Ryan lay on the hard, unforgiving ground, the dust clinging to his skin and sweat dripping from his brow. His body ached, his muscles screaming in protest from the relentless training he had endured.

  He pushed himself up, his palms scraping against the earth as he steadied himself. His gaze flicked to Vynessa, who stood across from him, her stance unshaken.

  Ryan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, frustration and resolve building inside him.

  He had to get better. He had to.

  With a grunt, Ryan forced himself into position, his feet sliding into the familiar stance of the Way of the Crane. One leg lifted, both hands raised above him. He felt the balance shift in his body, the energy ready to spring. And then, with a swift motion, he jumped. His limbs were extended as he swooped down with wide swings, his fists and legs cutting through the air.

  But Vynessa was already moving, barely visible in the sunlight as she dodged his strikes, her body swaying just out of reach. Ryan’s eyes widened in frustration as she easily avoided him. And then, just as he thought he might land a blow, her fist connected with his chest, a solid punch that sent him sprawling back onto the ground with a heavy thud.

  “Not bad for a trainee.”

  Ryan grit his teeth as he pushed himself back to his feet. He wouldn’t stop, not now.

  He shook his head, shaking off the lingering pain, and once again assumed the Way of the Crane stance. He was faster this time. His body anticipating the movements, his mind already ahead.

  With a breath, he jumped again, but this time he aimed upward, his legs swinging high, his kicks arcing toward her with renewed power.

  Vynessa didn’t flinch. She didn’t even seem to break a sweat. With a circular motion of her arm, she parried his strike. Ryan’s balance faltered as her parry sent him off course, and he tumbled, falling to the ground in a roll to catch himself.

  “It’s time for a break, I think,” Vynessa announced.

  Ryan and Vynessa sat cross-legged on the cool stone, both breathing heavily from the training, though Ryan’s chest heaved a little more than Vynessa’s. His body ached from the constant sparring, the practice stances, and the failed attempts to land a clean hit on her.

  "I’m getting the hang of Way of the Crane," Ryan said. "But... Way of the Snake is confusing as hell."

  "Snake is the hardest of the Trainee Styles," she said. “It’s all about fluidity, adaptability. Using your opponent against themselves.”

  Ryan nodded, his brow furrowed as he thought back to the countless times he had tried to imitate the snake’s movements—twisting, flowing, coiling. He hadn’t quite been able to make it work.

  He shifted, a flicker of understanding dawning in his eyes. "Wait... all the Trainee Styles are based on animals?" he asked, half-surprised he hadn’t pieced that together sooner.

  Vynessa’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she tilted her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "You just figured that out now?" she teased, her voice laced with mock incredulity. "I suppose it’s not as obvious as you’d think."

  Ryan’s face reddened slightly, a mix of frustration and embarrassment. He didn’t mind Vynessa’s teasing—she was good-natured about it—but he did feel a bit foolish.

  Vynessa leaned back, resting on her arms. "Yes, each style is inspired by an animal. Crane, Snake, Tiger, Bear... All of them draw from the essence of their respective creatures. They’re the building blocks of a martial artist’s foundation." Her tone became more serious, the topic at hand far more important than her teasing.

  "Once you’ve mastered the Trainee Styles, then you move to the Adept Styles. The ones based on items—things like carts, needles, mirrors." She paused for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle. "The techniques are refined, more intricate.”

  "Like the Way of the Puppet," Ryan said slowly, remembering his first encounter with the Grandmaster.

  "Exactly. Grandmaster Lagos showed you a glimpse of that. It’s all about control, focus.”

  Vynessa’ continued. "And then, after Adept Styles, you move to Master Styles. Those are based on the elements. Things like mountains, wind, fire. Power in its purest form.”

  "Master Styles..." Ryan whispered, allowing his imagination to run free.

  “And the pinnacle of martial arts, Grandmaster Styles. It is something uniquely personal. It’s the blending of everything you’ve learned—your past, your experiences, your strengths—and creating a style that is entirely your own. It’s a reflection of the individual.”

  Ryan’s heart raced at the thought of it. A style of my own. But he knew that was a long way off. He wasn’t even sure if he was ready for the Adept Styles yet, let alone something as monumental as a Grandmaster Style.

  His imagination was disturbed when a young student, breathless from running, approached them with a respectful bow.

