CHAPTER 6: THE FIRST TIME HE WAS TOO SLOW
Zio had learned early that speed mattered. It was not the kind measured by how fast legs moved or how quickly a blade swung, but the kind that decided whether a moment could still be saved or whether it was already gone. On that morning, he did not yet know he was about to learn the difference.
The training grounds lay just outside the refugee village, where packed earth met uneven stone. Zio moved through his drills in silence. His breath was steady. His posture was exact. Each step landed where it was meant to and each swing ended cleanly. Trod watched from a distance. He always did. There were no shouted commands or mid motion corrections. The old Dwarf believed a body trained properly would correct itself. Anything else was noise.
Zio finished a sequence and reset his stance. Sweat clung lightly to his skin. He waited. Trod's silence was not approval. It was expectation. Zio began again. The rhythm settled. Movement. Breath. Impact. Stillness. The world narrowed to alignment and balance, to the quiet satisfaction of doing something correctly.
Then a scream cut through the air. It was sharp, high, and wrong.
Zio froze for half a heartbeat. The sound came from the edge of the village, near the treeline marking the boundary between claimed land and the wild. He turned instinctively. Another scream followed. It was closer. Panic, not pain.
Zio's body moved before his mind finished catching up. He ran. He moved fast, faster than most children his age ever could. His breathing stayed controlled and his stride remained efficient. Yet something felt off.
The village came into view, and with it, chaos. A hunting group had returned early, hauling a cart heavy with supplies. One wheel had snapped near the slope leading into the lower paths. The cart tilted and the wood groaned. Cargo spilled as people shouted and scrambled.
In front of it stood a boy. He was younger than Zio and too small. He was frozen in place, his feet tangled in loose rope. The cart lurched. Zio saw it all at once. The incline. The broken wheel. The shifting mass. If it tipped fully, the boy would be crushed.
Zio pushed harder, feet digging into the earth. His mind calculated distance, timing, and trajectory. Then, for the first time in his life, doubt surfaced. It was not fear, but a single thought, sharp and unwanted.
Am I fast enough?
It lasted less than a second. The world answered in that second.
Zio reached the cart just as it tipped past balance. He slammed into the boy, twisting as he dragged them both clear. The cart crashed down. Wood splintered and supplies burst free. The sound tore through the village. Zio hit the ground hard, rolling instinctively to shield the boy as debris scattered around them.
Silence followed. Then the boy began to cry.
Zio exhaled sharply and pushed himself up. No crushed bodies. No trapped limbs. The boy was alive. Relief surged, but then Zio saw the leg. A shard of broken wood had caught the boy's calf. It was not deep, but it was enough to bleed. Enough to leave a mark.
The boy's cries sharpened as pain reached him. Zio stared. He had focused on the greater danger, but this should not have happened. Hands pulled the boy away. Voices rose. Someone gripped Zio's shoulder, asking if he was okay. Zio nodded, but he barely heard it. Something inside him felt wrong.
Trod arrived moments later. One glance took everything in. The wreckage. The injured child. Zio standing too still amid the chaos. His gaze settled on Zio. It did not soften or harden. It assessed.
The villagers praised Zio's speed and bravery. They spoke of how much worse it could have been. Trod let them speak. When they finished, he stepped closer.
"Walk," he said.
They moved away from the noise. Neither spoke for a long time.
"I was fast," Zio said at last.
"Yes."
"I moved when I heard the scream."
"Yes."
"I did what I was trained to do."
"Yes."
Zio stopped. "But he still got hurt."
Trod stopped as well. "You chose," the Dwarf said evenly. "The world answered."
"Was I wrong?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"You were slow," Trod said. The word struck harder than any blow.
"I ran as fast as I could."
"That is not what I said," Trod stepped closer. "You hesitated."
Zio looked away. "I thought..."
"Thinking costs time," Trod said. "Sometimes you have it. Sometimes you don't." He turned back toward the village. "There will be no punishment. No correction."
Zio stared. "What?"
"The consequence already happened," Trod said, and then he left.
That night, Zio could not sleep. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the cart tipping. He felt the instant where his body moved, but his resolve lagged behind. He had acted correctly, and it still had not been enough.
The air shifted. Zyon stood at the edge of the clearing, closer than usual.
"You did not fail," Zyon said.
"Then why does it feel like I did?"
"What did you feel just before you moved?" Zyon asked.
"I knew what to do."
"And?"
"I wondered if I could reach him in time."
"That is doubt," Zyon said.
"I was not afraid."
"I know. But the world does not care why you were late."
Silence settled between them.
"You are trained to move," Zyon continued. "Soon, you will be trained to decide."
"And if I decide wrong?"
Zyon met his gaze. "Then you will carry it."
Zyon faded. Zio lay staring at the sky. Speed could save a life, but only if the moment had not already passed.
End of Chapter 6
End of ARC 1: Before Power, There Was Survival.