Date: April 18, 541, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored
The training ground was again their temple, and Master Koch the high priest, whose rituals consisted of pain and sweat. After a day spent in the cool silence of the library, the sharp transition to physical reality was shocking. The air had already lost its morning freshness, the sun beat down mercilessly, and the densely packed earth underfoot seemed like a red-hot frying pan.
This time, Koch didn't make them run. In the center of the yard lay the familiar black obsidian disks, the very ones that drained heat and strength. But beside them stood new objects—low, unstable wooden platforms on hemispherical bases, resembling upturned bowls.
"Yesterday you thought," Koch's voice rang out loudly, breaking the morning silence. "Today you will feel. The power that flows within you. For some, it's a river that can be channeled into the bed of a spirit. For others…" his gaze lingered on Dur, "…for now, it's steam, dissipating uselessly. Your task is not to let it escape."
He explained the task. They had to stand on the unstable platform and hold the energy disk above their heads. Seemingly simpler than running with a load. But Dur immediately saw the catch. Balance. They would have to fight not only the weight that drained their strength, but also the constant threat of falling.
Maël sighed and was the first to step onto the platform. His body, honed by years of training, found the point of balance almost instantly. He raised the disk, and Dur saw the familiar haze—a slight distortion of the air around Maël's palms and forearms. His spirit, "Adaptability," was already learning to compensate for new types of load. The disk seemed to become a little lighter, Maël's stance more confident. He was still straining, sweat streaming down his face, but he stood like a rock, his spirit working, adapting to the conditions.
Then came Dur's turn. He climbed onto the platform, which immediately tilted dangerously under his foot. It took a few seconds to find a fragile balance. Then he raised the disk. The familiar icy terror pierced his body. It seemed the weight was pressing him into the ground, the frost penetrating straight to his bones. He gritted his teeth and focused. Remembered the feeling from running—concentration on his inner rhythm. He tried to imagine his energy not as something to be thrown outward, but as a fire to be kindled within.
But nothing happened. There was no haze, no relief. Only the crushing weight and cold. He felt his hands trembling, the treacherous quiver in his leg muscles trying to keep balance on the shaky support. Nearby, one of the recruits, a lad named Rinn, with a cry of pain dropped his disk and flew off the platform with a crash. One of Koch's assistants immediately led him aside.
Dur saw how Joran, the recruit with the "Stone Fist Spirit," stood motionless. His spirit, meant for attack, was ill-suited for this task, and Joran's face was twisted in a grimace of effort. But he held on.
"Don't concentrate on holding the load," Maël suddenly hissed through his teeth from the neighboring platform. His voice was strained but focused. "Focus on not falling yourself. Make your center of gravity immovable. The disk is just a shadow. Your body is reality."
Dur nodded, nearly losing his balance from the movement. He tried to follow the advice. He stopped fighting the disk and started fighting himself. The trembling in his knees. The treacherous tilt of his torso. He imagined himself as a tree with deep roots, bending in the wind but not breaking. He felt no influx of energy, but his will, his resolve, became the core that kept him from collapsing.
And then he felt something. Not warmth, not strength. Rather… a densification. A feeling that his muscles, his bones, every cell of his body became for a moment denser, heavier, stronger. It lasted only a second, then disappeared, leaving only exhaustion. But it was something. Not a breakthrough, but a tiny, barely perceptible crack in the wall separating him from his own potential.
Koch, watching them with a stony face, suddenly clapped his hands.
"Enough. Now—in pairs. Maël, Dur. Stand on one platform. Hold two disks together."
This was a new level of cruelty. The two of them climbed onto one platform, which immediately began to rock under their combined weight. They had to stand back to back to compensate for the balance. Maël took his disk, and Dur felt his comrade's body tense, then become surprisingly stable—Maël's spirit adapted to working together. Dur raised his disk, and again a wave of cold and weight crashed over him. But now he felt Maël's stability against his back. It wasn't magical support, but simple physical support. The knowledge that he wasn't alone.
They stood like that, a minute, two. Dur focused on his breathing, on his heartbeat. He caught that fleeting feeling of inner density again. It came and went, like a glint of sun on water. He couldn't control it, but he knew it was there.
Rinn couldn't hold on again and collapsed. Joran, gritting his teeth, held on, but his platform swayed heavily.
"You are not the strongest here," Koch said, walking around them. His voice was rough, but in it sounded a rare note of what could be taken for respect. "But you are the most stubborn. And you are learning to work together. One's strength complements the other's weakness. Maël gives you stability, Dur. And your stubbornness…" he threw a glance at Maël, "…keeps him from giving up when his own spirit runs dry. Enough."
When they finally lowered the disks and stepped off the platforms, their legs buckled. Both stood, leaning on each other, breathing raggedly. Dur felt drained, but deep in his soul glowed a spark of satisfaction. He hadn't awakened his spirit. He hadn't become stronger in the usual sense. But he had lasted. And he understood that his path to power would not be an explosion, but a slow, persistent construction. Brick by brick. And he wasn't alone. He had a comrade who, strangely enough, had become his support.
Returning to their quarters, Maël, still breathing heavily, said hoarsely:
"Did you feel it? At the end? That… heaviness inside?"
Dur nodded, unable to speak.
"I did too. Only differently. Like something clicks, and it gets easier. Is that the Energy?"
"I don't know," Dur answered honestly. "But there's something."
And in that "something" was a tiny, but real hope. They were far from moving mountains. But today they had moved something inside themselves. And that was enough. For now.