Vold began teaching Kagan the foundational sword art known as 'Basis'. It was a versatile and essential style designed to be the groundwork upon which one could build their unique form. For Kagan, this was the first step towards creating his own technique, one that would encapsulate his tumultuous journey - 'Desperation'.

“‘Basis’ is about understanding the core principles of swordplay,” Vold explained, demonstrating a series of fluid, basic strokes. “It’s from this foundation that you can branch out and infuse your personal experiences into your style.”

Kagan absorbed every move, practicing the fundamental swings and stances. As he repeated the motions, his mind wandered through the corridors of his past. He thought about the desperate measures he had taken to feed his addiction, the frantic efforts to save Reyna, and the relentless drive to push forward no matter the odds. Each memory brought an intensity to his movements, a rawness that began to transform the basic forms of 'Basis' into something deeply personal.

“Your style is taking shape, Kagan,” Vold observed, watching him integrate his emotions with the sword movements. “But remember, it should not just be about the physical execution. Let your feelings, your memories, guide you.”

Kagan nodded, his eyes focused. As he practiced, his movements became more erratic yet intentional, embodying the essence of his internal battles. With each swing, he channeled the desperation that had defined so much of his life – the desperate need for drugs, the desperate fight to save Reyna, and now, the desperate urge to grow stronger, to survive.

Vold could see the raw power in Kagan’s emerging style. It was unorthodox, unpredictable, and yet profoundly effective. The swings were wide but swift, each block and parry laced with a sense of urgency. Kagan’s style was becoming a dance of desperation – each step, each move, a testament to his battles both within and without.

As the day waned, Vold and Kagan took a momentary respite from their intense training regimen. Sitting around a small fire, they prepared a meal from the game Kagan had skillfully hunted using his new techniques – a testament to how seamlessly 'Desperation' had integrated into all aspects of his skills.

The atmosphere was relaxed, a stark contrast to the rigorous swordplay of the day. As they ate, Vold began to share more about the traditions of the dark elves, a people steeped in history and rich in arcane knowledge.

“In our culture,” Vold explained, handing Kagan a piece of perfectly cooked meat, “taking someone as a student is more than a mere transfer of skills. It is akin to adopting them into your family. In a way, Kagan, you have become like a child to me in our traditions.”

Kagan, taking the meat, paused to consider her words. “I never expected to find a family in the Tower, least of all in the heart of a dark elf master.”

Vold smiled faintly. “The Tower brings together the most unlikely of companions. But know this – I do not take this bond lightly. You have shown great resilience and strength, qualities that are deeply revered in my people.”

As they ate, Vold began to infuse the meal with a subtle dark elven enchantment, a ritual meant to strengthen the bond between master and student. “This is a rite of kinship, Kagan. It will deepen the connection between us, making our training even more effective.”

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Kagan felt a warm energy emanating from the food, a sensation that seemed to resonate deep within him. “What does this mean for me?” he asked, intrigued by the ritual.

“It means that you now carry a part of our heritage, our strength. You will find that your understanding of magic, of combat, will deepen. And in times of need, this bond will lend you strength,” Vold replied, her eyes glinting in the firelight.

The ritual completed, they continued their meal in a comfortable silence, the bond between them growing stronger with each bite.

"So does that mean I call you mom now?" asked Kagan

"If you do I will sever your vocal cords." said Vold with a glare.

"Ok mom!" Kagan said with a salute.

Vold demanded a spar and Kagan couldn't say no.

This was no ordinary spar; it was a symbolic duel between master and student, mother and son. Kagan stood ready, his grip on his sword firm, his eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions.

Vold initiated the duel with a series of measured strikes, each one precise and controlled, embodying the discipline of her Atonement style. Kagan responded in kind, but with a palpable difference. His technique, ‘Desperation’, and its first form, ‘Greed’, was a stark contrast to Vold’s disciplined approach.

As Kagan moved, his swordplay was erratic yet purposeful, embodying the chaotic nature of his past addiction. Each swing of his blade was wide and aggressive, a physical manifestation of his greed for the substances that once controlled him. The movements were unorthodox, as if each stroke was an attempt to grasp something just out of reach, an echo of his desperate scrambles in the clutches of addiction.

“Always had to do it the hard way, huh?” Vold remarked lightly, skillfully dodging a wide arc from Kagan.

Kagan let out a half-laugh, half-grunt as he lunged forward. “Story of my life,” he replied, his sword cutting through the air with an urgency that spoke of his inner battles.

Their blades met in a symphony of clinks and clashes, echoing around the clearing. Vold’s movements were like poetry in motion, a stark contrast to Kagan’s raw, unbridled style. Yet, there was a harmony in their disparity, a story being told through their contrasting approaches.

With every slash and thrust, gardenias blossomed at Kagan's feet, a hauntingly beautiful reminder of Reyna. The flowers seemed to appear from nowhere, summoned by the raw emotion imbued in each of Kagan’s strikes. Lala, watching from the sidelines, seemed entranced by the display, her eyes wide and unblinking.

The clashing of their blades resonated through the clearing, a symphony of steel that told a story of struggle, redemption, and the complex bond between them. Vold’s movements were like flowing water, seamlessly adapting and countering Kagan’s aggressive style. In contrast, Kagan’s technique was like a raging fire, unpredictable and consuming.

The duel was intense, pushing both master and student to their limits. Vold’s style spoke of her journey of atonement, of the burdens she carried. In contrast, Kagan’s ‘Desperation’ was raw and unfiltered, each strike telling the story of his battles with addiction, with loss, and with his own inner demons.

As the duel reached its climax, Kagan unleashed the full force of ‘Greed’. His sword movements became a frenzied storm of emotion and power, gardenias blooming in wild abundance with each passing second. It was a breathtaking display of his inner turmoil made manifest.

Finally, as their swords met in one final, echoing clash, they both stepped back, breathing heavily, a mutual respect evident in their eyes.

Kagan attempted to say something but he passed out.

Vold took a look at the clearing and was stunned. "I am making a monster." The clearing was destroyed, in the many craters were vibrant gardenia's. Lala walked over to Kagan and layed on his face.

"He's gonna suffocate if you do that Lala" said Vold.

Lala just yawned and didn't move.