Morning came quietly.
No frost clung to the ground this week, no crunch beneath their boots - only damp earth and the low murmur of the forest waking with them. Light filtered through the canopy in thin ribbons, touching stone, moss, and the cave's mouth with equal indifference.
Vernon woke before Bruce.
That alone felt wrong.
He lay still for a moment, listening. Bruce's breathing was steady, deeper than usual, sprawled across the cave floor with one arm flung over his face. Derek was already awake - Vernon could hear him outside, the faint scrape of steel against wood, measured and unhurried.
Vernon sat up slowly.
His body felt... light.
Not rested. Not sore. Light. As if he'd slept for days instead of hours.
He frowned, flexing his fingers. No stiffness. No lingering ache from yesterday's drills.
"That's not normal," he murmured.
Bruce groaned from the floor. "Stop thinking so loud..."
Vernon glanced over. "You awake?"
"Unfortunately." Bruce rolled onto his side, squinting. "Why are you up already?"
"I don't know."
Bruce stared at him for a moment longer, then snorted. "Figures."
Derek didn't waste time.
"Daggers," he said, once they'd eaten. "Then hands."
Bruce perked up immediately, drawing his blade from its sheath. Vernon followed more carefully, testing the familiar weight in his palm.
"You already know how to hold them," Derek said, circling them slowly. "Today is about learning what they demand in return."
Bruce grinned. "Blood?"
Derek's gaze flicked to him. "Discipline."
The grin faded.
They began with movement.
Step. Turn. Withdraw. Advance.
No striking - only positioning. Derek corrected Bruce's overconfidence, knocking his blade aside with two fingers. He stopped Vernon just as often, tapping his shoulder with the flat of his own dagger.
"You think too far ahead," Derek told him. "You're planning outcomes instead of reacting."
Vernon frowned. "Isn't planning important?"
"After," Derek replied. "Not before."
Bruce laughed as Vernon nearly stumbled during a pivot. "See? Overthinking."
Vernon shot him a look. "At least I don't trip over my own feet."
They reset.
Again.
Again.
By midday, sweat clung to their skin and their hands ached from repetition. Bruce thrived in the closeness of it - short movements, fast adjustments. Vernon struggled more, his precision slowed by hesitation.
Derek noticed.
"Daggers don't wait for certainty," he said quietly. "They punish doubt."
Vernon tightened his grip but said nothing.
Hand-to-hand followed.
Bruce hit the ground hard the first time.
"Oof - !" He wheezed, staring up at the canopy. "You didn't say throwing was involved."
Derek looked down at him. "You didn't ask."
Vernon crouched nearby, eyes sharp, memorizing angles and timing.
They practiced falling first. Then escapes. Then counters.
Bruce learned through motion - through mistakes and scraped knuckles and stubborn persistence.
Vernon learned through awareness - adjusting before the blow landed, avoiding rather than overpowering.
By the time Derek called for rest, both boys were bruised.
"In two months," Derek said, breaking the quiet, "you'll spar each other.
Bruce choked on his water. "Wait-what?"
Vernon stiffened. "Against" each other?"
"Yes."
Bruce frowned. "But that's-"
"I know," Derek said.
Silence stretched.
"Not to win," Derek continued. "To understand. You'll learn more from each other than you will from me."
Bruce looked at Vernon. Vernon met his gaze.
Neither argued.
That night, Vernon couldn't sleep.
He lay awake, staring at the cave ceiling, his chest rising and falling too slowly for someone who'd trained all day.
Six hours.
That was all he'd slept.
And yet-
I feel fine.
No - better than fine.
He sat up, then stood. The world didn't sway. His muscles didn't protest.
Something twisted uneasily in his chest.
Outside, Melian hovered near the cave entrance, her glow faint but steady. She turned when she sensed him.
"You're awake early," she said softly.
"So are you."
She tilted her head. "You feel... strange."
Vernon hesitated. "Do I?"
"Yes." Her gaze didn't rest on him - but through him. "Like something is pulling too hard."
He swallowed. "That sounds bad."
"It sounds dangerous," she corrected gently.
Vernon glanced down at his hands. "I heal fast. Faster than I should."
Melian's glow dimmed slightly. "Healing always asks for payment."
That night, Vernon began to wonder-
If mana takes stamina... can it be taught to take less?
Three weeks passed.
Bruce changed visibly.
His movements sharpened. His awareness widened. Derek began correcting less and observing more.
"You adapt fast," Derek said one evening. "Your body listens."
Bruce beamed. "Does that mean I'm good?"
"It means you're learning."
Bruce grinned wider. "I'll take it."
Vernon noticed the cold first.
Not frost - but absence.
Bruce no longer shivered in the mornings. When he focused, the air around him seemed to pull inward, heat retreating as if pushed away.
"I feel... colder," Bruce said once, flexing his fingers. "But not uncomfortable."
"You're excluding warmth," Derek explained. "Not creating cold. Yet."
Vernon watched silently.
Another two weeks.
Vernon's nights grew longer.
He studied after training, forcing mana toward his hands again and again.
Nothing.
Sometimes - crackling.
Never sight. Never form.
One night, while rereading Alice's notes, a line caught his breath.
This technique cannot be used while moving cultivating mana takes immense concentration and handling. The body must remain still.
Vernon closed the book slowly.
"Mom you didn't raise me for me to believe that there is something 'impossible' one day ill make it so that i can accumulate mana on the go." he whispered.
The thought thrilled him.
to work on the same work his mom did.
Six days later-
A spark bloomed in his palm.
Tiny. Flickering. Unstable.
Vernon gasped, nearly dropping it.
At the same time, Bruce moved faster than he ever had before - his Qi flowing instinctively, adapting mid-motion, body responding before thought.
Both stood at the edge of something new.
And neither knew what it would cost.