Chapter 108: Exercises

“Boss…”

Behind her came Lyra’s groggy voice.

“Why aren’t you asleep yet…”

Freya turned around.

Lyra’s eyes were half-open, staring at her.

“I’ll be right there.”

She walked back to her bed and lay down.

“Mm.”

Lyra rolled over and went back to sleep.

Outside the window, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, bathing the entire dormitory in silver light.

Freya closed her eyes.

The next morning, when Freya woke up, she found that Lyra was no longer in the room.

She sat up and heard a strange sound coming from outside—like something crackling.

She walked to the window, pushed it open, and looked down.

Lyra stood in the open space downstairs, her silver-white hair fluttering in the morning breeze.

Her hand was outstretched, and a ball of golden light danced in her palm.

She stared at the light, brows furrowed, as if struggling to control it.

Then the light suddenly burst, scattering into countless tiny specks, like a miniature meteor shower, landing on the ground around her with a crackling sound.

“Failed again…”

Lyra shook her hand and muttered.

Freya watched the scene, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly.

She turned and walked into the washroom.

A few minutes later, she came downstairs.

When Lyra saw her, her eyes lit up.

“Boss! Look!”

She extended her hand, and another ball of light coalesced in her palm.

This time, it was much more stable. Though it still trembled slightly, at least it didn’t explode.

“Not bad.”

Freya walked over. “But your posture is wrong.”

“Posture?”

Freya stood behind her, reached out, and took hold of Lyra’s raised hand, adjusting its angle.

“Don’t bend your wrist. Release the mana from your palm, not your fingertips.”

Her voice was so close that her breath fell on Lyra’s ear.

The tips of Lyra’s ears slowly turned red.

“Oh… oh…”

She quickly focused her attention and did as Freya said.

The ball of light stabilized considerably. It no longer trembled but rested quietly in her palm, like a tiny sun.

“Good.” Freya let go.

“Keep it up.”

Lyra nodded, staring at the ball of light, a wide grin spreading across her face.

That little wolf fang glittered in the sunlight.

“Boss, can I use light magic to heal you in the future?”

“In theory, yes.”

“What about shadow magic?”

Freya was silent for a moment.

“Shadow magic… can be used for reconnaissance, stealth, and setting up barriers.”

She paused.

“It can also be used for attack.”

Lyra’s eyes lit up.

“Then I want to learn both!”

Freya looked at her, at her crimson eyes filled with determination and desire.

“It will be very hard.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work!”

Lyra dismissed the ball of light, turned around, and looked up at her.

“Boss, I’m not afraid of anything.”

Sunlight fell on the two of them, stretching their shadows long and overlapping.

Far away, behind a window in the classroom building, someone withdrew their gaze.

Serar stood by the window, his ice-blue hair glinting faintly in the morning light.

He had seen what just happened—

That ball of golden light, and the flash of black-purple that had flickered across Lyra’s palm.

His expression turned grave.

“Light and darkness…” he murmured to himself. “So it really is her.”

He remembered the words of the Winter God Priest: “That light will descend, and that light will devour everything.”

He didn’t know what it meant.

But now, he had a vague understanding.

He turned and disappeared behind the curtain.

In the distance, Irina stood at her own dormitory window, also having seen that scene.

Her fingers slowly clenched, her nails digging into her palms.

That golden light was so dazzling it made her whole body feel uncomfortable. She looked down at the black-purple mark on her chest.

It was faintly burning, as if responding to something.

“You sense it too?”

She asked softly.

The mark did not answer, but burned even more intensely.

Irina lifted her head and stared at the distant figure of the white-haired girl, at the light that had already vanished from her palm.

“Light magic…”

She murmured.

“The one that counters me the most.”

Her expression turned very sour.

But she did not move. She just stood there, staring in that direction, for a long time.

Over the next few days, Lyra spent almost all her waking hours training.

Before dawn, she would crawl out of bed and run to the open space downstairs to practice condensing light-element mana.

At first, the light ball would always burst after a few seconds, leaving her face covered in black dust.

Freya would stand by the window and watch, occasionally offering a few pointers, but more often just observing silently.

After lunch, she would drag Freya to the training ground to practice controlling shadow-element mana.

Shadow magic was harder than light magic—

Light required condensation; shadow required release.

Melting into the shadows, becoming the shadows—it sounded simple, but Lyra met with failure at every turn.

By evening, when she returned to the dormitory, she was so exhausted she couldn’t even lift her arms.

She would lie motionless on her floor mat, but the copy of Basic Magic Control for Beginners would still be open at her pillow, its pages worn and curled from being flipped through so much.

“Boss,” her muffled voice came from the pillow.

“Am I stupid?”

Freya sat at the desk, not lifting her head.

“No.”

“Then why can I never get shadow magic right?”

Freya put down her pen and turned around.

