Chapter 40 Foresight
Serafina
The morning air bit at my skin as I stepped outside, the forest around the hut alive with the crisp sound of leaves and distant bird calls. The ground was firm beneath my feet, dew soaking the edges of my boots.
"Take out your sword," Azerath said, "and hold it steady."
I reached behind me and gripped the hilt of the Dragon Sword. My fingers closed around it, and as I drew it free, the weight settled perfectly in my hands. The balance was immediate. Solid. Familiar.
Azerath raised a hand, and with a faint motion, a sword of living flame materialized in his grip. The air around it shimmered. Heat radiated outward, yet it did not burn. It was a sword, yes—but it was alive in its presence, demanding respect.
“That… is beautiful,” I whispered.
Azerath’s lips curved faintly. “It’s a teaching tool,” he said.
"A teaching tool?" I echoed, suspicious.
"Yes," Azerath replied with a devilish smile. "It will burn your clothing if and when it touches."
My eyes narrowed. "You're going to cut away at my clothes, aren't you?"
"You were so angry last night," he said smoothly. "I thought it might serve as… motivation."
"You're impossible," I huffed.
"Focus, Serafina. Power without focus is wasted."
Then he struck. I barely saw it. His sword hit my arm. The fire singed the delicate white fabric of my shirt.
"I wasn't ready," I hissed, jumping back.
"In a sword fight, you must always be ready," Azerath replied calmly, advancing. "Again!"
This time I raised my blade in time and managed to parry his blow, blocking it. But Azerath was fast. He pushed me back and struck again, burning a hole through my trousers.
"Hey! I happen to like these pants," I protested.
"I'll conjure new ones later for you," Azerath replied smugly, stepping closer. "Balance first. Every strike begins with balance. Feet, hips, center of gravity. Do not fight the sword. Outthink your opponent instead."
I nodded, steadying my breath. I raised the Dragon Sword, spreading my legs and loosening my hips.
“Move,” Azerath commanded, and his flaming blade cut through the air in a precise arc. I mirrored him, thrusting upward, parrying, weaving. Sparks erupted where our blades met, lighting the forest in brief flashes of gold and crimson.
Azerath was strong. My arms burned as I defended myself, but I did not hesitate.
He swung again, and I parried, pressing against him with all my strength. He stepped forward and kicked my legs from under me. I fell, and his sword nicked a button of my blouse, opening it slightly.
I scrambled to my feet, frustrated. "No fair. You're supposed to be teaching me how to strike, not kick the wind out of me."
"That's how you'll learn, Serafina. Again!" he yelled, swinging once more. I leaned back, narrowly avoiding a slash, but not enough—his blade tore through the other sleeve of my shirt.
I didn’t wait this time. I lunged, shifting my weight, letting the sword guide me instead of forcing it. His blade twisted and turned, testing me, pushing me, challenging me. The fire hissed as it cut through the air around us.
“Now,” Azerath said, lowering his blade slightly, “I will test you. Defend, react, strike only when opportunity presents itself. The sword is not a toy.”
I squared my stance and tightened my grip on the Dragon Sword. Blink lifted her head from beneath the tree, tail low and ears alert, watching us with sharp attention. My heart pounded hard against my ribs, but it was not fear that drove it. It was anticipation. Excitement. And a fierce need to land a strike on Azerath.
Azerath lunged, his flaming blade a blur, forcing me to pivot, parry, and redirect my strikes. I moved guided by instinct as much as instruction. Sparks flew with every clash. The air was sharp with the smell of hot metal. My arms ached. My legs screamed for rest.
Every exchange ended the same way—I lost. My clothes hung in torn strips, fabric falling away piece by piece. If this continued much longer, there would be nothing left to salvage.
“You are improving,” he said, voice calm over the clash of metal and fire. “Your connection with the blade is growing. Not because you force it, but because you listen.”
"Are you mocking me?" I said. "How can this be improvement?"
"Only the tip of my blade touched your shirt this time," Azerath said. "Remember the mantra."
"Yeah, yeah. Listen. Respond. Flow."
