Dawn broke slowly over Haze Forest, though "dawn" meant nothing more than a slightly lighter shade of gray. The snowstorm had eased, leaving behind a world wrapped in heavy silence.
Darwin stood outside Grajisk's workshop, tightening the coat the blacksmith had given him the previous day. The fur collar brushed against his cheek, the scent of smoke clinging to it.
His breath came out in small white puffs.
He felt the cold bite immediately, sinking deep into his bones.
Grajisk stepped out behind him, carrying a wooden staff and a small leather pouch.
"Morning, brat."
Darwin straightened. "Good morning."
Grajisk tossed the pouch to him. Darwin caught it with his left hand—barely.
"What's this?" Darwin asked.
"Stones," Grajisk said. "You'll carry them today. Builds endurance."
Darwin frowned. "That's it?"
Grajisk smirked. "That's where we start."
They walked toward the clearing beside the workshop. Snow reached up to Darwin's ankles, crunching with each step. The forest beyond looked like a shifting sea of white haze, deceptively calm.
As they reached the clearing, Grajisk stabbed the wooden staff into the ground.
"Today," he said, "you learn to walk."
Darwin blinked. "Walk? I already—"
"You walk like someone who expects the world to be flat," Grajisk interrupted. "Blizzard Valley isn't flat. The world isn't flat. Your life definitely isn't flat."
Darwin opened his mouth, then shut it.
Grajisk pointed to Darwin's feet.
"You have no balance. None. And you're fighting it."
Darwin stiffened. "I try—"
"Trying isn't enough when you've only got half the equipment everyone else does."
The words hit Darwin harder than expected.
But Grajisk wasn't mocking him.
He was stating a fact.
"Your center of gravity is shifted left," Grajisk continued. "Every time you move like a normal fighter, your body betrays you. You need to stop pretending you're someone else."
Darwin lowered his gaze.
Someone else.
That was what he had been trying to be his entire life.
A normal heir.
A normal swordsman.
A normal son.
A normal anything.
Grajisk walked in a slow circle around him.
"First drill. March through the snow carrying that pouch. Left arm only."
Darwin nodded.
He began walking, each step sinking deep into the piled snow. The stones were heavy—much heavier than he expected. His left arm trembled, unused to the strain.
After only a minute, his breath grew ragged.
"You're stiff," Grajisk said from behind him. "You're letting the weight drag you."
Darwin clenched his teeth. "It's heavy."
"Good. It's supposed to be."
He kept walking.
Each step jolted his shoulder. His back throbbed with yesterday's wounds. The cold seeped into his fingers, making them numb.
But he refused to stop.
Grajisk watched him silently.
After several minutes, Darwin finally stumbled. His foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice, sending him crashing to his knee.
"Hah—!"
He caught himself with his hand, breathing heavily.
Grajisk walked over and tapped the snow.
"That's lesson two. Haze Forest hides ice pockets. If you fall during a fight, you die."
Darwin stared at the ground.
He hated this weakness.
He hated this stumbling.
He hated being reminded that he wasn't like others.
But he pushed himself up.
"I can keep going," he said quietly.
Grajisk didn't smile, but something softened in his eyes.
"Good. Again."
---
**The Second Hour**
Darwin marched again.
This time he tried to distribute his weight better, stepping lightly instead of stomping. The snow shifted beneath him unpredictably, but he focused on feeling the ground through every inch of his boot.
But just as he found a rhythm—
"STOP."
Darwin froze mid-step.
Grajisk approached him, crouched, and picked up a handful of snow.
"Look at your footprints."
Darwin turned.
His footprints were uneven. Some deep, some shallow. Some leaning to one side.
Grajisk jabbed a finger at them.
"This is your real enemy, brat. Not beasts. Not the cold. Not hunger." The old man tapped Darwin's chest. "It's your own damn balance."
Darwin's jaw tightened.
He knew it was true.
Every movement felt off. Every swing of his arm pulled his body sideways. Every shift in weight felt like he might fall.
Grajisk straightened.
"Your body is shaped differently. That's not a flaw — unless you keep pretending it isn't."
Darwin inhaled sharply.
"Look at your stance."
Darwin spread his legs slightly.
