The cabin came into view, smoke lazily curling from the chimney like a thought half-formed. Einar felt the gentle rustle of the trees around him, the wind murmuring softly, but his mind was elsewhere. The dreams lingered, and Celestia’s face haunted him, her eyes taunting, as if she held answers he didn’t.

Before he could even reach the door, it creaked open, and Alice burst out, all fiery red hair and boundless energy. She grinned, sunlight catching her hair like embers. She was too full of life for this quiet, too bright for the weight he carried.

“Took you long enough!” she teased, bouncing on her toes. “You’re slower than a drunk mule.”

Einar smirked, ruffling her hair with practiced ease. “Had to make sure the sword was worth the wait. Bron doesn’t deal in cheap steel.”

Alice’s eyes darted to the sword at his side, barely visible under his coat. “Let me see it!” she demanded, excitement spilling from her voice.

With a sigh, Einar unsheathed the blade, the steel gleaming as it caught the afternoon light. Alice’s breath hitched, her eyes wide.

“Careful,” he said, his tone heavier than intended. “It’s not a toy.”

“Good,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on the blade. “One day, I’ll have one just like it.”

He slid the sword back into its sheath. “A sword? You want to be a warrior and a sorceress now?” He smirked. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Alice pouted, crossing her arms, but the grin returned almost instantly. “Fine. But you promised! The lake’s perfect for training today.”

Einar nodded, though his attention shifted to the cabin window, where their mother stood. Lyna, clutching her crystal pendant, watched them with a quiet concern. Her gaze said more than her wave did.

“We’ll be back by sunset,” Einar called, keeping his voice steady, though something in the air felt off.

Lyna nodded, but her hand never left the pendant. It never did.

As they walked toward the forest, Alice’s excitement bubbled beside him, but Einar couldn’t shake the weight of the sword at his side. It wasn’t just the steel that felt heavy—it was everything unsaid, everything hidden.

And as the trees swallowed them, he wondered if the dreams weren’t the only things slipping into his waking life.

** **

The path to Iris Lake snaked through the dense forest, a narrow trail that seemed to cut through the shadows. Einar’s boots sank into the damp earth, each step heavy with purpose, yet weighted by something darker. The forest was thick with mana, the kind that made the air hum and press against his skin. Even someone like Einar—who had no affinity for magic—could feel it, as if the trees themselves pulsed with life.

“It’s as if the forest is watching us,” he muttered, a grim smirk twisting his lips. His boots crushed the soft dirt beneath them, a futile rebellion against a world brimming with magic he would never touch.

Beside him, Alice was silent, her usual chatter replaced by a calm focus. She wasn’t bouncing with excitement anymore. Instead, her green eyes were distant, her thoughts clearly elsewhere, preparing. Einar’s chest tightened at the sight of her—so focused, so much like their mother. That quiet concentration, the way she tuned out the world and centred herself.

“This place is perfect for your training,” Einar said quietly, his voice almost swallowed by the oppressive atmosphere of the forest. His eyes darted to the dark trees towering over them, their branches twisting like claws against the overcast sky.

The lake was still when they reached it, its glassy surface undisturbed, mirroring the heavy gray clouds. Glowing herbs dotted the shore, casting a faint light—like fragile souls caught between worlds. The scene felt otherworldly, almost peaceful, but the tension Einar carried made it hard to appreciate.

Alice nodded, her expression still focused as she crouched by the lake’s edge, the ambient mana making the air around her hum. She closed her eyes and reached inward, seeking the mana that surrounded them. Einar took a step back, watching her with an odd mix of pride and something closer to envy.

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She was born for this. Magic came to her like breathing, effortless and natural. And Einar—well, all he had was a sword. No magic, no mana core. He was an outsider in a world where even goblins had more of a right to magic than him.

"How can I be so low?" he thought bitterly. The weight of it settled in his gut, a constant reminder that he didn’t belong. He couldn’t even choose his fate—sorcerer or warrior. He had no choice but to pick up a blade.

Alice’s eyes fluttered shut as the air around her rippled with unseen energy. Her skin began to glow, faint at first, then brighter, like an ember catching fire. Einar’s breath caught. The glow was like their mother’s when she cast spells. But now, it was a reminder of everything Einar lacked.

"Feel it," he whispered, watching the mana dance at her fingertips. "Separate everything else and focus."

Alice nodded, her brow furrowing as sweat began to bead on her forehead. She was close—he could feel it. Her talent was undeniable, and though Einar wanted to be happy for her, the gnawing envy twisted in his chest.

And then, the peace shattered.

