"Since you were training while we were gone," his father said, rolling his shoulders, "why don't we spar?"
Draven felt a bead of sweat form on his temple.
He straightened his back but didn't respond right away.
His mother, noticing his hesitation, smiled warmly.
"I would also like to spar with you," she said, trying to lighten the mood.
> They can't help themselves when it comes to training their kid, Draven thought with a sigh.
The three of them walked through the long castle corridors until they reached the training hall.
A few moments later, they stood in the wide, open room.
Torches lined the stone walls, casting flickering light across the floor, while racks of weapons rested silently against the walls like dormant beasts.
His father stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.
"Come at me. Let me see if you've improved."
> This damn old man just wants to beat me up, Draven grumbled internally.
He charged forward, throwing the first punch.
It was fast—
but his father blocked it with ease.
His father's lips curled into a smirk.
> He's stronger than before.
"Is that all you've got?" he asked, clearly amused.
"I'm just getting started, old man," Draven growled.
He launched into a series of rapid strikes.
Left.
Right.
A low kick.
Another punch.
Each attack was blocked or dodged effortlessly.
His father moved like a phantom, reading every attack before it landed.
> I still can't land a single damn hit…
Draven's frustration mounted.
Then—
a counterattack.
A sharp punch came straight toward his ribs.
Draven twisted his body just in time, narrowly avoiding the blow.
His father's eyes narrowed slightly.
> He dodged it. He really hasn't been slacking off.
The fight continued.
Minutes turned into hours.
Blood hit the floor.
Bones cracked, healed, and cracked again.
Neither of them spoke.
The rhythm of fists, grunts, and heavy impacts filled the chamber.
There was no magic here.
Only raw strength, physical skill, pain, and regeneration.
At last—
Draven collapsed onto the cold stone floor.
His chest heaved as blood and sweat soaked his clothes.
"Are you trying to kill your only child, old man?" he groaned.
His father leaned over him, grinning.
"You're my son. You're not going to die that easily."
"Still hurts like hell," Draven muttered, closing his eyes.
His father chuckled.
"Your mother's been waiting for you. You'd better not keep her waiting."
Draven slowly pushed himself back onto his feet.
> I better go before she comes to find me herself.
He staggered out of the training hall and made his way toward the forest just outside the castle.
---
The moon hung high above the trees, casting pale silver light across the forest floor.
As soon as Draven stepped into the woods—
the shadows stirred.
His mother emerged from the darkness, her figure almost blending into the night.
Her white hair shimmered beneath the moonlight.
"You took so long," she said, puffing out her cheek. "I thought you weren't coming."
"Sorry," Draven replied. "The old man wouldn't stop breaking my bones. If I couldn't regenerate, I'd be dead already."
She tilted her head, her expression softening slightly.
"We might be tough on you… but since you don't have any magic, this is the only way you can protect yourself."
Draven stared at her.
For a brief moment, guilt twisted in his gut.
> She looks sad. Should I let her know that I think I might be able to use mana?
He hesitated.
Then—
he shook the thought from his mind.
> Nope. If I do that, they'll only push me harder. I still want to live an easy life.
He smiled.
"I'll train even harder."
Her face lit up.
"Good. Then let's begin."
She took a step back.
"I'll give you a head start."
Draven didn't wait.
He leapt into the trees, jumping from branch to branch.
His white hair streamed behind him as he sprinted through the forest canopy.
Then—
she was gone.
A flicker of movement.
And suddenly—
she was beside him.
Draven's eyes widened.
He gasped, lost his footing, and tumbled from the trees.
His mother landed beside him with the grace of a shadow, staring down at him with an unreadable expression.
Draven looked up at her, groaning.
"You lost focus," she said, offering him a hand. "That's why you fell. Don't let yourself get distracted."
Draven took her hand and pulled himself to his feet, brushing the leaves from his clothes.
She nodded.
"That's enough for today. Let's return."
They moved together through the trees again, silently drifting from branch to branch.
Draven did his best to keep up.
But even now—
he couldn't match her speed.
A few minutes later, they reached the castle.
"Bye."
"Mom, I need to go clean up."
Draven separated from his mother and returned to his room.
---
He called for a maid.
"Prepare a bath. And bring food when I'm done."
Not long after, there was a knock at his door.
"Young Master, your food," the maid said, stepping inside and placing a silver tray on the table.
She bowed slightly before leaving.
Draven soaked in the hot water, letting the warmth ease the pain from his aching muscles.
He cleaned away the dried blood and closed his eyes, listening to the silence.
Later, he ate alone, the room dimly lit by candlelight.
Finally, he dropped into bed.
His body was exhausted.
His eyes were heavy.
But sleep didn't come easily.
He lay awake, staring at the ceiling.