Lyra and Alaric

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 bat...