The first day of training.

Torik tumbled across the yard, then landed on his feet, hooves carving furrows into the ground. He leapt forward, borrowed longsword clashing with Ophelia’s axe again and again. It was honestly impressive to watch two fighters, clearly seasoned but with vastly different styles, spar with such ferocity. Ophelia was a tank, slow and powerful, while Torik was fast, but his strikes were lighter. When they struck one another, Tyler would hold out his hands and black tendrils would spring forth, mending wounds on touch.

“So,” Jade started, looking at Tyler as Ophelia caught Torik by the arm and threw him to the ground. “What kind of magic is that?”

“Shadow magic,” Tyler replied, again reaching out to heal a gash on Ophelia’s side, inflicted by Torik. “Mixed with some healing magic. I’ve had a while to practice it.”

“Shadow magic sounds like some evil stuff,” Jade said, watching the tendrils of black weave and mend before coiling back.

“Can be. I was taught by my father, who… wasn’t the best, but as it turned out, my aunt on my mother’s side knew healing magic, and she also taught me.” Tyler shrugged, pulling his hands back. Green coursed through the inky black, glowing veins of a different magic.

“Wait, your family taught you?” Isaac asked. “Have there been spellcasters in this world the whole time?”

Tyler laughed and shook his head. “No. Sorry, I guess I should have mentioned.” He pushed back his long hair, revealing long, pointed ears. “I’m actually from the old world.”

“You’re a fucking elf?” Jade asked, raising a brow.

“...in a manner of speaking. I’m… a related creature.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Point being, I’m not from here, but I was an early arrival.”

Torik, sword glowing red, struck the haft of Ophelia’s axe hard enough to send the blade spinning out of his hand, but it left a sizeable chip in the magical shadow-metal. Torik rolled, swept up the sword again in his other hand, shaking out the one that was certainly buzzing after the strike. He swung again, this time cleaving through the axe, which fizzled into motes of shadow.

“And with a little bit of practice, I still win,” Torik said, tossing aside the sword and bringing her in for a hug.

“In a real fight, I wouldn’t be down and out. I’m also out of practice, too, y’know.” Ophelia returned it gladly. “Alright, who’s up next? We’re both in the swing of things again.”

Aoife drifted into the backyard from within the house. She scanned the yard, scanned its occupants, then her eyes landed on Isaac. She had a peculiar expression, mostly neutral, but hardened. Tyler seemed to pick up on it, stowing his magic, but didn’t say anything.

“As counterintuitive as it might sound, the sun being at its peak height is best for training using something like a Wraithrider.” Aoife settled into pseudo-standing at the far end of the yard, hands clasped in front of her. “Spiritual powers are weakened in the sun. Instead of lifting one-pound weights, you will be benching fifty. As a metaphor, at least.”

“Makes sense,” Isaac replied. “So. How do I use this thing intentionally?” He held up the Wraithrider, flexing his hand.

Aoife lifted her hands and clapped them together. As she pulled them apart, a short throwing spear of some kind formed out of dense purple energy, which she caught and lifted. “Stop this javelin. Catch it, blast it out of the air, put up a wall or net. Whatever comes instinctually will tell me how best to train you.”

Then she threw it.

Isaac assumed, somewhere in his logical mind, that it wouldn’t hurt him if it did hit, but in the panicked half-second it took for the javelin to travel the yard toward him, he reacted as if it were completely solid and real. His hand came up in front of the javelin’s point, trying at least to block it, and the lavender magic of his Wraithrider crackled over the silver. He focused that panic, finding his resolve, and felt energy rush from his chest, down his arm, to the gauntlet. That purple magic gathered in his palm in a flat disc, then exploded outward in a wave. The ghostly javelin disintegrated in the resulting blast, and Aoife even stumbled back, sucking in a breath as if in pain.

Isaac dropped his arm and rushed over to her. “Shit, are you okay?”

She nodded. “Yes, that dispeling wave just grazed me.”

That was a terrifying prospect. “You can… be dispelled?”

“Spectral undead are a kind of magical construct. If I were hit point-blank by something like that, that powerful, it might kill me. But that is my magic, and it barely touched me. I am okay. Now.” Aoife shook herself off and held out a hand, now creating three columns of ghostly magic. “I want you to find that feeling, the one that appeared when you did that dispelling wave, and call on it again.”

It took a bit, but he did so. It was harder without the panic fueling it, and sure enough, it was like trudging through knee-high mud or lifting a weight too heavy for his strength. He was flexing a muscle he didn’t know he had.

Then, like before, another dispelling wave blasted out, scattering the three columns. They reappeared with another wave of Aoife’s hand.

“Do it again,” she said, “but focus it. Create dispelling blasts. Projectiles. Not waves.”

“Why do I need to do that? If the wave works, why try it differently?”

Tyler stepped forward. “If I might interject?”

Aoife nodded.

Tyler grinned. “So, it’s a basic magical principle. When you spread out power, it weakens. You hit a larger area, but at lesser effect. So if I do this,” he said, holding out his hands. A spray of shadow emitted from his palms, briefly coating part of the yard in a dark fog. “Then it’s a big area, but it’s not very dense, and it fades quickly.” As he said so, the fog was already dissipating. “However, if I do this…” he lifted his hand to a tiny silver pin on his collar, unnoticeable until he was this close, and an inky black tendril wrapped around his hand. He whipped it outward and it struck the ground, sending up a plume of black smoke and a spray of dirt. “It has enough substance to hit something and the resulting darkness sticks around longer. The same is true of your Wraithrider. When you spread out its power, like a dispelling wave, it works on weaker enchantments but in a big area. If you focus it… you could depower or even destroy stronger enchanted items and magical constructs.”

Isaac nodded slowly through the explanation. “Like Declan’s chain whips.”

“Exactly,” said Ophelia. “Or my axe. Or if we run into a magitech construct, you could potentially permanently depower it.”

“So,” Aoife said, lifting her hand, thinking better of it, and lowering it again. “These creations are sturdier. They might weaken under a wave, but a focused blast should destroy them.”

Isaac rolled his shoulders, called on that feeling of ethereal determination, and lifted his gauntlet. He closed his eyes, trying to visualize the lavender light gathering into a lacing beam of energy rather than exploding outward. He felt the recoil as the magic gathered and fired, and opened one eye to see his target fizzling away.

“Well done, Isaac,” said Aoife with a soft smile. “We’ll make you an expert in no time.”