Chapter 11: "Parkour, Pain, and Other Terrible Life Choices"
In which I discover that I am not, in fact, a martial arts master. Or a kangaroo.
There are a few universal truths in life. One: ghosts don't follow the rules. Two: cafeteria meatloaf is suspiciously bouncy. And three: if Asterion Ardyn wakes you up at five in the morning with a cheerful "Good morning, sunshine," you run.
Unfortunately, Evan Mercer had learned all three the hard way.
He was currently in stage four of grief—"Why is this my life?"—as he sat on the edge of his bed, face buried in his hands, while the ancient warrior-turned-coach stood by the window looking far too pleased with himself.
"Time to jog," Asterion announced, as if it were the most exciting thing in the world.
Evan groaned like a dying cat and rolled dramatically onto his back. "Why? Why do you hate me?"
Asterion didn't answer right away. He just smirked—that smirk—and crossed his arms like he was watching the setup to a particularly entertaining prank.
That only made Evan more paranoid.
Asterion's silence had the exact same effect as ominous background music in a horror movie.
And then... the dream hit him again.
Evan had just been having the best dream of his life. He was floating through space, in a spaceship!
Not a beat-up school bus, not a giant toaster—a legit spaceship.
He was an astronaut, for crying out loud! NASA was calling. He was chosen.
And then... the stars went out.
Why?
Because Asterion's face—yes, his actual face—appeared in the sky like some kind of celestial screensaver gone wrong.
"Enjoying yourself?" Dream-Asterion had asked, wearing a smile that immediately made Evan suspicious. "Good. Wake up. We have work to do."
Evan jolted awake in cold sweat, heart pounding.
"This has to be divine punishment," Evan mumbled, curling into a ball. "Did I anger God? Forget to recycle?"
"Enough with the theatrics," Asterion said, clearly unaffected by Evan's existential spiraling. "We've got a long way to go before you're ready for the real challenges."
Evan cracked one eye open suspiciously. "The real challenges? What exactly have these been? The tutorial?"
Asterion shrugged. "Something like that."
Which, in Asterion-speak, meant: worry about it constantly until further notice.
Then the man grinned and added, "Besides, I've got something for you—a little reward for your hard work."
Evan, still in the fog of sleep-deprivation and mild trauma, blinked. "Wait. Rewards? Like... candy?"
Asterion shook his head. "Better. Points."
Now Evan was awake.
"Points?"
"For completing tasks. Jogging every day? One point. Completing major objectives? Five points minimum. You can trade them for knowledge, skills, equipment... even cash."
He said it so casually, like Evan wasn't about to become the protagonist in some twisted RPG side quest.
Evan sat up straighter, rubbing the last bit of sleep from his eyes. "Okay, I'm listening. What can I get for one point?"
Asterion smiled—too sweetly.
"Air."
Evan stared.
"...Air?"
"You need at least five points for something worthwhile," Asterion said, clearly enjoying himself. "Don't expect me to hand you everything simply because you've decided to put in a little effort. Being my student is already quite generous of me."
Evan squinted. "I thought you said you were giving me the equipment for free anyway."
Asterion gave him a faux-hurt look. "Evan, Evan, Evan. I said I was giving you training for free. Equipment, knowledge, life-changing upgrades? Those come with effort. I don't want you getting used to free things. It's detrimental to your growth."
Evan fell back onto his pillow with a dramatic flop.
"Growth is overrated."
"No," Asterion said, tossing a water bottle directly at his face. "Growth is necessary. Now move. You've got a destiny to earn."
As Evan stumbled out of bed and into a hoodie that may or may not have belonged to Toby, he realized something important.
He was absolutely, one hundred percent going to regret this.
But also...
Five points didn't sound that hard.
Maybe.
Which, knowing his luck, meant it absolutely was.
Let's get one thing straight:
I am not afraid of dogs.
Ghosts? Sure.
Parents wielding giant spectral blasters? Definitely.
Pop quizzes I forgot to study for? Daily terror.
But dogs?
I like dogs. I respect dogs.
That being said, this particular dog wanted to eat my face.
It all started at the ungodly hour of morning o'clock—seriously, who even invented 5 a.m.? The sun had barely stretched its fingers over the rooftops of Havenbrook, and the streets were empty, except for one extremely panicked teenage boy sprinting like his gym grade depended on it.
Spoiler alert:
That boy was me.
"SAVE ME!" I shrieked, probably waking up at least three grumpy neighbors and one traumatized cat. My voice cracked somewhere between horror movie victim and pop star hitting a high note.
Not my proudest moment.
Behind me, a brown blur of barking rage closed the distance, teeth flashing like tiny white daggers. The dog—a medium-sized German Shepherd with murder in its eyes—was very committed to the chase.
Like, "I skipped breakfast and you look like bacon" kind of committed.
"Don't be such a wimp, boy," Asterion called from somewhere unhelpfully not next to me. "It's a dog, Evan. Not a spirit beast."
My brain, fueled entirely by adrenaline and spite, screamed back:
'I'm human! It has teeth!'
