Location: Crestwood City - Unknown Alley
Time: Night - The Training
---
The alley was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city and the soft patter of rain against the concrete. The air was cold—sharp, biting, the kind of chill that seeped into bones and stayed there. Frost clung to the edges of the walls, and the puddles on the ground reflected the pale glow of a single flickering streetlamp.
Leo stood across from Elijah, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body trembling with exhaustion. His fists were clenched, his knuckles white. His eyes were fixed on Elijah—that infuriating, unshakeable figure who stood before him with one arm tucked casually behind his back, his expression one of quiet amusement.
He's not even trying, Leo thought, his internal voice carrying a note of bitter frustration. His reaction time. His visibility. His awareness of everything around him. He's miles ahead of me. Infinitely. I can barely track his movements, and he's not even moving.
He lunged forward—a side slide, a front fist aimed at Elijah's face. Elijah's hand moved—not to block, but to intercept. His palm caught Leo's fist, halting the attack before it could connect.
There it is again, Leo thought, his internal voice carrying a note of dawning realization. I'm circuit bound. Gate one. I know my will determines the range of the weave I can hold. But... something's wrong. Something's been wrong this whole time.
He pulled back, his feet shifting—a back step, a pivot, a side step. His body moved with a fluidity he had never known before, but it wasn't enough. Elijah's hand moved again—a casual slap, catching Leo's jaw and sending him spinning.
It's not just my body, Leo thought, his internal voice carrying a note of confused desperation. It's my mind. My chest. My breathing. Everything feels... off. Like there's something inside me that's fighting against itself. Two different rhythms. Two different beats. One pulling me forward, the other holding me back.
He stumbled, his feet catching on nothing. He caught himself, his body trembling.
What's causing this? Why can't I pick up my footing? Why does it feel like I'm fighting myself instead of him?
He closed his eyes. He listened—not to the world around him, but to himself. His heart. His breath. His mind.
There's a rhythm in my chest. A beat that's... frustrated. Angry. It's been there since I started fighting. Since I started doubting myself.
He took a deep breath. In through his nose, out through his mouth. He let his body relax. He let his mind quiet.
Calm down, he told himself. Just... calm down.
The rhythm in his chest steadied. The tension in his body eased. He opened his eyes.
He told me that will determines the range of the weave I can hold. Maybe... maybe I've been trying to focus on only one will. Only one part of myself. Instead of accepting both.
He stared at Elijah—a forceful, almost demented look crossing his features.
Elijah's expression shifted to one of amused curiosity. "Oh? What's this? Don't tell me you're going wacko on me."
Leo's voice carried a note of soft determination—a gentle soul trying to sound tough.
"You... you may be intimidating. But don't think I'm going to tolerate your annoying face."
He paused. His eyes widened. He shushed himself, his face flushing with embarrassment.
Elijah chuckled. "Now this is more like it."
Leo's mind raced. Wait. Frustration wasn't my own will. It was... constructed. Around my range of perception. From my spar with Elijah. I didn't want to accept it. So my inner self started fighting against it.
He closed his eyes. He felt it—the two rhythms inside him. One was grit—the determination to keep going, to keep fighting, to never give up. The other was frustration—the anger at his own weakness, the doubt that he would ever be enough.
They're separate. But they don't have to be. I need to accept both. Raise them within myself as my own strength.
He opened his eyes. The energy around him shifted—the golden light of grit and the darker, more chaotic light of frustration merging into something new. Something powerful.
Elijah's expression remained unreadable.
Leo roared. He lunged forward, his body moving with a speed and ferocity that hadn't been there before. His fist arced toward Elijah's face—a front punch, aimed with precision.
Elijah didn't dodge. He didn't need to. His hand moved—a casual wave, a ripple of energy that stopped Leo's fist before it could connect.
But Leo didn't stop.
He pulled back, his body twisting. A side kick. A back fist. A spinning elbow. Each attack was met with the same casual wave—the same ripple of energy that halted his strikes before they could land.
He's not even trying, Leo thought, his internal voice carrying a note of gritted determination. But I'm not going to stop. I'm not going to give up.
He lunged again—a low sweep aimed at Elijah's legs. Elijah didn't move. His hand waved, and the ripple of energy caught Leo's ankle, halting the attack.
Leo stumbled. He caught himself. He lunged again.
And again. And again.
Each attack was met with the same casual response—a wave of the hand, a ripple of energy, a subtle shift of the air. Leo's attacks were fast, aggressive, relentless. But Elijah didn't dodge. He didn't need to.
Why can't I touch him? Leo thought, his internal voice carrying a note of desperate frustration. Why can't I land a single hit?
He lunged again—a front kick, a back fist, a spinning elbow. The ripple of energy caught each attack, halting them before they could connect.
But something was different now. The energy around Leo wasn't just grit anymore. It wasn't just frustration. It was both—merged, combined, raised within himself as his own strength.
The ripple of energy that halted his attacks was stronger now. The golden light around his body blazed brighter. The warmth in his chest grew hotter.
Elijah's expression shifted—a flicker of something that might have been approval.
Leo lunged again—a front punch aimed at Elijah's face. Elijah's hand moved—the same casual wave, the same ripple of energy. But this time, something was different.
The ripple met Leo's fist—and held.
For a moment, the two energies clashed. The golden light of Leo's will pushed against the invisible force of Elijah's defense. The air around them crackled with tension.
And then, slowly, Leo's fist began to push through.
Elijah's eyes widened—just for a moment. A flicker of genuine surprise.
Leo's lips curved into a grin.
He pushed harder. The energy around him blazed brighter. The ripple of Elijah's defense wavered.
And then, with a final surge of effort, Leo's fist broke through.
The impact sent a shockwave through the alley. The ground cracked. The walls trembled. The streetlamp flickered and died.
Leo stood there, his fist extended, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His body was trembling, his muscles screaming, but he didn't care.
He had done it.
He had landed a hit.
Elijah looked down at the spot where Leo's fist had connected. His expression was unreadable.
And then, slowly, he smiled.
---
The alley was silent. The rain had stopped. The air was still. The only sound was the ragged breathing of two men—one exhausted, one amused.
Leo stood there, his fist still extended, his body trembling. His voice was barely a whisper.
"I... I did it."
Elijah's smile widened. "You did."
He stepped back, his posture relaxing. His arm remained behind his back.
"But don't think that means you're ready. You've taken the first step. There's a long way to go."
Leo straightened, his body aching. His expression was one of exhausted determination.
"I know. But I'll get there."
Elijah's eyes gleamed with something that might have been respect.
"We'll see."
He turned, walking toward the edge of the alley.
"Come on. We have work to do."
Leo stared after him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he followed.
The spark within him blazed brighter.