Spring did not make training kinder.
If anything, it made it more honest.
The forest was alive again-not threatening, not gentle, simply present. The ground was softer now, no longer hardened by cold, and mistakes left clearer marks. A misplaced step slid instead of stopping. Poor balance showed immediately. Weakness had nowhere to hide.
Bruce learned this within minutes.
"Again," Derek said.
Bruce's legs trembled as he lowered himself back into stance, feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, spine straight. Sweat clung to his brow, rolled down his nose, and dripped onto the dirt between his feet.
He exhaled slowly through clenched teeth.
Again.
No weapons yet. No techniques. Not even breathing patterns beyond what Derek demanded by voice alone.
"Hold."
Bruce's thighs burned.
"Don't lean forward."
"I'm not-"
"You are."
Bruce adjusted, jaw tightening as the strain shifted deeper into muscle. His hands curled into fists, then relaxed when Derek shot him a look.
"Pain teaches nothing if you let it own you," Derek said. "You acknowledge it. Then you continue."
Bruce nodded, sweat stinging his eyes.
"Yes, sir."
Vernon watched from the cave entrance.
He could see the logic of it-the deliberate dismantling of Bruce's posture so it could be rebuilt stronger, cleaner, truer. Derek wasn't teaching how to fight yet. He was teaching how to exist under pressure.
Still, the sight twisted something uncomfortable in Vernon's chest.
Bruce didn't complain.
Not once.
The sessions were short at first.
Not because Bruce was weak-but because Derek was careful.
"Your body is changing," he explained after the third day. "Not growing stronger yet. Rearranging. That's more dangerous."
Bruce sat on a stone, breathing hard. "Dangerous how?"
"Push too hard, and you break something that won't heal the same way again."
Bruce frowned. "Then why does it hurt so much already?"
Derek allowed himself a small smile. "Because you're doing it right."
Bruce laughed weakly, then groaned as he stood too quickly.
Vernon offered him water. Bruce drank deeply, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"I thought martial arts would be more... flashy," he admitted.
Derek snorted. "Flash comes later. If you survive long enough to deserve it."
By the second week, patterns emerged.
Bruce adapted fast.
Not physically-not yet-but mentally.
Pain didn't surprise him anymore. He didn't flinch when his muscles screamed or when his balance failed. He adjusted, corrected, and resumed without waiting for encouragement.
Derek noticed.
He made no comment, but that night, by firelight, he wrote a single line in his notebook.
Bruce adapts unusually well to sustained discomfort.
Recovery of intent exceeds recovery of body.
Vernon saw the note by accident.
He didn't mention it.
Vernon spent his days differently.
He helped where he could-checking traps, reinforcing shelter, cataloguing changes in mana flow as spring deepened. He practiced magic when his stamina allowed, refining control rather than output.
Still, there were moments he couldn't ignore.
Moments where he watched Bruce train and felt... disconnected.
Not jealous.
Just separate.
At night, when Bruce collapsed into sleep without dreaming, Vernon stayed awake longer than he should have, staring at his hands.
If I can't walk that path...
What does mine even look like?
The forest gave no answer.
Bruce's first failure came quietly.
On the twelfth day, Derek adjusted the stance-lowered it further, narrowed the margin for error.
Bruce held it for nearly a minute.
Then his leg gave out.
He hit the ground hard, breath knocked clean from his lungs.
Derek didn't move.
Neither did Vernon.
Bruce lay there for a long moment, chest heaving, face pressed into dirt. Then he rolled onto his back, staring up at the sky.
"...Can I try again?" he asked.
Derek studied him.
"You haven't recovered."
Bruce swallowed. "I know."
Silence stretched.
Then Derek nodded. "Once."
Bruce sat up, legs shaking as he forced himself back into position. Sweat poured freely now, soaking into his clothes, darkening the earth beneath him.
He lasted twenty seconds.
Then thirty.
Then collapsed again-laughing breathlessly this time.
"I almost had it," he gasped.
Derek turned away so Bruce wouldn't see the expression on his face.
That evening, as the sun dipped low and the forest glowed gold, Vernon felt it again.
The presence.
Closer now.
He followed the sensation quietly, careful not to draw attention, stopping just short of the treeline where the light thinned and shadows deepened.
"Why do you keep watching me?" Vernon asked softly.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the air shimmered-subtle, like heat over stone.
A voice answered. Light. Curious.
"Because you listen," it said.
Vernon's breath caught. "Who are you?"
There was a pause.
"I am not supposed to answer that yet."
Vernon frowned. "Then why talk to me at all?"
A faint laugh, like wind through leaves.
"Because you are not where you should be," the voice said. "And yet... you are."
Before Vernon could ask more, the presence faded.
He stood there long after it was gone, heart pounding.
Derek noticed his stillness from across the clearing.
He said nothing.
Bruce reached the end of the first phase on the twentieth day.
Derek told him so without ceremony.
"You'll hurt tomorrow," he said. "More than usual."
Bruce nodded. "Okay."
"And after that," Derek continued, "your body will start changing in ways you can't feel yet."
Bruce hesitated. "Is that... bad?"
"No," Derek said. "Just permanent."
Bruce smiled.
"Good."
That night, the three of them sat together by the lake.
The water reflected the moon clearly now, ripples slow and steady. Frogs croaked in the distance. Somewhere deeper in the forest, something howled—not close enough to worry about.
Bruce leaned back on his elbows, staring at the sky.
"Hey, Dad." he asked.
"Yes?"
"...Thank you."
Derek didn't answer immediately.
"For what?" he asked eventually.
"For believing I could do this," Bruce said. "Even when I didn't know what 'this' was."
Derek nodded once. "You're doing the believing now."
Vernon watched them quietly.
He didn't feel left behind.
Not yet.
But he knew-deep down-that the path ahead would force him to choose something soon.
The forest shifted, mana stirring gently through root and stone.
Somewhere unseen, something waited.