The following days after the reveal to the Council seemed to go in a blur. We held Sybil's official ceremonial life and laid her to rest. The air seemed heavy as if the town was on edge, waiting for a response from Marcel as he worked alongside Crimson for so long.

For Marcel, he shut himself inside the castle away from the public eye. I didn’t blame him for that; after all, he had become somewhat of an enemy to some of the public. Given that he worked alongside the one responsible for killing a Council member, many were quick to judge. Some even believed he himself was responsible, and maybe he was. I truly wondered, deep down, if that was the case.

“Maria…” Théoden groaned, clearly disapproving of my current train of thought. “We talked about this.”

We had. It had been a brief conversation, one in which Théoden pointed out it was more than likely Marcel was involved in Sybil’s death, but we still didn’t have the full evidence to accuse him outright.

“I know…” I murmured, my gaze still lingering on him across the kitchen table. We had barely started eating breakfast before heading out to train, but my thoughts were elsewhere. “It still bothers me.”

“I get it,” he said, his tone softening with understanding. “But there’s a proper procedure for all of this. He’ll be questioned once we have reasonable belief that he was involved. Crimson's been silent and won’t say a word.”

“Smart on her part,” I muttered, frustration building. “But it’s annoying as hell.”

Théoden sighed, finishing the last of his breakfast and standing up to clear his plate. “Tell me about it.” He walked to the wash bin, his movements sharp and decisive. “Ready to train?”

I sighed in response, pushing my plate away. “I suppose.”

We had suspended all training in respect for Sybil’s passing. Both of us needed time to grieve, to heal, and to come to terms with the weight of everything that had happened. But now, it was time to move forward.

I followed Théoden's lead and washed off my plate, then we made our way to the arena.

“Are we doing combat training or magic training today?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the storm of thoughts swirling in my mind.

“Weapon training,” Théoden replied with a smile, his voice lifting a little as the mention of weaponry seemed to excite him. It was clear he enjoyed this kind of training, as did I, even if it was sometimes grueling.

As we reached the front door of the arena, our small sprite friend Pari fluttered up to meet us, her wings shimmering in the light.

“Wait… my weapon is ready?” I asked, surprise coloring my voice as I stopped in my tracks.

“It sure is,” Pari said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. With a flick of her wrist, a short sword materialized in the air before me, its presence both imposing and graceful. The blade was intricately carved with natural elements from the feywild, marking the magical bond between my magic and the untamed forces of nature. The hilt of the sword, wrapped in a material I instantly recognized, was reinforced with Théoden's own scales, a gift from him to me to ensure the weapon would be durable in my hands.

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The blade itself was crafted from a feywild metal that shimmered in the light, its surface reflecting like liquid silver with the faintest glow. It was beautiful, almost otherworldly.

“Well, don’t be shy…” Pari teased, her voice laced with humor as she used her magic to lower the sword gently toward me.

I hesitated for a moment, the weight of the weapon both grounding and overwhelming. Slowly, I reached out, gripping the hilt firmly in my hands. The sword felt alive, as if it were a part of me, and the intricate engravings on the blade seemed to hum with power.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, tracing my fingers over the delicate carvings.

“Told you she’d like it.” Pari grinned at Théoden, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

“Only hesitant because it’s going to be her attuned weapon,” Théoden pointed out, crossing his arms with a knowing look. “Besides, this is her first actual weapon. She’s trained with props before, but this is different.”

“Fair enough,” Pari said, nodding. “Now, dear, you do need to attune to it to be able to use the full strengths of the weapon. But you can still practice with it for the time being.”

I nodded in understanding. “Got it. I suppose I’ll attune to it after practice?”

Théoden nodded in return. “Yes. Let’s get you used to wielding the weapon. Tomorrow, we can explore its magical properties.”

“Alright,” I said, the excitement beginning to bubble within me despite my earlier doubts. “Are you going to watch, Pari?”

“I wish, but I’ve got a few things to take care of,” Pari said with a wink. “I’ll catch you two later.” With that, she fluttered off into the sky, leaving us alone in the quiet of the morning.

Théoden looked at me and asked, “Ready?”

I took a deep breath, trying to focus. “Let’s get this basic training session over with…” I didn’t mind training these days, but basic drills often felt tedious. I wanted to get to the real work—the complex, fluid movements, the combat I had been honing for so long—but that wasn’t today.

Théoden gestured for me to follow him into the arena. We started with simple drills, me focusing on grip, stance, and form. Théoden kept the pace slow, guiding me through basic strikes and blocks. He was patient, as always, correcting my posture when I swayed or didn’t properly align my strikes.

“You’re letting your wrist bend too much,” he pointed out gently after one particularly sloppy block. “Keep it firm, like you’re holding a shield, not a feather.”

I adjusted, but my movements still felt stiff. The weight of the sword was unlike anything I’d trained with before. The way it hummed in my hand, the intricacy of the feywild magic embedded in it—it all made me feel more connected to the power flowing through me, but it also made every motion feel heavy, loaded with the potential for something more.

We continued, Théoden calling out adjustments, me trying to refine my technique with each repetition. Sweat started to build on my brow as I worked through the drills, but I couldn’t help but feel a certain thrill deep within me. Even if the training was basic, every strike was a step toward mastering this weapon.

By the end of the session, I was exhausted, but something had clicked. The sword no longer felt like an unfamiliar extension of myself—it was becoming a part of me, a tool I could trust.

Théoden smiled, proud of my progress, even if it was just the beginning. “You’re getting better. Keep working at it. Tomorrow, we’ll see what else your weapon can do.”

I nodded, wiping the sweat from my forehead. “I’m ready.”

And with that, I couldn’t help but feel that, despite the uncertainty around us, we were slowly forging ahead—both in our personal journeys and in our training.