows, and strikes only when the moment is right."
"Wisdom is not about proving you are strong. It is about knowing when strength should remain unseen."
Aldric then reached behind the wooden bench and grabbed a heavy leather satchel. He then tossed it through the air.
Voren caught it with both hands, surprised by the weight, as it landed with a dense, metallic chink.
"Three thousand silver," Aldric stated. "That should cover a room, and many more."
Voren froze. He hurriedly undid the strings and peered inside, the dull glint of silver staring back at him. His stomach dropped.
"No." Voren cinched the bag tight and stepped forward, thrusting it back toward his father. "Dad, I can't take this. This is… this is the entire harvest profit. Maybe more."
"Voren—"
"The roof needs fixing, and winter is coming," Voren insisted, his voice rising. "Mom and Lira need this way more than I do. I can find work in the city. I can—"
Aldric didn't take the bag. He reached out, closing his large, calloused hand over Voren's, forcing the satchel back against his son's chest.
"I'm not asking you to take it," Aldric said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "I'm telling you. I can fix a roof. I can work a harvest. What I can't do is be there to watch your back."
He squeezed Voren's hand firmly.
"Let me do this. It's my parting gift. Don't rob a father of the chance to spoil his son, just this once."
With a sigh, Voren accepted the satchel, and after that, they began the walk back down the hill.
As they descended, Voren took one last look at Cobblestone bathed in afternoon light. He burned the image into his mind. Every crooked roof. Every narrow path.
This was where he came from.
And one day, when he returned—
He wouldn't be the boy who lost anymore.