Elliot’s breath ca in ragged bursts, each exhale fogging in the cold. The bag hung motionless—taunting him with its indifference.
"You’re still holding back," Leon said, sipping his tea like this was a casual observation and not the hundredth ti he’d said it.
"I’m not—" Elliot snarled, then bit down on the frustration. He exhaled, long and slow, his breath stirring the dust at his feet. Fine. If focus wasn’t working, maybe…
He stopped thinking about form. Stopped worrying about Towan watching from the riverbank, half-drowned and grinning. Stopped caring if he failed.
For the first ti since Heartwood burned, he let himself want sothing selfish—not to survive, not to protect, but to hit this damn thing until it felt him.
His next punch wasn’t clean. It wasn’t even a proper technique.
It was raw.
The bag didn’t sway.
It exploded.
The chain snapped with a sound like a gunshot, the links glowing red-hot as the bag rocketed into the trees. Wood splintered. Birds shrieked. Sowhere deep in the forest, an animal yelped in surprise.
Silence.
Leon sipped his tea. "Huh. Overshot it."
Elliot stared at his trembling hand. The skin was unbroken, but his veins pulsed with a faint silver glow—like Essentia had burned through him instead of flowing.
Leon’s eyes flicked to Elliot’s fist. A shadow passed over his face—sothing between recognition and grief. "That’s how Ardentis used to punch," he muttered. "Before he learned control."
Elliot froze. "You knew the Essentia Warriors?"
Leon’s mask slid back into place. "I knew of them." He stood, brushing off his pants. "Now go get the bag. And try not to kill it this ti."
As Elliot went for the punching bag, Leon’s gaze shifted to Towan
The rock was a betrayal. The waterfall, a personal enemy. Towan’s thirty-second attempt ended like the others—with him spitting river water and swearing loud enough to scare the birds off the trees.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
"Adjust," Leon called, voice flat.
"I am adjusting!" Towan snapped, slapping the water. "I adjusted right into the damn—"
A mory flashed: Elliot, six years old, teetering on a log bridge over Heartwood’s creek. "Stop staring at your feet, dumbass! Look ahead!"
Towan laughed, sudden and bright. Oh.
He stopped fighting the water. Stopped forcing it.
His next kick wasn’t a strike—it was a question. It followed the flow
Leon’s eyes opened as he saw his own kick being perford by Towan
The waterfall bent, parting around his foot like a curtain. The riverbed stones humd, a harmonic tone resonating through the clearing. For three seconds, the river held its breath.
Then dumped him on his ass.
Leon nodded. "Closer." he said with a soft smile
But his fingers twitched at his side—a reflexive motion, like he’d almost reached out to steady Towan. Or to stop him.
The days blended into a blur of sweat and strain.
Each morning began with a lung-burning sprint down the mountain trail and a grueling run back up — no breaks, no excuses.
Push-ups until their arms trembled. Pull-ups until their hands blistered.
They punched trees until bark flaked off like dead skin, then struck logs that Leon would toss into the air — midair targets they had to hit cleanly before they crashed down.
Quick circuits followed: hop, duck, roll, dash — over and over, faster every ti.
It wasn’t flashy, but it worked. Their bodies grew tougher, leaner. Movents tighter. Breathing sharper.
A few weeks passed.
By now, even the soreness had faded into background noise.
One quiet morning, the three of them sat around a small wooden table, steam rising from cups of tea, the sll of toasted bread in the air.
Leon leaned back in his chair and spoke as if comnting on the weather:
“We’re running out of money.”
Towan paused mid-bite. Elliot froze with a spoon halfway to his mouth.
Leon grabbed a piece of bread and tore it casually. “You two are gonna have to start working.”
Towan narrowed his eyes. “Wait… work
work?”
Leon chewed for a mont before nodding. “Yeah. I’ve gotta head back to Lockeheart — got so business I’ve been putting off. I can’t keep covering everything forever.”
Towan sat up straighter, his brow furrowed. “You’re leaving us?”
Leon gave a shrug, not unkindly. “Only for a while. You’ll stay here. But I want you to go to Stoneveil. Look for a man nad Lytharos — tell him I sent you.”
Elliot glanced at Towan, then turned to Leon. “Will you co back?”
Leon looked at them both for a mont, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Of course. I’ll drop in from ti to ti… but it’s ti you two started learning to stand on your own.”
Leon stood from his seat, stretching his arms with a casual roll of his shoulders.
“Today’s your last day of training with ,” he said, his voice calm but carrying that familiar edge. Then ca the grin — sharp, confident, borderline smug.
“Get ready to get your asses kicked.”
Towan and Elliot exchanged a look, their smiles rising to et his challenge.
“Don’t think we’re the sa rookies from before,” Towan said, brushing a few crumbs off his shirt. “We can actually block now.”
“Most of the ti,” Elliot added, still chewing.
User Comments
0 comments from readers