  “Vynessa, there’s a request for you," the student said, eyes wide with the urgency of the message. "Grandmaster Lagos would like to speak with you."

  Vynessa stood quickly, her posture shifting from relaxed to alert in an instant. She nodded, the usual calmness of her demeanor returning.

  "I’ll be there shortly," she said. Then, with a glance toward Ryan, she added, "Keep training, Ryan. Don’t stop now. You’ve got this."

  Before Ryan could respond, Vynessa turned away, walking toward the training hall. The student, who had brought the message, followed her, his footsteps fading as he made his way toward Lagos.

  Ryan watched her go, and for a moment, the courtyard felt quieter, emptier. The sound of his own breath, the soft scrape of his boots against the stone, seemed louder now. But as the quiet stretched, another figure appeared in the distance, making his way toward Ryan with purposeful strides.

  Rey was taller than Ryan by a few inches, his frame long and lanky, with the awkwardness of someone who had grown too quickly. Rey was a trainee, just like Ryan, but had been at it longer, his skills more refined, his body more accustomed to the wear and tear of training.

  Rey gave a small, almost amused smile as he reached Ryan. "Vynessa’s busy, huh?" he asked, his voice light. "Wanna partner up?"

  Ryan straightened, his shoulders rolling as he mentally prepared himself. "You’re not gonna take it easy on me, are you?"

  Rey’s grin widened, a flash of mischief in his eyes. "Not a chance. You want to get better, right? You’ll get the full experience."

  With that, the two of them took their stances, each assuming the stance of the Way of the Crane.

  Ryan moved first, launching a series of wide swings, aiming for Rey’s torso. Rey dodged each swing effortlessly. Ryan didn’t falter, though. He pressed on, twisting into a wide, sweeping kick aimed at Rey’s midsection. Rey sidestepped, just out of range, and struck back with a jab, hitting Ryan’s shoulder with a sharp, controlled blow.

  Ryan staggered slightly, but quickly regained his footing. This time, he was faster, more deliberate. He wasn’t going to let Rey get the upper hand so easily. He feinted a strike to the left, then spun into another roundhouse kick. Rey’s eyes flickered, shifting his body just in time to block the kick, but the momentum pushed him back a step.

  Ryan pressed his advantage, throwing a series of jabs and kicks, each one harder, faster, his body slowly finding the rhythm, the flow. Rey met him with equal pace, both parrying, striking and countering.

  The sparring was evenly matched. Rey’s strikes connected with Ryan’s torso, and Ryan’s jabs landed solidly against Rey’s. They both took hits, and each time, they adjusted, adapting and learning.

  Finally, they broke apart, panting slightly, their faces flushed with the exertion. Ryan wiped the sweat from his brow, his body throbbing.

  Rey grinned, wiping his own brow with the back of his hand. “Damn, you’re good. Just a week of training? Man.”

  Ryan, still catching his breath, nodded.

  Rey raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading slightly into something more curious. His tone had shifted, as if there was something more he was about to say.

  "You’re not using something, are you?" Rey asked. “A little bit of Demon Blood?”

  Ryan blinked, surprised. "What are you talking about?"

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?” Rey asked.

  “I don’t know what that is. I just—I just train."

  Rey didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press the issue. But his eyes lingered on Ryan, trying to gauge the truth of his words.

  “All I’m saying… Whatever it is, I want in."

  Ryan stared at him, still unsure of what Rey was implying. But before he could answer, Vyness returned to the courtyard. Her usual stoic, hard exterior seemed to have softened just a fraction. She was still Vynessa, tough and no-nonsense, but there was a spark in her eyes. Happiness.

  “Well if it isn’t the star trainee,” Rey said, walking back to the other end of the courtyard to train with the others.

  She walked up to Ryan with a faint grin tugging at her lips, an expression that was rare enough for Ryan to take notice. It was more than just the usual composure she wore. There was a certain thrill there, a glimmer of something he hadn’t seen in her before.

  "I’ve got news," Vynessa said, her voice lighter than usual, the usual coolness replaced by a sense of excitement. She looked at Ryan first, her gaze steady. "I have been chosen. I’m going for a rank test."

  "A rank test?" Ryan echoed, trying to process the significance of it. "You mean...?"

  "Yes," she said, pride in her word. "If I pass, I’ll be moving up to bronze level."