The underbrush behind them rustled violently, followed by the cold bite of wind that carried the stink of something foul. Einar’s hand instinctively flew to the hilt of his sword, eyes narrowing.

“Alice,” he hissed, his tone sharp. “Stay behind me.”

Two goblins emerged from the woods, their eyes gleaming with feral hunger. They were small, hunched creatures, with rusted weapons that looked as diseased as they did. Goblins usually stuck to their caves. Seeing them here, near the lake, sent a surge of dread through Einar.

"Too far from home," he thought, gripping his sword tighter.

Alice stepped back but kept her focus, the mana at her fingertips sparking brighter. It was clear she wouldn’t back down easily, but Einar didn’t want her to use her magic just yet.

The first goblin lunged at him, its jagged blade slicing through the air toward his legs. Einar sidestepped the attack, but his foot slipped on the uneven ground. He grunted, catching his balance just in time to block the goblin’s strike with his sword. The impact sent a jolt up his arm, the weight of the blade foreign in his hands.

The second goblin attacked from the side, swinging wildly. Einar barely dodged it, but something shifted in him. His movements became fluid, instinctual—like his body remembered something his mind had forgotten. The sword swung in a swift arc, faster than he thought possible. The first goblin’s head rolled to the ground, severed cleanly, its body collapsing in a heap.

Alice gasped, her eyes wide with shock. “Brother... how did you...?”

“I don’t know,” Einar muttered, staring at the sword in his hand. The blade felt different now, like it had always been a part of him. “It just... happened.”

The second goblin hesitated, its eyes flicking between Einar and the fallen body of its comrade. It only had a moment to reconsider before Einar’s blade found its throat, silencing its scream with a wet gurgle.

Panting, Einar stood over the bodies, the adrenaline slowly draining from him. His hands shook, the sword suddenly feeling heavier in his grip.

“That was... amazing!” Alice’s voice broke the silence, her tone full of awe. “You moved so fast. Like you’ve been training with that sword for years.”

Einar sheathed the blade slowly, still catching his breath. “I haven’t. I... don’t know what that was.”

Kneeling beside one of the fallen goblins, Einar spotted a faint glow coming from its chest. He reached down, pulling out a small, pulsating stone—a Monster Core. Without thinking, he tossed it to Alice, who caught it with wide eyes.

“Here,” he said, nodding toward the stone. “Absorb it. It’s not much, but it’ll help.”

Alice blinked, unsure. “How do I...?”

“It’s your first time, huh?” Einar allowed himself a small smile. “Just hold it. Focus on the mana inside. It’s more concentrated than what you’ve been working with.”

Nodding, Alice did as he instructed. The core’s glow faded as its energy flowed into her, the light around her hands growing brighter. Einar watched her closely, though his mind was elsewhere—on the fight, on how his body had moved on its own.

Out of the corner of his eye, something moved in the treeline. A shadow? A figure? It was gone before he could blink.

“Let’s go,” Einar said, his voice tighter than before. “We need to get back.”

Alice looked up, eyes full of trust. Einar smiled at her, but inside, his thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion. Something was changing in him—he could feel it. The sword, the dreams, the instincts that weren’t his.

Was it just my imagination?

** **

A few minutes earlier...

Two figures stood concealed among the trees, their presence swallowed by the shadows, watching the siblings by the lake. The smaller of the two shifted, eyes narrowing as he watched Alice absorb the core’s energy, her magic pulsing faintly.

“Is she the one?” he asked, his voice sharp, tinged with impatience.

The taller figure, whose air of command was unmistakable, nodded slowly. “Yes. She’s the one we’ve been searching for.”

The smaller figure scanned the area, unease flickering in his eyes. “And the mother? Shouldn’t she be here?”

“She’s in the village,” the taller one said, his gaze never leaving Alice. “We’ll deal with her in due time.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with malice, as they watched the girl’s power begin to unfurl.

“We could take her now,” the smaller man whispered, his hand hovering over the hilt of his dagger. “Quick and quiet.”

“Not yet,” the taller man’s voice was cold, calculated. His eyes flicked briefly to Einar. “The timing must be perfect.”

The smaller man sneered, casting a disdainful glance at Einar. “And him? No magic. Almost crippled.”

The taller man frowned, watching Einar more closely. “There’s more to him than meets the eye.”

The smaller man’s face paled as he recalled the swift, deadly precision Einar had shown against the goblins. “But... that wasn’t magic. How did he—”

“Luck,” the taller one muttered, eyes narrowing. “We’ll watch him. For now.”

Without another word, they faded back into the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.