I walked.
Not fast. Not slow. Just enough to keep my breathing steady.
Behind me, Porlyusica didn't follow.
That was the first thing that really sank in.
The forest swallowed sound differently here. Leaves rustled, branches creaked, something small scurried away—but no footsteps behind me. No presence I could track.
"…You know," I muttered to myself, "most teachers explain the lesson before throwing the student into the woods."
No answer. Obviously.
I kept moving, counting steps in my head. Dad had taught me that one—counting helped you notice when the ground changed. Garron had added wind direction, broken twigs, the smell of water.
I crouched, pressed my fingers lightly to the dirt.
Cool. Slightly damp.
Stream nearby. East? Maybe southeast.
My body hummed faintly, that familiar vibration settling into my legs and spine. Not stronger—just… aligned. Like my balance knew where to sit if I let it.
"Okay," I whispered. "Don't panic. You're not lost. You're… aggressively exploring."
I took a wrong turn on purpose.
If she was watching—and I knew she was—she'd want to see how I corrected it.
Ten minutes later, I corrected it.
Twenty minutes later, I was very sure I'd corrected it.
Thirty minutes later, I stopped.
"…Alright," I sighed. "Now I'm lost."
That's when a stone hit my shoulder.
Not hard. Just enough to sting.
"Too slow," Porlyusica's voice came from my left.
I spun. "You threw that from there? I didn't hear—"
"That's the point."
She stepped out from behind a tree like she'd always been there. Which was unsettling. Very unsettling.
"You relied on memory," she continued. "Not awareness."
"I was aware," I protested. "I noticed the dirt, the wind—"
"You noticed what you already knew."
She crouched and snapped a twig near my foot.
"You missed that."
I looked down.
"…Okay. Fair."
She stood again. "Again."
I blinked. "Again?"
"Back to the edge. Faster this time."
"…You're evil."
She turned away. "Move."
⸻
Falling, Standing, Repeating
By sunset, I'd been "lost" four times.
By nightfall, my legs burned, my hands were scratched, and my pride was in critical condition.
I collapsed near the fire, flat on my back, staring up at the branches overhead.
"…So," I said between breaths, "just checking—this is training, not revenge for bothering you that first day, right?"
She handed me water.
"You talk too much," she said.
I drank anyway. "Not a no."
She watched me closely now. Not like a healer examining a patient—but like someone evaluating a tool.
"Your body adapts fast," she said. "Not magically. Physically."
I sat up. "Is that… bad?"
"No," she replied. "It's dangerous if you push too hard."
"…Of course it is."
She reached into her pack and tossed me a thin, worn book. Leather-bound. Old.
"Read," she said.
I caught it. "What is it?"
"Basic anatomy. Muscle strain. Recovery cycles."
I stared at the cover.
"…This is homework."
"Yes."
"I left my village for this?"
"You left your village to survive."
She turned away, ending the conversation.
I smiled anyway.
⸻
Why I Write Things Down
Later, when the fire burned low, I pulled out the notebook I'd started a few days ago.
The pages weren't neat. Some sketches. Some notes. Some half-written thoughts I'd crossed out.
Day ???
Got lost.
On purpose.
Didn't die. Success.
I paused, then added another line.
Training goal:
Not strength. Not spells.
Staying alive long enough to learn.
I thought of Dad. Of the village. Of how close everything had come to breaking.
"…I'll tell you all of this," I murmured quietly. "When I can write you properly."
The forest answered with wind.
⸻
Tomorrow's Lesson
Porlyusica spoke once before sleep claimed me.
"Tomorrow," she said, "you learn when not to move."
"…That sounds worse."
"It is."
I sighed, pulling my cloak tighter.
But underneath the exhaustion, underneath the aches, something else stirred.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
Excitement.
Because for the first time, I wasn't reacting anymore.
I was being prepared.
And whatever waited beyond this valley—medicine, monsters, or something far worse—I wouldn't be facing it blind.
Not again.