Nyx's POV
After lunch, we returned to the training yard.
"Alright," Kael said. "Basic conditioning. We'll start with a run—just around the perimeter of your property. I'll set the pace. If you need to stop, tell me. No pushing through pain."
"How far is the perimeter?"
"Maybe a mile? Mile and a half?" He was already stretching, testing his still-healing wounds. "We're not racing. Just building stamina."
"Your injuries…"
"Are my problems to manage." His tone was firm. "I know my limits. Trust me to respect them."
I wanted to argue. But I decided to trust him. He is the professional here.
"Fine," I said. "But if you collapse, I'm stopping to help you. Bond or no bond."
"Fair enough."
We started running.
It was immediately clear that Kael's conditioning was on a completely different level than mine. Even injured, even healing, he moved with the easy rhythm of someone who'd run thousands of miles over twenty years of training.
I lasted maybe ten minutes before my lungs started burning.
"Pace yourself," Kael called back. He'd slowed to match my speed. "Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Find your rhythm."
I tried. My body protested every step.
"How…" I gasped. "…are you—not dying?"
"Practice." He wasn't even winded. "And years of conditioning. You'll get there."
"When? When I'm—thirty?"
Through the bond, I felt his amusement. "Sooner than that. Your body will adapt faster than you think."
We ran for another fifteen minutes—which felt like hours—before Kael finally called a stop.
I bent over, hands on my knees, trying to remember how to breathe.
"Good," Kael said. He was barely breathing hard. "That's a baseline. We'll build from there."
"I hate you," I managed.
"No, you don't." Through the bond, I felt his certainty. "You're annoyed with me. There's a difference."
He was right, damn him.
"Now," he continued, "basic defensive forms. I'm going to show you a sequence of movements—blocks, dodges, counterstrikes. You'll practice them until they're automatic. Then we'll apply them with actual sparring."
"Today?"
"No. Probably not for a few days. But we start building the foundation today."
The next hour was a blur of movement—Kael demonstrating forms, me attempting to copy them, him correcting my positioning, my balance, my follow-through. Over and over until my muscles screamed and sweat soaked through my clothes.
"Again," he said patiently. "You're telegraphing the strike. Your shoulder moves before your arm. An experienced fighter will see it coming."
I tried again. And again. And again.
"Better." He nodded after the tenth attempt. "Your form is cleaner. Now speed it up."
"I don't think I can…"
"You can. You just did it slowly. Now do it faster."
I wanted to snap at him. Wanted to point out that he'd had twenty years to learn this and I'd had three hours. Wanted to tell him that I was exhausted and sore and this was impossible—
But through the bond, I felt his expectation. Not cruel or dismissive, just… certain. He believed I could do it.
So I tried.
The strike came faster. Cleaner.
"Good." His approval rippled through the bond before he spoke. "Again. Faster."
We worked until the sun started sinking toward the horizon and my arms felt like lead.
"That's enough for today," Kael said finally. "You did well."
I collapsed onto the ground, breathing hard. "I can't feel my legs."
"You will tomorrow. Along with every other muscle in your body." He sat down beside me, carefully favoring his injured side. "The soreness is part of the process. It means you're building strength."
"I'm not sure I'll be able to move tomorrow."
"You will. It'll hurt, but you'll move." Through the bond, I felt his amusement and sympathy. "Welcome to combat training."
We sat in silence for a moment, both of us catching our breath.
"Thank you," I said finally. "For today. For figuring out how to teach me. For being patient when I was difficult."
"We were both difficult." He leaned back on his hands, looking up at the darkening sky. "But we figured it out. That's what matters."
Through the bond, I felt his satisfaction. Not just at my progress, but at having purpose again. At being useful. At contributing something meaningful.
Teaching me wasn't just about preparing me to fight the Void.
It was giving him back something the prophecy's failure had taken away.
"Same time tomorrow?" I asked.
"Same time tomorrow," he confirmed. "Though we might start with stretching. You're going to need it."
I groaned.
Through the bond, I felt his quiet laughter.
That night, lying in my bed with every muscle aching, I reached out through our bonds.
'Frost?'
'Yes, child?'
'Thank you. For the advice today. About channeling emotion instead of suppressing it.'
'You're welcome. Though the boy deserves credit too. He was willing to hurt you—and himself—to help you learn. That takes strength.'
'He's more complicated than I thought.'
'Most people are, when you look closely.' A pause. 'How do you feel about the training?'
'Exhausted. Overwhelmed. But also…' I searched for the right word. 'Hopeful? Like maybe I can actually learn this. Become what I need to be.'
'You can. And you will. With the boy's help.'
I smiled in the darkness. 'Don't call him 'the boy.' He has a name.'
'So do you. And yet you both spend so much time avoiding using each other's names.'
She had a point.
In the next room, I could feel Kael settling in for sleep—his exhaustion matching mine, his satisfaction at the day's progress warming the edges of the bond.
We'd gotten through day one.
Only about a hundred more to go.
Assuming we didn't kill each other first.