But Asterion just kept going, his voice full of that annoyingly calm teacher tone, like this was just another Tuesday.
"Basic martial arts aren't limited to fighting humans. Observe its movement. Control your fear."
'Fear is rational when the thing chasing you has fangs and a bad attitude!'
I wanted to yell.
Instead, I wheezed out something that sounded like:
"Help meeeeee!"
Asterion sighed.
Loudly.
Dramatically.
Like he was the one being chased by a rabid fur missile.
"Evan, I'll see you up there."
"UP WHERE?!" I gasped, my lungs threatening to file a lawsuit for abuse.
But he was gone.
Probably leaped onto a rooftop or something ridiculous.
Because of course he did.
Meanwhile, I was halfway to cardiac arrest, legs turning to noodles, stomach cramping like I'd eaten expired sushi.
That's when I saw it.
Salvation.
A streetlamp.
Now, I know what you're thinking:
"Evan, you idiot. That's not a tree, or a wall, or a safe zone. It's a pole. What are you gonna do, pole dance your way to safety?"
Desperate times.
Desperate measures.
With the dog practically breathing down my heels, I launched myself at the pole like my gym teacher had promised me an A+ and a pizza. My fingers scrabbled against the cold metal, and I somehow managed to cling to it, legs kicking wildly as the dog snapped at the air below me.
It was a scene, okay?
I was dangling like a Halloween decoration, sweat dripping into my eyes, and the dog barking like I owed it money.
Then something clicked.
Maybe it was Asterion's annoying voice in my head.
Maybe it was my last-night training finally kicking in.
Or maybe my survival instincts realized I couldn't live on that pole forever.
I took a breath.
Centered myself.
And remembered what Asterion drilled into me the night before—stance, focus, momentum.
My grip steadied.
My legs stopped flailing.
I dropped down.
The dog lunged.
And this time—
I was ready.
I ducked under the leap, rolled to the side, and came up in a stance I didn't even realize I knew. My arms moved on instinct, redirecting the dog's weight, and in a flash of motion that felt way too anime to be real, I had the dog pinned.
The barking stopped.
The dog stared at me.
I stared at the dog.
"...Did I just win?" I asked.
The German Shepherd gave a low whine and laid its ears back.
"...Are you... apologizing?"
I blinked.
Then Asterion landed beside us—from a rooftop, naturally—and clapped once.
"See? You survived."
"Yeah," I muttered, still catching my breath. "Barely."
Asterion looked at the completely unharmed dog.
Then at me.
Then back at the dog.
"The beast appears less traumatized than you."
I glared at him.
He smiled.
"Still. You did well. One point."
"One point?! I nearly died!"
"You climbed a streetlamp while screaming."
"That was tactical!"
"Of course."
I glared harder.
The dog licked my face.
Which, honestly, was worse.
Let me ask you something:
Have you ever sat down in the middle of a public park at sunrise, closed your eyes, and tried to "connect with the spiritual energy of the universe"...
…while being attacked by squirrels?
No?
Cool.
Then allow me to be your cautionary tale.
So, after the "Dog Incident"—which I'm still processing, thank you very much—Asterion decided that I needed a more "spiritually grounded" approach to my training.
Translation:
Meditation.
In a public park.
While he hovered above me like some kind of ghostly life coach.
"To master your ghost sense and yin perception, you must quiet your mind," he said, floating cross-legged in the air. "Feel the flow of energy around you."
I, being a rational, non-zen teenager who's usually more focused on surviving high school and not dying in haunted alleyways, stared at him like he'd just asked me to lick a cactus.
But hey, points were on the line.
And if points meant gear, gear meant survival.
So I sat.
I closed my eyes.
I breathed.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Focus.
Peace.
…Until I heard the rustle.
Now, I'd like to clarify—I am easily distracted.
That's just a fact.
But when something's skittering across the grass with the intensity of a caffeinated ninja, I don't call that a "distraction."
I call that a problem.
I cracked one eye open.
And saw it.
A squirrel.
Perched three feet away.
Staring at me.
Not in the cute, "look at the little fuzzy guy" way.
No.
This was the "I have seen the void and I bite toes" kind of look.
"Ignore it," Asterion said without even looking. "It's a squirrel."
That's when it hissed.
I kid you not—it bared tiny rodent teeth and hissed like a vampire ferret.
I yelped and fell backward off my rock.
"Okay!" I shouted, scrambling to my feet. "That squirrel is possessed!"
Asterion finally opened one eye.
He studied the squirrel for a moment.
"Yes."
I stared at him.
"Yes?!"
"A minor spirit."
"You could've mentioned that!"
"You were supposed to notice."
"What?!"
He closed his eye again.
"Continue."
And as if summoned by the power of dramatic irony, three more squirrels skittered out from the bushes, glowing faintly blue and making high-pitched chittering noises that sounded way too much like ghost giggling.
They surrounded me in a wide circle.
Meditation:
Canceled.
"Back! Back, you demonic tree rats!" I waved a stick like a discount wizard. "Asterion! Help!"
