A beautiful and lush forest stretched in all directions, full of life and natural magic. Even though fall had settled over the land, the forest still burned with vibrant colors—deep greens, cerulean moss, crimson leaf-clusters that clung to the branches like living lanterns. Horned hares darted through brush, vine does wandered delicately through patches of glowing mushrooms, and the wind sang through the canopy in long, gentle breaths. Birds trilled lazily from their perches, as if the forest itself were dozing through the season.
Peaceful. Serene. Almost sacred.
Except, of course, for the loud, dying wheezes of an eleven-year-old boy sprinting for his life.
"I'M GOING TO DIE AT THIS RATE, DAD!"
Teclos stumbled between roots and ferns, sweat pouring down his face like he'd sprung a leak. A small sandbag—small in theory, monstrous in practice—bounced on his shoulders. He was convinced it weighed at least twenty kilos, if not thirty. His legs felt like two sticks glued to sacks of pain.
"You're going to be fine," Talmir called from above, gliding silently through the branches. "Especially since you still have the energy to scream like that."
"That's—huff—because—huff—I'm terrified of what is—to come!"
"Good. Fear builds character."
"YOU SAID THIS WOULD BE GOOD FOR MANA CONTROL!"
"It is!"
"HOW?!"
"...The body is the foundation for everything, even for mana."
"You just made that up right now, didn't you?"
Teclos would have argued more, but his lungs were too busy writing their final will and testament.
He barreled downhill toward the riverbank—again—and felt his knees wobble as he splashed across the shallow water. Cold water wrapped around his ankles as he reached the other side and turned around, forcing himself to push back toward the forest path. Branches clawed at his clothes; mud smeared up his calves; the bag threatened to throw him off balance with every awkward step.
"Faster," Talmir called as he landed lightly beside him, running backwards with the ease of someone who was not, apparently, human. "If you have a third circle, you can run up a hill."
"I—huff—DID—huff—RUN—a hill!"
"And now you're running it again. It's progress!"
Teclos wanted to cry. Or scream. Or lie down face-first and dissolve into the soil like a compostable regret.
Instead, he staggered to the riverbank once more—his third run—where Talmir raised a hand.
"Stop. And cool down now."
Teclos didn't wait a second. He threw the sandbag off his back like it had personally attempted to assassinate him and dove into the river with a splash. He surfaced with a gasp, hair plastered to his forehead.
"Five minutes tops," Talmir said. "No more."
"Five minutes is too little."
"Five minutes is very generous."
"For who?!"
"For me."
Teclos sank until the water reached his chin, glaring with the exhaustion of a child whose soul had been personally offended.
After the timer—or Talmir's internal clock, which was even worse—ran out, the man clapped his hands.
"Time's up. We're starting mana exercises."
Teclos groaned, dragging himself from the river like an undead goblin that had been fished up from the bottom.
Talmir handed him a towel, then pointed at a wide flat stone by the riverbank.
"Now sit and focus. We're going to burn your mana fast."
"Didn't I—already—burn all of it?!"
"No, you burned stamina mostly. Mana's still half-full. Now we'll let your stamina regenerate and burn mana instead."
Teclos stared up at him, betrayed.
"Can't we… maybe… leave it half-full? Just this once? For the sake of my sanity?"
"No."
"Can't I just rest for ten minutes, to replenish my stamina and mana together?"
"No. Now take the lotus position."
Teclos frowned, dropped onto the rock beneath him, crossed his legs, and took a deep breath.
Talmir clapped once. "Alright, let's begin."
He guided Teclos through the drills.
First was mana compression.
Teclos gathered the energy around him into his hands, turning it into a pitch-black ball until it buzzed and vibrated with power. Then he released it back in a steady flow, controlling the mana every step of the way.
After half an hour, they continued with mana threading.
Teclos had to build thin threads of mana—thin but sturdy—splitting the flow into several lines and trying to hold them evenly. His hands trembled.
"Try to evenly spread your mana between the threads. For now, try to make three even, sturdy threads, after you succeed you can try to make more." Talmir instructed.