  Ryan felt something stir within him. It was not jealousy, he thought, but a desire to rise, push himself to be at Vynessa’s level, or further.

  "That’s amazing, Vynessa," Ryan said. He stepped forward, his hand reaching out to her. "I knew you could do it."

  Bronze level. He wasn’t there yet, wasn’t anywhere close. He had trained, yes. But he still wasn’t strong enough. Not yet. Not in the way Vynessa was.

  What if he could get stronger, faster? What if he could bypass the slow grind of normal training? What if there was something that could give him the edge?

  A flicker of something darker crossed his mind, a shadow of a possibility he had been trying to ignore. Demon Blood.

  "Good luck," he said, though his thoughts remained elsewhere.

  Vynessa gave him a brief smile and then turned, walking toward the training hall. Is Demon Blood what he needed?

  ******

  The night air in Newvale had a bite to it, cool and sharp as it swept through the narrow streets and winding alleys of the village.

  Ryan moved through the streets like a shadow, his footsteps soft but purposeful. He had been searching for answers all night, wandering aimlessly through the alleys, trying to find someone who could offer him what he was looking for.

  Demon Blood.

  What mattered was strength. He had to be stronger, faster, better than what he was. And Demon Blood might be the answer.

  But so far, his search had been fruitless. He had asked the right people in the wrong profession about it. They had all turned him away.

  Ryan sat down on the edge of the road, his back against the stone wall of a building, frustration gnawed at him. He had walked for hours, passed through narrow alleys, gone through dark doors but he had not found what he was looking for.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps approaching. Ryan’s head snapped up to the source. The silhouette of a figure emerged from the shadows, a hood drawn low over their face, obscuring their features. Their gait was light but fast, they were in a hurry.

  The hooded man stopped in front of him, his voice low but clear.

  “You look like you’re searching for something,” the man said.

  Ryan’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at the man, trying to make out any details under the shadows of the hood. The man’s skin was white, paler than a corpse.

  “I’m searching for something powerful,” Ryan said.

  "Well, I have just the thing."

  The man reached into his cloak, pulling out a small vial. The liquid inside was a deep, rich red, darker than anything Ryan had ever seen. He held the vial out toward Ryan.

  Ryan hesitated for just a moment, the weight of the decision pressing on him. He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing the glass of the vial. It felt alive as if it had been waiting for him.

  He grabbed it.

  "How much?" Ryan asked.

  "It’s on the house," he said, his words hanging in the air with an odd sense of finality.

  On the house? That didn’t seem right, not for something like this. Nothing was free, not in this world.

  Ryan looked down to pocket the vial and the hooded figure vanished back into the shadows when he looked up again.

  The vial felt heavy, a weight pressing against him. Was it everything that was promised?

  Ryan stood up, heading back to the school. The night seemed darker now but Ryan didn’t mind.

  ******

  The morning sun filtered through the thick curtains of Ryan’s room, the light reflecting off a vial held in Ryan’s hands. His fingers brushed against the corked vial in his hand. It was cold. The Demon Blood was still inside, its promise of power trapped within.

  Ryan had yet to drink it. He couldn’t.

  But he wanted to. Desperately.

  His thoughts were interrupted when he glanced outside the window. His eyes narrowed as he saw two fae—one older, one younger—and a muscular familiar figure walking toward the martial arts school.

  Grent.

  The greatsword strapped to his back gleamed in the morning light. The trio was heading toward the training grounds, their movements purposeful.

  Grent’s presence brought a wave of memories, ones he wasn’t eager to relive. The last time he had seen the swordmaster, he had been reckless. Foolish. He was blinded by his desire for glory, pride, and revenge. That led him to being kicked out of sword school.

  Ryan turned away from the window, his fingers still brushing the corked vial. No. He couldn’t drink it. He had a different path ahead of him now. Martial arts. This was where he needed to be. Not in some desperate search for shortcuts, for quick fixes. Not with that vial.

  With a deep breath, Ryan left his room and stepped into the cool morning air. As he walked toward the martial arts school, his feet dragging slightly as his thoughts churned, he bumped into the trio. A woman fae in a white cloak, a younger looking fae and an imposing figure.

  There was a flicker of surprise in Grent’s eyes as they met Ryan’s.

  "Ah, Ryan," Grent said. "I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Ryan felt a flicker of guilt at the words, memories of his old mistakes bubbling to the surface. But now, he wasn’t here to make excuses. He was here to start again, to prove that he could be better, not just for the others, but for himself.