"I am helping," he said lazily, floating above the squirrel ambush. "Focus."
"How is this helping?!"
"Breathe. Feel their energy. Don't react blindly. Perceive the yin flow."
"THEIR YIN FLOW IS IN MY SHOE!" I yelled as one of the ghost squirrels scurried up my leg.
Look, I'm not proud of what happened next.
There was flailing.
There was screaming.
There was some very unheroic high-pitched yelping.
At one point, I might've slapped myself in the face with my own shoe.
We don't need to dwell on it.
But then—
I stopped.
In the middle of my rodent panic, I closed my eyes.
Just for a second.
And…
I felt it.
A cool pulse.
A soft hum.
Like wind across a still pond, brushing through my chest, behind my eyes.
The world became clearer.
The squirrel's presence—its aura—was like a ripple in that pond.
I could see it even without seeing it.
And I reached out.
Not with my hands—
but with my mind.
The squirrel paused.
Then—
It stopped.
Floated midair.
Its ghostly aura faded.
It blinked once, gave a soft chitter… and then scurried off peacefully into the nearest tree.
The others followed.
I opened my eyes.
And Asterion?
He looked proud.
In that smug, annoying, I knew you could do it if you stopped panicking way.
"Well done," he said, floating down beside me. "You sensed the spiritual energy. You're starting to perceive what ordinary eyes miss."
I stared after the squirrels, still stunned.
"So… meditation really does work?"
"It does."
He looked toward the tree.
"Though apparently you require squirrels attempting to climb into your clothing before you concentrate properly."
I groaned and slumped to the ground.
"This is my life now. I fight dogs. I wrestle squirrels. What's next, haunted pigeons?"
Asterion considered it.
"Could be useful."
I stared at him.
"That was a joke."
"With you, I genuinely can't tell anymore."
After my soul was nearly devoured by ghost squirrels and I had one moment of spiritual peace, you'd think Asterion would let me bask in my tiny victory, right?
Ha.
That was adorable of you to assume.
"Good work with the meditation, Evan," he said, which was one of the nicest things he'd said since I met him. "Now it's time for something more interesting."
More interesting?
More interesting?!
Oh, you lying ancient menace.
"Parkour," he announced, eyes gleaming like he'd been waiting for this all morning.
"Can I return this activity for store credit?" I asked, already sensing doom.
"No."
He stepped onto the park bench with ridiculous ease.
"Let's sharpen your movement. Strength means very little if you can't put your body where it needs to be."
Rude.
"First lesson," Asterion said, crouching slightly. "Flow. The park is your training ground. Trees, benches, rails, walls. Use whatever is available."
He launched himself into a flip off the bench, rebounded off a trash can, spun cleanly over the jungle gym, and landed perfectly balanced on the edge of a public water fountain.
Meanwhile, I was still trying to tie my shoe.
"Your turn."
"My turn to what? Snap my spine in four places?!"
"Move," he said, far too calmly. "Run. Jump. Trust your body."
Spoiler alert:
I shouldnothave trusted my body.
It started okay.
I managed a decent run—
until I tried to hop onto the bench and completely missed, face-planting into the grass like a collapsing baby giraffe.
Asterion looked down at me.
"Again."
"Was that not enough suffering for one attempt?"
"No."
I got up, ran again, tried to vault over a railing—
Caught my foot.
Slammed into the bars.
Made a noise that sounded like a dying goat.
Possibly cried a little.
"Loosen your shoulders," Asterion said helpfully. "You're too tense."
"I'M TERRIFIED!" I wheezed.
"Yes. I noticed."
But I kept going.
Mainly because Asterion said I'd earn two points if I finished without barfing or breaking a limb.
So far, I was 0-for-2.
At some point, he started correcting my form mid-movement.
Which meant he literally phased through me as I ran, fixing my spine angle, adjusting my arms, shifting my weight like I was some kind of awkward human action figure.
"Lower your center of gravity!"
"Jump off the balls of your feet, not your heels!"
"Evan, that is a tree. It will not move for you."
"I NOTICED!"
I don't remember much after that.
Just:
Trees.
Pain.
Swinging too hard on the monkey bars and landing on a goose.
(Sorry, Mr. Honksalot.)
Asterion standing nearby with folded arms while I lay on the ground contemplating my life decisions.
At some point, I think I blacked out from muscle fatigue.
Or embarrassment.
Possibly both.
When I woke up, I was sprawled on the park grass like a discarded laundry pile, every inch of me aching. Muscles I didn't know existed were staging a protest. My spine sounded like bubble wrap every time I moved.
I whimpered like a wounded puppy.
Asterion crouched beside me.
"Not bad."
I groaned into the grass.
"You only screamed six times."
"That was me trying not to cry."
"I know."
He handed me a bottle of water and, to my surprise, a glowing blue orb.
My first reward point.
I stared at it.
"So all that suffering was worth one shiny marble?"
"Two points for the parkour."
I slowly raised my head.
"Two?"
Asterion smiled.
"There. You're recovering already."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
Unfortunately, he sounded very confident about that.