After another hour, they switched to mana bursts.
"Like with compression, gather the mana in your hands, then push it out as quickly as you can tiwards that tree." He pointed at an oak tree infront of Teclos.
Short, sharp bursts of energy followed, each one popping against the nearby tree, leaving small dents and scratches.
Finally came mana shaping.
Talmir placed leaves, stones, and sticks before him.
"Darkness is highly malleable and diverse. Make your mana sharp enough to slice the leaf. Make it hard enough to push the stone. And make it firm but springy enough to bend or break the stick."
Teclos inhaled sharply and obeyed. After a few tries, a thin, nearly invisible blade of mana almost cut the leaf in half. A hard pulse nudged the stone a few inches. A firm blob lifted a stick and bent it—barely—before collapsing.
Disappointed in his own performance, he frowned, but Talmir placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry. This is already good for your first attempt. By the end of this training you'll gather mana faster, release it quicker, shape it as you need, and control it like you want. Now do it again."
Teclos repeated the cycle. Again. And again. His breath grew shaky. His eyes burned. His temples throbbed—with the same results or worse.
"Alright, stop. Let's eat something and rest for half an hour."
Teclos practically collapsed. His head throbbed from the mana usage.
Talmir brought a basket full of bread, dried meat, honey, and an azureberry tonic.
Hungry and grateful for this meal his mother prepared, Teclos started devouring everything.
After they finished eating, Talmir stood up.
"Good. Time for sparring."
Teclos stiffened.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"But I— I'm still tired."
"And?"
"And I'm not ready to spar someone like you yet!"
Talmir patted his shoulder. "You'll never be ready with that attitude." A slight smirk escaped his lips.
He stepped back into the clearing, cracked his knuckles, then drew two wooden practice swords. He handed one to Teclos.
"First rule: no holding back."
Teclos started sweating instantly. "I'm pretty sure that's not fair."
"Life isn't fair. Nobody will wait for you."
He tapped the ground. "Now stand up."
Teclos stood, reluctant but obedient. Mana flickered faintly around him—unstable and unfocused, showing unease from Teclos at this new challenge.
They raised their wooden swords.
"Attack." Ordered Talmir.
Teclos lunged like on comand.
Talmir lifted his sword, and Teclos barely had time to inhale before the strike came down.
Instinct flared—mana snapped to Teclos's skin in a thin layer, a half-formed shield. He tried to catch Talmir's strike diagonally with his sword—but the wooden blade ignored his guard and smashed against his forearm, sending a stinging tremor up to his shoulder.
"Good reaction, but a bit slow." Talmir said. "Again."
He swung. Teclos dodged, nearly slipping in damp leaves. Mana surged, expanding his awareness—trees behind him, insects under moss, shifting air, vibrations.
He reacted faster because of that.
He ducked another strike, rolled to the side, and fired a mana burst at Talmir's feet.
It hit the ground an inch from the man's boot.
"Not bad."
Talmir grinned — then vanished.
Teclos spun, senses screaming. A shadow flickered behind him—he raised both arms and his sword. Talmir's wooden blade struck his guard, sending him stumbling.
"Focus," Talmir said. "Don't only feel where I am. Predict me."
"I CAN'T EVEN SEE YOU!"
"Use your senses! You can hear worms, but not your father?"
"That's not —huff— helpful!"
On and on the spar went. Talmir circled him like a predator. Teclos pushed mana into his feet, moving faster. The world sharpened —heartbeats, shifting leaves, tiny pressure changes.
He ducked another strike.
And another.
And one more — barely.
"Better," Talmir said. "Your mana should almost be depleted now."
Teclos fell to his knees. "NO MORE."
Talmir only smiled. "Get up. One last push."
Sweat, grime, and mud dripped from Teclos. He was exhausted.
"I CAN'T!"
"Yes, you can."
"Dad —"
Talmir's tone softened — not much.
"This training is going to save your life now and in the future. Stand, son."
