The Fist King didn’t move toward the boulder this ti. Instead, he turned his back to it entirely and began walking toward the edge of the mountain, his steps slow and deliberate, as if the matter of Kael’s survival had already been settled. Kael stayed where he was for a second, catching his breath, the remnants of that burning pressure still lingering deep inside his chest. It wasn’t gone, but it was quieter now.
Contained just enough that he no longer felt like he was about to collapse at any second.
"...So?" Kael said, pushing himself fully upright, forcing so steadiness into his posture even though his body still felt raw. "What now? More ’don’t die’ lessons?"
The Fist King didn’t answer imdiately. He simply gestured forward.
"Co."
Kael clicked his tongue under his breath, but followed anyway. The closer they got, the sharper the wind beca. It howled past the stone edges, carrying dust and cold that bit against exposed skin and slipped through the gaps in his clothes. When Kael finally stepped close enough to see past the edge, he stopped dead.
"...You’ve gotta be kidding ."
Behind the cave wasn’t a slope. It was a drop. A sheer, jagged cliff that plunged so far down that the base was swallowed by distance and haze. Sharp rock formations jutted out at irregular intervals, so barely wide enough to place a foot on, others crumbling at the edges like they’d shear off under the slightest pressure. Far below, barely visible through the distance, sothing shimred. Water, maybe. A river, or a stream cutting through the base of the mountain.
The Fist King folded his arms behind his back.
"Water’s down there. Food too, if you’re not blind. Hunt for it."
Kael stared at him, then back at the cliff.
"...You’re serious."
"You have four hours," the Fist King said calmly. "Bring back enough to last the day. Otherwise there will be sparring lessons."
Kael let out a short, disbelieving laugh and looked at the drop again, as if maybe it would sohow look less insane on the second inspection.
"Yeah, no. I’m not suicidal. There’s gotta be a normal path down this mountain."
"There is."
That made Kael pause. He looked back, suspicion already forming.
"...And?"
"It’s longer."
Kael frowned slightly, irritation tightening around his eyes.
"How long?"
The Fist King glanced at the horizon, as if estimating sothing too obvious to bother explaining.
"If you don’t waste ti, you might make it back before sunset."
That was all the confirmation Kael needed.
"Great," he muttered. "I’ll take the not-dying option."
He turned imdiately, heading along the mountain’s edge and scanning for a safer descent. It didn’t take long to find it: a winding path carved naturally into the mountain, sloping downward in a way that didn’t look like it would kill him in the first five minutes. Compared to the cliff, it looked almost rciful.
"See?" Kael said over his shoulder. "Not everything has to be insane."
The Fist King didn’t respond.
***
Four hours later, Kael’s legs were burning. Not from internal heat this ti, but from actual exhaustion. The path had been worse than it looked. Loose gravel, uneven footing, stretches so narrow he had to press himself against the rock wall just to avoid slipping.
What should have been a simple descent had turned into a constant fight to maintain balance and pace. It was the kind of climb that stole ti one cautious step at a ti until you looked up and realized the mountain had cheated you.
He wiped sweat from his forehead, breathing heavier now.
"...This is ridiculous," he muttered. "How tall is this damn mountain?"
He looked down.
Still not halfway.
That’s when sothing felt off. The wind shifted, or rather, it didn’t. It stilled in a way that wasn’t natural, like the entire mountainside had suddenly gone quiet just to make room for sothing worse. Kael frowned slightly and slowed his steps.
And then,
"...You’re late."
The voice ca from ahead.
Kael’s head snapped up. The Fist King stood there, halfway down the path, exactly where Kael was headed. Arms folded. Expression no longer casual. No pipe. No laziness. Just presence.
Kael blinked once, trying to process it.
"...How the hell did you..."
"Four hours," the Fist King said, cutting him off. "You haven’t even reached the base."
Kael’s jaw tightened.
"I took the safe route."
"That’s why you failed."
The words landed heavier than expected. Kael frowned, more from the sting of the statent than the words themselves.
"Failed what? You didn’t say I had to take the cliff."
"I didn’t need to."
The Fist King stepped forward, and even that single step seed to alter the space between them.
"Everything I say from now on," he continued, voice calm but firm, "You listen to what is said... and what is not."
Kael’s grip tightened slightly at his sides.
"You expect to just throw myself off a cliff because you didn’t feel like explaining?"
"I expect you to think. Use your head."
The Fist King’s gaze sharpened.
"You have four hours to go down and back up a mountain. You saw the distance. You felt the terrain. And you still chose the path that wastes ti."
Kael opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Because, yeah. When you stripped out the anger and put it that way, it sounded obvious enough to be insulting.
"...Tch."
The Fist King didn’t let the silence linger.
"In the tower," he continued, "you won’t be given full instructions. You won’t be told the correct path. And if you hesitate, if you choose comfort over efficiency,"
He stepped closer.
"...you die."
Kael exhaled slowly through his nose, irritation still there, but now mixed with sothing else. Understanding. Not agreent, not acceptance, but the ugly kind of understanding that ca when soone shoved your face into a mistake and made you look at it until you couldn’t deny it anymore.
"...So what now?" he asked.
The Fist King looked at him for a long second.
Then:
"You’re late."
Kael’s brow twitched.
"You already said that."
"And there are consequences."
That’s when Kael felt it. That shift. The sa one from earlier. But this ti, it wasn’t aid at healing him.
"...Wait," Kael said, taking a step back instinctively. "When you said ’sparring’..."
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