"See that?" Grajisk said, pointing. "Your left foot takes more weight. Your right side compensates but has nothing to compensate with. That means you fall right—every time."
Darwin felt heat in his cheeks.
This was the truth, harsh and simple.
He had never adjusted his fighting stance. He had always tried to imitate his father's standard form. His grandfather's stance. The swordsman forms the knights used.
He never thought about why they didn't work.
"You cannot copy them," Grajisk said quietly.
Darwin looked up. "Then what do I do?"
Grajisk smirked.
"You learn to walk like yourself."
---
**Third Hour — Balance Training**
Grajisk led him to a frozen log placed over a shallow ditch.
"You're going to walk across this."
Darwin stared at it.
"But I'll fall."
"Exactly. So get back up each time."
Darwin stepped onto the log.
Immediately, his left-side-heavy balance shifted, and he nearly toppled.
He jerked his arm out to steady himself—too fast—
and fell.
He landed face-first in snow.
Grajisk crossed his arms. "Again."
Darwin climbed back onto the log.
He tried again.
And fell.
And again.
And again.
His cheeks burned from the cold each time they hit snow. His left arm screamed from gripping the pouch. His feet numbed. His breath grew ragged.
But he kept climbing back onto the log.
After the fifteenth fall, he shouted in frustration:
"Why can't I do this?!"
Grajisk stepped forward.
"Because you're still trying to balance your body like someone with two arms."
Darwin froze.
Grajisk tapped Darwin's left shoulder.
"Your body tilts naturally. So tilt with it."
Darwin blinked.
"What…?"
"Lean left. Make your imbalance into your balance."
It sounded stupid.
But he tried.
He stepped onto the log again.
This time he leaned slightly left.
His foot trembled.
He wobbled—
—but didn't fall.
Another step.
Another lean.
Stabilized.
He breathed sharply.
He took the next step, adjusting his weight left.
He didn't fall.
He finished crossing.
Slowly.
Unsteadily.
But he finished.
Grajisk grinned.
"There. Now you're starting to walk like Darwin Elkevis."
Darwin stood on the other side of the ditch, breathing hard, snow sticking to his coat.
Something shifted inside him.
He didn't feel strong.
But he felt—
Capable.
---
**Fourth Hour — Snow Running**
"Time for the final drill," Grajisk said.
Darwin swallowed. "There's more?"
"Of course there's more. Survival doesn't give breaks."
The old man pointed toward the tree line.
"You're going to run. A full lap around the clearing."
Darwin's chest tightened.
"I— with the stones?"
"Yes. Until you collapse."
Darwin wanted to protest.
He wanted to say he was tired.
He wanted to say he needed rest.
But he didn't.
Instead, he nodded and started running.
Snow piled around his boots. The cold burned his lungs. His left arm throbbed, the stones rattling inside the pouch. His breath grew sharp—painful.
He tripped once, twice, but each time he caught himself before falling.
His legs grew heavy.
His vision blurred.
His body screamed to stop.
But—
He kept going.
Because stopping meant being weak.
Stopping meant being helpless.
Stopping meant being the boy his parents threw away.
He would not be that boy again.
He stumbled through the last stretch and finally crossed the clearing, collapsing to his knees.
"Hah… hah… hah…"
Grajisk approached him slowly.
"You didn't quit," the old man said. "Good. That's the only thing that will matter in your life."
Darwin looked up, sweat and frost mixing on his brow.
"What… next?"
Grajisk snorted, turning toward the workshop.
"Next?" He smirked. "We do this again tomorrow."
Darwin let out a shaky breath.
Pain filled his body.
But beneath the pain…
There was something else.
A spark.
A faint, quiet spark that whispered:
*You can build something from this.
You can shape something new.
You can become something others cannot imitate.*
Grajisk glanced back one more time.
"And Darwin," he added, voice lower, "someday you'll understand this training is for one purpose."
Darwin looked at him questioningly.
Grajisk nodded toward Darwin's left arm, his unbalanced stance, the snow trail he carved.
"To teach you that your difference is your weapon."
Darwin's eyes widened.
The wind howled softly across the forest.
Darwin whispering to himself:
"…I'll make this imbalance mine."