Lyra was lying on her stomach on the floor mat, her silver-white hair spread out all around, her crimson eyes half-open, filled with exhaustion and a hint of barely perceptible frustration.

Freya looked at her, studied her for a moment.

“Because you’re trying too hard.”

Lyra blinked.

“Trying too hard? But you said I need to concentrate—”

“Concentration isn’t the same as forcing it.”

Freya stood up, walked over to her, and crouched down.

“Light magic requires you to release outward, so you need to use force. Shadow magic is different—it requires you to sink inward.”

She reached out and gently pressed her hand on Lyra’s back.

“Don’t try to grasp it. Become it.”

Lyra was stunned.

She felt the warmth from Freya’s palm, the weight of that hand on her back.

She closed her eyes and tried to relax—

Not to give up control, but to achieve a deeper, softer kind of focus.

And then she felt it.

Darkness surged up from the depths of her body—not cold, not terrifying, but a warmth, a peace like returning to the womb.

Her form began to blur, like a drop of ink falling into water, slowly spreading, slowly dissolving.

Freya watched as Lyra’s figure gradually faded, until it completely merged into the shadow of the floor mat.

A faint smile curled at the corner of her mouth.

“Good.”

From the shadow came Lyra’s muffled laugh. “Boss! I’m in here! I feel like I’ve become a shadow!”

“Can you get out?”

“Mm…”

The shadow squirmed, and then Lyra’s figure reappeared, her silver-white hair a mess, a silly grin on her face.

“That was fun!”

Freya stood up and walked back to her desk.

“Keep practicing tomorrow.”

“Okay!”

A few more days passed.

Lyra’s light-element mana had stabilized to the point where she could condense a fist-sized ball of light that lasted nearly fifteen minutes without dispersing.

She could also barely manage to merge into shadows with shadow magic, though every time she emerged, her hair ended up looking like a bird’s nest.

Freya didn’t say much about her progress, but Anke noticed that Freya had been in a good mood lately—

Her face still wore that cold expression, but the corners of her mouth would occasionally lift, especially when she was watching Lyra train.

“You two have been hiding something from me lately, haven’t you?”

Anke leaned in, her brown eyes full of curiosity.

Lyra was gnawing on a piece of meat. She looked up.

“No, we haven’t.”

Anke stared at her innocent face, then glanced at Freya’s calm profile, and sighed.

“Fine, if you don’t want to say, don’t. But,” she lowered her voice.

“Something’s been off with the Mutual Aid Society lately.”

Freya put down her teacup.

“What’s wrong?”

“Irina hasn’t shown up for days. Not a leave of absence, just… didn’t come to class. Someone saw her staying in her dormitory, not coming out, not seeing anyone.”

Anke paused.

“Some people say she’s been practicing a forbidden art.”

Lyra frowned.

“Forbidden art?”

“I don’t know, just rumors.”

Anke shook her head.

“But you two be careful. That woman won’t let things go.”

That night, Freya had a dream.

In the dream, she stood in a sea of darkness—not the terrifying kind, but a quiet darkness, like the darkness of sleep.

Then she saw Lyra—no, not the Lyra of now, but a more mature version, taller, wearing a black robe.

Her crimson eyes burned like two flames, and from her back sprouted a pair of enormous black-purple wings.

She stood there, looking at Freya, her lips parted slightly, as if saying something.

But the sound didn’t carry—only the shape of the words remained.

Freya read those words—‘I’ll protect you.’

She snapped awake.

Outside the window, dawn had not yet broken. Moonlight streamed in coldly.

She turned her head. On the floor mat, Lyra lay fast asleep, her silver-white hair scattered across the pillow, a silly grin still hanging on her lips.

Freya watched for a long time, then closed her eyes. This time, there were no dreams.

The priest’s prophecy was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, the ripples spreading outward from the Imperial Palace in concentric circles.

The first to receive word were the high-ranking ministers at court.

That morning, before the sky was fully light, the ministers were summoned to the palace in an emergency.

The Great Hall was brightly lit. The Emperor sat on his throne, his face ashen.

The Theocrat stood beside him, white-haired and gaunt, his withered features appearing even more haggard in the candlelight.

When he read the prophecy, his voice was hoarse but terrifyingly clear—

“The Seal of the Evil God is accelerating its weakening. At the latest, by next spring, darkness will descend once more.”

Dead silence filled the hall. The ministers exchanged glances. Some turned pale, others had trembling fingers.

The Evil God—

That name, sealed away for a thousand years, was now being brought up again, like a rusty blade once more pressed against everyone’s necks.

“Your Majesty, I believe the top priority is to strengthen border defense—”

“What use is strengthening defense? Once the Evil God awakens, the entire continent will fall!”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“The Holy Sword. Only the Holy Sword can seal the Evil God. We must find the Bearer of the Holy Sword.”