The mist clung to the ancient trees like a shroud, their gnarled branches reaching towards the perpetually overcast sky. The clearing, their training ground, was a place of both beauty and raw, untamed power. Lyra, her breath misting in the chill air, stood poised, her hands outstretched, a faint, shimmering aura of fire dancing around her fingertips. Years had passed since the inferno, the battle against the demon that had forged an unbreakable bond between her and Alaric. Years spent honing her skills, pushing her limits, striving to match the effortless grace and devastating power of her mentor

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