Chapter Title: "Gentle Hands, Cruel Teacher"
The fading orange light of the setting sun bathed the earth castle, casting long shadows across its jagged stone walls. Connor stood there, staring at the structure before him—proud, tired, and, deep down, broken. His hands were still covered in the residue of his labor, his body aching from hours of shaping stone and earth into something that would not last.
The Hooded Figure stood beside him, arms crossed, watching the creation. His gaze was unreadable, his posture unwavering.
"Alright," the Hooded Figure said after a moment, his voice cutting through the silence.
Connor cracked his knuckles. "Then uhh, guess I'll just smash it down—"
Before he could take another step, a sharp flick to his forehead stopped him dead in his tracks.
"OW—WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!" Connor staggered back, rubbing his forehead, his eyes wide with surprise.
The Hooded Figure stood unmoved, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Brute force is banned."
Connor blinked, the words not immediately sinking in. "…Excuse me?"
"Brute force," the Hooded Figure repeated, "is banned. If you destroy it wrong, you start over. And by start over, I mean you'll build it again and again and again and again and again and again and again—"
Connor's patience frayed as he interrupted. "Okay, I get it, damn!" he muttered, his irritation growing.
He stared at the castle, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Then how am I supposed to—"
The Hooded Figure stepped closer, his feet silent on the forest floor. He tapped the ground lightly with his foot, his gaze drifting downward. "Think."
Connor exhaled sharply, a mixture of frustration and confusion. His fingers twitched, but he held back, trying to push past his growing frustration.
The air was thick with expectation.
Time passed. The clearing was still, save for the occasional gust of wind. Connor stood motionless in front of the stone walls, his palms resting lightly against the cold surface. His breath was steady, eyes closed, focusing on the sensation of the earth beneath his fingertips.
There was no tremor at first, no rush of power or explosion of rock. Instead, the ground beneath his palms responded in subtle shifts, a slight quiver that only he could feel. The cracks started small, just hairline fractures that snaked out from under his hands, snaking into the earth like roots. The stone groaned—not violently, but as if an old tree, weakened by time, was finally surrendering to gravity.
The blocks began to move, slowly at first. They slid, gently folding over each other. The pillars trembled, leaning, the tower's height shrinking, folding inward like a collapsing star.
Connor watched, silent. The steady rhythm of his breathing matched the collapsing structure. There was no explosion. No thunderous crash.
Just a quiet dust storm as the castle, piece by piece, folded in on itself. Control. His control.
As the final stone settled, Connor opened his eyes. There was no grand triumph, no victory shout. Just silence.
And then a breathless laugh escaped his lips.
"I—I actually..." His words caught in his throat. His eyes darted across the rubble. "I did it."
The Hooded Figure stood a few paces behind him, his face still hidden, but the stillness in his posture suggested some form of approval. The sound of Connor's breath was the only thing that filled the empty space as he stood there, staring at the pile of rocks.
The Hooded Figure's voice broke the silence, low and measured. "Good. Now you'll do it again tomorrow."
Connor's heart sank, and his tired body sagged. "What?" he muttered, his voice laced with disbelief.
Without waiting for a reply, the Hooded Figure turned and walked a few steps away, as if nothing had happened. But the weight of his next words hit like a physical blow.
"Training's not over."
Hours passed, and as the sky turned from warm orange to dark blue, the Hooded Figure's shadow grew long. Connor, still exhausted and dripping sweat, heard the sound of something heavy being dragged across the ground.
A massive backpack. A weight far too large for any man, let alone one as tired as Connor.
He watched with wide eyes as the Hooded Figure dropped the bag onto the ground with a loud thud. The sound made Connor's stomach twist.
"What is that?" he asked, his voice hoarse from the hours of training.
The Hooded Figure didn't answer right away. Instead, he took his time, lifting the bag and strapping it onto Connor's back with ease. The weight of it pulled Connor's shoulders down as the Hooded Figure adjusted the straps with a casual precision.
Connor stumbled, his legs giving out as the immense weight settled onto his frame. "I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS," he gasped, his voice cracking from both strain and disbelief.
"You don't need them," the Hooded Figure said, his tone calm and dispassionate.
Then, without any warning, he grabbed Connor by the arm and dragged him upright. The muscles in Connor's legs screamed in protest, but he had no choice but to stay on his feet.
Time seemed to blur. The forest stretched on endlessly, the weight of the backpack never easing, always pressing down on him.
Connor crawled up a steep incline, his fingers raw and bleeding as they scraped against the rocky earth. His muscles burned with every movement, and his breath came in ragged gasps. The Hooded Figure walked ahead, moving effortlessly, his voice barely audible as he called back to Connor.
"Breathe through your nose."
"I CAN'T USE MY NOSE ANYMORE!" Connor shouted back, his words lost in the sound of his gritted teeth and struggling breaths.
The Hooded Figure didn't slow his pace, didn't even flinch. Connor stumbled behind, dragging the pack, trying to force his body to cooperate. But every step felt like an eternity.
The day dragged on. He lifted stones with his bare hands, his power forbidden to assist. The Hooded Figure slapped his hand every time energy flared, forcing him to comply.
"No cheating," the Hooded Figure repeated, his tone never shifting.
Connor did push-ups on jagged rocks, his body trembling, but there was no sympathy. The Hooded Figure casually sat on his back, adding weight with every breath.
"Lower," the Hooded Figure ordered, his voice like ice.
"I HATE YOU," Connor gritted out, his voice shaking from the effort.
The Hooded Figure chuckled. "Who doesn't?"
The rain came in the dead of night, falling hard and steady as Connor was forced to balance on one foot. His muscles screamed. His body shook. But the Hooded Figure was relentless.
"If you fall, we start over."
Connor's heart pounded in his chest. His breath was erratic, but he didn't give in.
The Hooded Figure threw pebbles at him, each one landing with a sharp sting.
"WHY?" Connor shouted, his voice breaking.
"Because what you are doing is very easy, duh," the Hooded Figure replied, his tone sarcastic but undeniably serious.
Eventually, Connor collapsed, his body giving out from the unrelenting torture. Silence. The world seemed to freeze. He lay on the cold earth, too tired to move.
For a moment, the Hooded Figure looked down at him, a flicker of concern passing through his gaze before the hard, unyielding exterior returned. He knelt down and, without hesitation, spoke the words Connor never expected to hear.
"Get up."
Connor groaned, too weak to reply. But he knew there was no choice. The pain would never stop unless he stood.
Hours later, as the first light of dawn stretched over the forest, Connor stood. His body was bruised, filthy, and exhausted, but he stood, steady.
The Hooded Figure tossed him a waterskin. Connor caught it weakly, his hand trembling from the effort.
"…Is it over?" Connor asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"For today," the Hooded Figure said, his voice colder than the morning air.
Connor collapsed backward onto the ground, laughing weakly, his chest rising and falling with the exhaustion that had overtaken him. "You're insane," he muttered.
The Hooded Figure awkwardly scratched the back of his hood.
"Yeah," he said with a rare, almost imperceptible smile.
Connor lay there, staring at the sky. His hands were calloused. His body was worn, but steady.
No lightning. No earth glow. Just control.
And for the first time, Connor didn't feel like a weapon.