  “Yeah, I picked up martial arts,” Ryan said. He paused before continuing, the words heavy with guilt. “I didn’t get the chance to apologize to you before. And thank you... for all the training you gave me. I wasn’t ready then, but I’m ready now."

  "That’s fine," Grent said with a small smile, his deep voice rich with the understanding only someone like him could offer. "We all make mistakes, Ryan. You’re here now. That’s what matters."

  Ryan nodded, the tension in his chest easing as Grent’s words sank in. Maybe this was the right path for him.

  "You’ll do well, Ryan," Grent added.. "The martial arts school will teach you what you need. And the rest… well, that’s up to you."

  Ryan stood for a moment, understanding that this wasn’t just about strength or skill. It was about finding his place in the world, finding the kind of strength that didn’t come from a vial or a shortcut.

  “I’ll need to go training now. Thanks, Grent,” Ryan said, heading to the courtyard.

  As he walked into the courtyard, he felt the weight of his decisions settle around him. He wasn’t the same as he had been before. Not reckless, impulsive, driven only by his pride.

  He shaked off those thoughts to focus on his training. Vynessa stood across from him, ready in her stance. She did not need Demon Blood to take the rank test. He didn't too.

  He took a deep breath and got into his stance. His body ached from yesterday’s training but he never felt better.

  Ryan breathed deeply and then launched into the movement. His legs swung wide in a broad arc, the force of his kick cutting through the air, but Vynessa was already moving, stepping just out of reach.

  Ryan swung his arms in succession, the motions fast and sweeping. The Wing Swipe, a strike meant to overwhelm came first, but Vynessa parried it with a smooth, practiced motion. Her hands barely touched his as she redirected his energy. Ryan was ready for the next move, but Vynessa was already countering.

  She spun, fluidly, and before Ryan could react, she drove her elbow toward his side. The blow was fast, clean, but Ryan had already anticipated it. With a sharp exhale, he jumped back, performing the Sky Leap, a leap backward that landed him a few paces away.

  He crouched quickly and swiped his leg low, aiming to catch her off-guard. But Vynessa was already in the air again, her body rising above his reach as she gracefully jumped over his leg.

  I’m still too slow, Ryan thought.

  Flashes of his time at sword school rippled through his mind. The footwork, the stance, the feel of the sword in his hand. His instincts from that time kicked in, a familiar technique he’d learned from Grent and Master Terrance. It was a sword technique, a dash forward with a precise, powerful stab.

  Impact Thrust.

  Ryan’s fists clenched around the air, imagining the sword there, a part of him.

  Without thinking, Ryan dashed forward, his legs pumping as he leaped toward Vynessa, and he threw out his arm in a stabbing motion.

  The Impact Thrust translated into his strike, a jarring motion that caught Vynessa off guard. His fist struck her side with the force of the blow, a move that surprised them both.

  Vynessa staggered back a step, her expression more surprised than anything. She blinked, clearly not having expected the sudden shift in Ryan’s technique. It was a fleeting moment before Vynessa straightened, regaining her balance with an ease.

  But Ryan didn’t care. His heart was racing, his breath heavy. His strike had landed. He had broken through her defense, if only for a moment.

  It worked.

  "I—" Ryan gasped, surprised himself. "I can’t believe that worked."

  "That was a good hit," she said, as she looked at Ryan. "Improvising?"

  "I’m just trying something new," Ryan replied. "It felt right."

  "That’s good. That’s exactly what you need. Find what works for you.“

  Ryan nodded, his fingers tightening around his fists. "I won’t. I just need to figure it out."

  They stood across each other, their fists raised for more sparring. But a question had been gnawing at him since Vynessa had mentioned the rank test earlier. "When are you leaving for your rank test?"

  "Soon," Vynessa said, putting her guard down. “Don't worry about that just yet."

  "I’m not worried," he said. "I’ll take my time. But I want to come with you to the test. Like how you came with me to my duel."

  Vynessa’s eyes softened at the words, a faint smile curling at the edges of her lips. "That would be great," she said.

  Vynessa stepped forward, her fists raising slightly as she returned to her stance. "But that’s enough talking for now," she said, her voice sharpening with that familiar edge. "We’re not done sparring yet, are we?"

  “No, not yet.”

  ******