Teclos swallowed, then forced himself upright. His whole body shook. His mana flickered like a dying candle.
Talmir smiled proudly, then placed three wooden targets on the other side of the clearing.
"Last task. Destroy these targets."
Teclos gritted his teeth. "Fine," he said, breath ragged.
"Pull the remaining mana inside you, push it outward. Make it sharp and hard, and coat these three arrows with it," Talmir said, handing him a bow and planting three arrows into the ground.
Teclos inhaled, drawing what little mana remained. His head buzzed painfully, but he still managed to force the energy outward.
"First target."
He drew the bow, the arrow flew. Sloppily coated and unstable — but powerful enough to crack the wooden plank.
"Next."
The second arrow flew. Even wobblier, but it struck true, splitting the second target.
"Last."
Teclos squeezed out every remaining drop. Mana sputtered, then exploded outward in a messy burst that slathered the arrow unevenly.
Altho it was slopy, it had the most power behund it and the last target shattered.
Teclos collapsed face-first into the dirt.
His mana was gone.
Talmir smiled. "Good. Rest for twenty minutes."
Teclos raised his head an inch. "What?"
"Afterward, physical conditioning."
"No, that's not—"
"Yes." Talmir clapped. "Push-ups, sit-ups, squats. One hour. After that, we go to the church."
"My body is dead."
"Then this will be easy. Corpses don't feel pain."
"THAT'S NOT HOW ANYTHING WORKS."
"Twenty minutes," Talmir said, pointing.
Teclos whimpered but obeyed.
After resting and drinking water, Talmir clapped to begin.
Thirty minutes in, his arms trembled violently.
Forty minutes in, he couldn't tell if he was sweating or crying.
Fifty minutes in, he tried to crawl away—Talmir nudged him back with a boot.
Sixty minutes in, Teclos lay sprawled out, eyes glassy.
"Done," Talmir said. "Good work."
"You… are… a demon," Teclos wheezed.
Talmir shrugged. "I've been called worse."
He lifted the boy—Teclos too tired to fight—slung him over his shoulder, and walked toward the village.
"We're visiting Father Pella now."
"No… let me rest…"
"He'd scold me if I did that. You'll be fine."
The sun dipped low by the time they reached the village. Lanterns flickered along cobbled paths. The old stone church glowed warmly.
Inside, Father Pella sat at his desk, sipping tea like a man finally at peace—until he saw them.
Without looking up, he said,
"Talmir, put the boy down. And close the door. You're letting the cold in."
Talmir set Teclos on a bench.
Pella finally looked—and sighed deeply.
"He looks like boiled meat. Perfect. That means you trained him enough."
Teclos wheezed in protest.
Pella stood and placed two fingers on Teclos's temples again. Life mana seeped into him—cool, calming, replenishing. Pain and exhaustion faded into warmth.
Teclos exhaled weakly. "Thank you…"
"Yes, yes. Don't thank me yet. You'll be back tomorrow."
Teclos whimpered.
Pella turned to Talmir. "How much mana did he burn?"
"All of it."
"Good. And physical training?"
"Endurance, strength, and focus."
"Excellent you finnaly did your job for once. He should sleep normally tonight. Bring him back tomorrow at sunset."
Teclos blinked. "Father… am I… doing okay?"
Pella paused—then smiled gently.
"You're doing better than most adults I've trained. You'll adapt. Even if your father is an idiot. But you should complain less, boy. This is for your survival."
"Hey..." Talmir muttered.
Pella ignored him. "Take him home. Feed him. Put him to bed."
Talmir slung Teclos over his shoulder again.
"And Talmir," Pella added, "don't think I forgot the blackberry wine."
Talmir flinched.
Teclos, exhausted, smiled faintly and thought.
'Serves you right you demon.'
As they stepped into the cool night air, one thing was certain:
Day one was finished.
Months or years just like these, remained.
This was only the start. His body and mind would be tested beyond their limits.
But Teclos—despite everything—looked ahead with stubborn optimism.
'Might aswell become the strongest in the world.'
First, though… he would have to survive it.