The training grounds in the southern district of the academy were different.
Not the loud, crowded fields near the main campus.
Not the polished arenas where nobles showed off their techniques.
This place—
Felt older.
Stone paths cracked with age wound through the area like forgotten veins.
Grass grew unevenly, reclaiming spaces where structured training once dominated.
Tall trees surrounded the field, their branches stretching wide, forming a natural canopy that filtered sunlight into soft, shifting patterns across the ground.
The air was quieter here.
Not silent—
But calm.
The kind of calm that made every movement more noticeable.
Every breath clearer.
To one side stood the old chapel.
Weathered stone walls, worn by time and seasons.
Faint carvings of ancient symbols—half-erased, yet still holding meaning.
A bell tower leaned slightly, its rope long since frayed and unused.
No one maintained it anymore.
But no one tore it down either.
As if the academy itself respected what once stood there.
And beside it—
An open field.
Wide.
Unstructured.
Perfect for those who didn't want an audience.
Takemi stepped onto the grass first.
"…Feels different here."
Rauk followed, stretching his arms.
"…Yeah."
"…Less people. More space."
Lira walked behind them, eyes scanning the area.
"…This place was likely used before the current training systems were established."
Takemi glanced at her.
"…Meaning?"
"…Before standardized combat forms."
She looked at the uneven ground.
"…Back when people learned by surviving, not by instruction."
Rauk grinned.
"…I like this place already."
They didn't rush.
That was the difference now.
Takemi placed his bag down near a worn stone marker.
The surface was chipped, edges softened by time.
No name.
No markings.
Just… there.
"…We train like usual," he said.
Rauk nodded.
"…And try not to die?"
"…Preferably."
Lira sighed.
"…Let's start with something basic."
A gentle breeze passed through the field.
The leaves above whispered softly.
Light shifted across the ground—
Dancing between shadow and gold.
From a distance—
Unnoticed—
Elira stood near the edge of the tree line.
Half-hidden by the shade.
Watching.
Rauk moved first.
Heavy steps.
Grounded.
Each motion deliberate.
He planted himself firmly, raising his guard.
"…Come on," he said.
"…Let's see what you got today."
Takemi exhaled.
Then stepped forward.
The handle shifted in his grip.
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
Then—
A flicker.
A thin line of light—
Forming.
Breaking.
Reforming.
"…Still unstable," Lira noted.
Takemi smirked slightly.
"…Yeah, yeah, I know."
He moved.
Fast.
Not perfect—
But sharper than before.
Rauk met him head-on.
CLANG.
The sound echoed softly across the field.
Not loud—
But clear.
Takemi adjusted immediately.
Angle changed.
Step repositioned.
Rauk pushed back.
Hard.
Forcing Takemi to react.
"…Better," Rauk said.
"…Still not enough."
Elira watched.
Quiet.
Unmoving.
"…He's not forcing it…"
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"…He's adjusting to it."
That was different.
Most people tried to dominate their weapons.
Control them.
Force them into shape.
Takemi didn't.
He listened.
The blade flickered again.
Then—
Stabilized.
For a brief moment.
Takemi's eyes sharpened.
"…There."
He moved with it.
Not ahead of it.
Not behind it.
With it.
The strike landed cleaner.
More precise.
Rauk grinned.
"…That's it."
Then countered immediately.
Takemi stumbled back slightly.
The blade disappeared again.
"…Still can't hold it," he muttered.
Lira stepped closer.
"…You're trying to maintain the form."
"…Yeah?"
"…Stop."
Takemi blinked.
"…Stop?"
"…Let it go when it wants to."
Rauk laughed.
"…You're telling him to not control his weapon?"
"…I'm telling him to understand it first."
Takemi exhaled.
"…Alright… let's try that."
This time—
He didn't force it.
The handle remained still.
Silent.
He waited.
Moved without it.
Step.
Turn.
Breath.
Then—
The blade formed.
Naturally.
He swung.
CLANG.
Cleaner.
Rauk stepped back.
"…Okay."
"…That was better."
Elira's grip on her staff loosened slightly.
"…They're not rushing…"
That's what stood out.
No pressure.
No panic.
No desperate attempt to be stronger instantly.
Just—
Progress.
Slow.
Real.
Takemi stumbled again.
Fell.
Flat on his back.
"…Ow."
Rauk burst out laughing.
"…You looked cool for two seconds."
"…Shut up."
Lira shook her head slightly.
"…You lost your footing."
"…Yeah, I noticed."
They laughed.
Just like that.
No frustration.
No anger.
No blame.
Elira looked away.
Just for a moment.
"…Why…"
She whispered softly.
"…Why can they do that?"
Because she couldn't.
For her—
Every mistake meant someone got hurt.
There was no space for laughter.
Takemi stood up again.
Brushed himself off.
Then—
Without looking directly at her—
He spoke.
"…You can come closer, you know."
Rauk blinked.
"…Wait—she's here?"
Lira sighed.
"…She's been here."
Elira froze.
Just slightly.
"…I wasn't hiding."
"…Sure," Takemi said casually.
A pause.
"…We're taking a break anyway."
He sat down on the grass.
Rauk followed.
"…Finally."
Lira sat more properly.
"…Don't get too comfortable."
Elira didn't move at first.
Then—
Slowly—
She stepped forward.
Not close.
Not yet.
But closer than before.
The wind passed through the field again.
Gentle.
Carrying the sound of leaves.
Of quiet laughter.
Of something… unfamiliar.
For the first time in a long while—
Elira didn't feel like an outsider looking in.
Just someone…
Standing at the edge of something she wasn't ready to name yet.