Dinner went as normal. Being a part of a big family, Mira always bickered with her brothers. After the first night I was here, they didn't bring up the topic of how long I could stay. Unfortunately, they never clarified with me what my time period was. Every time I had asked Mira about it, she always dodged the question. I had asked Doc, since he would spend some time right before bedtime to use his healing magic on me, but he would also just smile and said they were discussing it. Tonight, it seemed to be the same, and I was grateful.

My mind was still spinning with everything that was occurring, my sister, the Queen's twisted schemes, Prince Kael and his mysterious help; all of it gnawed at me. It was also my own desire of wanting to get stronger despite everything. That would be the first step here, and while I was unsure of how long I could stay, I was going to make the most of my time here now. I needed to take matters into my own hands, and that starts with learning combat and eventually magic. The harder part is trying to learn without letting them catch on. If it was a big deal to let me stay here, then I wasn't going to discover how they felt letting me learn from them.

The hardest part involved Grumpy. According to Dopey, the best fighter with the best technique would be Grumpy, and since I never had any formal training in combat, technique would be my priority. The other issue with it, was that I was more focused on who was the best fighter, and I didn't question if there was magic involved. Dopey's explanation was too vague for me to figure out if any one of them had used magic in terms of combat, but now I was determined to figure out through observing their training, at least for the first day. Asking Grumpy directly about anything was a bad idea. I have seen enough of his gruff, unapproachable demeanor to know that he isn't fond of me, especially about my current stay here.

After dinner, he was the first to finish, and get up to go to some training in their backyard. I watched him leave, and then I finished up. I said my thanks to Mira and the rest of her brothers, excusing myself, saying that I needed to go rest in my room. I noticed that some of Mira's brothers looked at me in concern, but I shot everyone a nice smile, waving that they shouldn't worry. Fortunately for me, my room had a window that allowed me view of the backyard, especially to the area that Grumpy was using to train.

I simply watched him, noting how he moved, how his posture shifted when he spared, and the rhythm of his strikes. Most of his training started off with a warmup, a series of stretches and controlled movements, before he transitioned into footwork drills. His steps were precise, measured. then he moved on to striking drills with a wooden training post. He landed sharp, calculated blows, fists and elbows landing with a force that made the wood creak under the impact. He was never wild, every motion very short, and never overextending. I watched each of his strikes have a maximized force with minimal effort, and he was quick with it as well. I could barely follow along, blinking and rubbing my eyes now and then, so I could get my eyes to refocus.

When the other brothers came around, their warmups were similar as well, but they weren't the same as Grumpy. Bashful was slower. Doc's strikes were weaker. Even Dopey tended to overextend his movements. When they started to spar, the different in skill and ability was clarified. Grumpy was sparring with Bashful, and while Bashful appeared to be faster than Grumpy, it was clear who had control of the fight. Grumpy seemed to dance in the fight, his movements like effortless as he dodged, blocked, and countered. It only clarified what Dopey had told me — Grumpy was the best fighter out of them. And if I truly wanted to learn, he was who I had to pay attention to him.

I was so in thought about it, and concerned on how I was truly going to start learning from watching him that I didn't notice when he suddenly stopped. My breath caught in my throat as his head turned slightly to my window. I glanced away, worried if he saw me starring. When I looked back, Grumpy had turned to Bashful, muttering something before going back to sparring. I sighed, hoping that he wasn't catching on to what I was doing, but I wasn't going to stop now. Over the next few days, this continued in a way. Mira had finally allowed me to have more exercise, so in the morning I worked out. She didn't allow me to do much, and I agreed, because I didn't want to set back the healing on my shoulder. I jogged, and stretch, easing my body back into getting used to activity. After lunch was spent relaxing, and helping Mira with some of the housework, just some tidying up. It was after dinner, where I channeled my energy into watching Grumpy, and trying to copy his movements in the mirror after watching him. It was a series of watching him for a little bit, and once my eyes were losing track of him because of his speed, I switched to trying to mimic him.

