Morning came with fog.
Not the dramatic kind—just enough to blur the forest edges and make distance feel uncertain. My boots were still damp from yesterday's climb, and my legs reminded me of every step I'd taken like they were keeping score.
Porlyusica was already awake.
Of course she was.
She stood near the fire pit, crushing dried leaves with a stone, movements slow and precise. Not rushed. Never rushed.
I sat up and stretched, joints popping quietly.
"…So," I said, rubbing my neck, "either we're walking in a very big circle, or you're still not telling me where we're actually going."
She didn't look up.
"We're heading north-east," she said. "Toward the old borderlands."
"That's not a place," I replied. "That's a direction."
She glanced at me then, unimpressed. "You're observant today."
"I'm always observant. I'm just tired."
She snorted softly and went back to her leaves.
"There's a valley beyond the ridge we crossed," she continued. "Low magic interference. Clean water. Old growth forest."
"…Training ground," I guessed.
"And medicine ground," she corrected. "Rare plants don't grow where people walk."
That made sense. I frowned.
"So we're not just wandering."
"No."
"…Good. Because my internal sense of doom was starting to worry."
⸻
Why This Place Matters
We started walking again once the fog lifted.
The forest here felt different. Older. The trees grew wider apart, roots breaking the surface like veins. Birds were quieter. Everything watched more.
I adjusted my pace to match hers.
"…You could've trained me anywhere," I said. "Why here?"
She walked for a few seconds before answering.
"Because your body is changing."
I nearly tripped.
"…Excuse me?"
"Not like that," she snapped. "Focus."
I straightened. "Sorry. Reflex."
She sighed. "Your magic doesn't sit outside you. It reinforces what's already there. That means your muscles, your balance, your recovery—everything responds faster than normal."
I nodded slowly. I'd felt it. Especially after long days.
"If I train you in crowded areas," she continued, "you'll rely on convenience. Healers. Roads. People."
"…And here?"
"You rely on yourself."
That landed heavier than she probably intended.
"…Is that why you agreed to take me?" I asked.
She didn't answer right away.
Then: "Partly."
⸻
The Real Goal
We stopped near a stream just before midday.
Cold, clear water. Stones visible all the way to the bottom.
Porlyusica knelt and tested the flow, then finally spoke again.
"There's a plant in that valley," she said. "Not the one we discussed before. Another."
My attention sharpened instantly.
"What kind?"
"One that only grows where magic pressure is stable," she replied. "It strengthens the heart and nerves."
I swallowed.
"…Like long-term damage repair?"
"Yes."
I thought of Dad. Of his breathing. Of how close it had come.
"…Is that why you came near the village?" I asked.
She stood.
"I didn't plan to," she said. "But fate is annoying."
That almost sounded like humor. Almost.
"So the goal is…" I hesitated.
"Survive the trip," she said flatly. "Train your body. Learn control. And find the plant."
"…No pressure."
"You're seven."
"…That's not comforting."
"It shouldn't be."
⸻
Training Starts Here
The valley came into view late afternoon.
Wide. Quiet. Alive in a way that felt deliberate.
Porlyusica stopped at the edge.
"From here on," she said, "you don't move unless you know why."
"…Even breathing?"
She looked at me.
"…Okay, bad joke."
She crouched and drew a rough shape in the dirt with a stick.
"You train three things here," she said. "Movement. Awareness. Endurance."
She pointed at me.
"No fighting unless unavoidable."
"…So mostly running."
"Correct."
"…I'm starting to feel personally attacked."
She smirked. Actually smirked.
Good. I wasn't imagining progress.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling that quiet vibration settle again—not stronger, just steadier. Like my body knew what was coming and decided to cooperate.
"…Alright," I said. "Where do we start?"
She turned toward the trees.
"We start," she said, "with you getting lost."
I stared. "On purpose?"
"Yes."
"…You're enjoying this."
"Walk," she said. "I'll know if you panic."
I stepped forward, heart steady, legs ready.
Not because I was brave.
Because I trusted the process.
And because, for the first time since leaving the village, I knew exactly why we were here.
This wasn't wandering.
This was preparation.
And the long way forward had finally shown its destination.