I let the mantra guide me. I blocked a strike, twisted my body, and countered with a precise slice. Sparks erupted, but this time my movement felt effortless. Natural. Still a piece of clothing gone.
Azerath’s flaming sword whirled faster, arcs and thrusts that demanded I adapt, predict, anticipate. The heat was enough to make a lesser student falter, yet I did not. I matched his tempo step for step, letting his attacks set the rhythm and shaping my movements around them.
“Good,” he said, lowering his sword. “You are beginning to understand. Strength without control is meaningless. Precision, focus, timing—these are your allies. Never forget them.”
I exhaled, muscles trembling. My trousers were now just shorts. “Yes. I understand.” I placed my sword back in its scabbard, massaging my hands. They ached but it was a satisfying burn.
Suddenly, I heard a voice, soft, calm, but firm. The woman from my dream.
“Your Ember,” the woman said as Azerath continued lecturing me on control and balance. “It is not just fire. It is perception. Instinct. Foresight.”
I frowned, shifting my weight nervously. Azerath didn’t notice I had gone still. "Foresight?" I asked quietly.
“Yes,” she said. “Your Ember can sense movement, anticipate strikes before they land. If you allow it to flow through your body, through your mind, it will guide your sword.”
I swallowed. “And if I don’t?”
“Then you will fight with muscle alone, and muscle loses to experience. To your opponents. To circumstance.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay… I’ll try.”
“Good.” Her voice faded. “Start small. Feel the Ember. Let it expand—not outward, but inward... all the way to your mind. Sense yourself. Sense the dragon, and look into the future. See beyond now.”
I closed my eyes and drew in a steady breath. I reached inward, searching for the coiled heat of my Ember within my chest. Instead of guiding it to my fingertips as I had done the night before, I directed it upward, allowing it to rise into my mind.
Then I saw it—brief flashes only moments ahead, glimpses of Azerath’s movements before they happened. A shift of his shoulder. The angle of his wrist. The path his blade would take. It was not far into the future, but it was enough to know what would come next.
A snap of fingers broke my concentration.
"Time slowed," Azerath said, frowning. "Did you do that?"
I blinked, confused. "What are you talking about?"
He tilted his head.
"Curious," Azerath said, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What were you thinking about just now?"
"The future," I said enthusiastically. "Again. Let's do this."
I drew the sword from behind me and shifted my legs, moving side to side.
Azerath stepped back a few paces, stance casual but precise, every muscle coiled. The golden light of late morning touched his bronze skin and glimmered in his ember-like eyes. Calm. Controlled. Intimidating. The sight alone made the Dragon Sword feel heavier in my hands.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice steady with the faintest edge of amusement, his sword of fire appearing in his hand once again.
I nodded. “I’ve been ready.”
"I'll be the judge of that."
He struck. I parried, stepped, moved. He tested me, each blow faster than the last.
“You rely too much on strength,” he said calmly, deflecting my strike. His face was close to mine. So close I could smell the smoke on his breath. “Your power must flow from your body, not your arm. Control, not force.”
"Control, you say..." I smirked, adjusting my stance.
I kicked him in the groin, then feinted, spun, and struck, finally landing a hit on his arm. My sword cut through his shirt.
I felt a thrill ripple through me. "Take that, husband."
Azerath dropped to one knee, grimacing. “Better,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “You are a fast learner. I should not have demonstrated leg sweeps.”
I laughed, bright and triumphant. The Dragon Sword felt different now—not heavy, not foreign. It moved with me because I was no longer reacting; I was anticipating. I could see moments ahead, just minutes, just flashes—but it was enough. Enough to shift the outcome.
“I think,” I said, sliding the Dragon Sword back into its scabbard, “that’s enough sword training for today.”
Azerath remained kneeling a moment longer than necessary.
Blink padded closer, clearly amused.
I crossed my arms. “How about Lumenflare training instead?”
Azerath exhaled slowly and stood—carefully.
“Yes,” he said with strained dignity. “You go ahead. Aim at the mannequin."
He moved toward a nearby stone and sat down with far too much composure for someone who had just been incapacitated. “I require a moment.”
I grinned. I was no longer just swinging steel and dragon claw—I was seeing the future, and that changed everything.