At first, it felt ridiculous. My movements were sloppy, slow, nowhere near as controlled as his. When I struck the air, it didn't carry the same weight or efficiency. My footwork felt awkward, my balance off. I was missing something—something I couldn't quite grasp just by watching. But I kept at it. Each night, I studied him. Each night, I tried again.

The more I observed, the more patterns I picked up. The way his stance shifted before he struck, the way he angled his body to absorb attacks with minimal impact, the subtle readjustments in his footing. I realized he rarely ever took an unnecessary step—every motion served a purpose. So, I adjusted. I focused on precision rather than speed. I mirrored his movements slower, breaking them down piece by piece until they started to feel less unnatural. But still, something was missing. By the fourth night, I was so deep in concentration, mimicking his footwork while watching his reflection in the window, that I nearly jumped when I heard a sharp voice behind me.

"You're terrible at that."

I whipped around.

Grumpy stood in the doorway, arms crossed, brow furrowed in something between irritation and amusement. My stomach dropped. How long had he been standing there?

I scrambled for an excuse. "I was just…"

He tilted his head, unimpressed. "Just what?"

"Bored," I said quickly, feigning nonchalance. "Watching you train is the only interesting thing around here." I shrugged, hoping it sounded convincing.

Grumpy snorted. "Right." His gaze flicked toward the mirror, where my reflection stood in a stance embarrassingly similar to his.

I forced a yawn, trying to keep up with my cover. "You're not as fast as I thought you'd be."

His eyes narrowed slightly, but instead of calling me out, he shook his head and turned away. "If you're going to spy, at least do it right."

He started to walk off, and for a brief second, I thought that was the end of it. But then, he paused in the doorway, glancing back at me.

"You're wasting your time just copying what you see," he muttered. "That's not how you learn." And then he left, and I hopped on my bed to scream into my pillow. He always knew the right buttons to press. The worst part was that there was no one that I could vent to here, because that involved letting them know my plans. It was already horrible that Grumpy had more information than I had wanted —my paper, and now my "training". I flopped on my back, motivation draining out of me. I was happy that they had finished training, so I could feel like I continued with my goal today, but Grumpy's words echoed in my mind — That's not how you learn.

That annoyed me the most, because what was I going to do in my situation? I couldn't let the others know, because I had an inking that Mira convinced them that I could only stay here to recover, and if they knew that I was training, that meant that I had already recovered, and so I could be on my merry little way. I laid there, raking my brain to see if there was better way of going about this, only becoming more and more annoyed at Grumpy's words. Fine. If copying in front of a mirror wasn't enough, then I needed another approach. One that actually let me move, react, and feel out the techniques for myself.

I sat up, glancing at the window. The backyard was empty now, the training posts standing still in the moonlight. My heart pounded with an idea that formed before I could second-guess it. I slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, creeping toward the window. Taking a deep breath, I cracked it open and slipped out, happy that the window was large enough to squeeze myself through. The cool night air hit my skin as I landed outside, my body thrumming with nervous energy. This was reckless, stupid even. If I got caught, I'd have to explain why I was out here, and I wasn't sure how I'd talk my way out of that, maybe nigh walking would do the trick or night-crawling-out-the-window. But now, I was determined to finally learn.

The wooden training post stood before me, worn from years of impact. I stepped closer, mimicking the stance I had watched Grumpy take so many times. Feet apart, knees slightly bent. I took a slow breath and struck out. Pain shot up my fingers, and I bit my lip to keep from yelping. Okay. Maybe going full force immediately was a bad idea. I shook out my hand, flexing my fingers before trying again—softer this time, focusing on form rather than power. I practiced the basic strikes I had seen, testing angles, adjusting my stance when something felt off. At first, it was clumsy, awkward. But the more I moved, the more natural it started to feel.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

My arms ached, my muscles burned, but the frustration from earlier was dulling into determination.

I wiped sweat from my brow, exhaling heavily. I wasn't anywhere near where I needed to be, but this felt real. I was finally doing something.