The training facility of the Guardians of Dreams was located in the basement of the
mansion, which was several times larger than it had any architectural right to be. This, Lady
Scarlett explained with complete equanimity, was because the basement existed partially in
both the human world and the adjacent magical realm simultaneously, meaning that the laws
governing square footage were, in that particular space, more of a guideline than a strict rule.
I filed this information away under Things I Was Going To Need Time To Be Normal
About and followed her down the stairs.
The training hall was enormous, high-ceilinged, and lit with a warm golden light that had no
obvious source. Weapon racks lined three of the four walls. Padded sparring areas occupied the
centre of the room. A handful of other trainees—ranging in age from perhaps fifteen to
mid-twenties—were scattered around the space, doing things with various weapons and magical
tools that ranged from deeply impressive to, in one memorable case, clearly going quite badly
wrong.
"You will begin with basic combat training," Lady Scarlett told me. "Your physical
conditioning is—" she paused in the way that people pause when searching for a polite word
"—developmental. We will also begin instruction in magical theory, though the practical
application of your specific abilities will depend on what the wishing tree awakened in you."
"What did it awaken in me?" I asked.
"That," she said, in a tone that suggested this was the answer to my question rather than a
deflection of it, "is what we intend to find out."
She gestured toward a Guardian in his thirties with kind eyes and the forearms of someone
who took their training extremely seriously. "This is Takeshi. He will assess your current
combat baseline."
Takeshi looked at me. I looked at Takeshi. Takeshi appeared to be choosing, with
considerable effort, not to visibly react to whatever my 'combat baseline' looked like to an
experienced eye.
"Have you done any martial arts training?" he asked.
"I attended three sessions of a beginner's karate class," I said honestly. "Before I quit
because it was on the same evening as a show I liked."
A muscle in his jaw moved. "Right," he said. "Let's start with footwork."
Footwork, it turned out, was significantly more complicated than simply moving your feet.
An hour later I had learned approximately forty-seven new ways in which my legs could betray
me at critical moments, developed a blister on my left heel, and achieved a grudging
competence at exactly one defensive stance that Takeshi described as 'acceptable.' He seemed to
mean it as a compliment, so I took it as one.
"Again."
Takeshi said it with the calm inevitability of gravity.
I stared at him, then at my feet, which had very recently demonstrated a remarkable talent for moving in directions I had not authorized. My left foot, in particular, seemed to have developed its own ambitions.
"I feel," I said carefully, "that we should acknowledge the progress I've made in not falling over."
"We have acknowledged it," Takeshi replied. "Silently. Now—again."
There are moments in life when you realize that resistance is futile. This was one of them. I reset my stance—feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, weight balanced, hands up—and tried to remember which foot was supposed to move first when he advanced.
He advanced.
My brain, faced with this situation, elected to shut down all higher reasoning and scream internally.
My feet, inspired by this, attempted something bold and innovative that I'm fairly certain was not part of any recognized martial discipline. I stepped forward instead of back, turned halfway sideways for no reason, and nearly headbutted Takeshi in what could generously be described as an aggressive misunderstanding.
He stopped me with one hand on my shoulder.
"…Not that," he said.
"I had a feeling," I admitted.
From somewhere to my right came a snort that was only partially disguised as a cough.
I turned my head to see a girl about my age leaning against a weapon rack, holding a wooden staff. She had dark hair tied back in a messy braid and the expression of someone who had just discovered a new favorite form of entertainment.
"You're new," she said.
"I am being persecuted," I said. "But yes."
"Takeshi's going easy on you," she added cheerfully.
Takeshi did not confirm or deny this, which I found deeply concerning.
"I don't think I could survive him going hard on me," I said.
"That's the spirit," she replied.
"Focus," Takeshi said, which I felt was a deeply unreasonable request given the circumstances.
We resumed.
This time, I managed to step backward when he advanced, which felt like a significant victory until I realized I had done so directly into the padded edge of the sparring area and rebounded forward like a particularly uncoordinated pinball.
Takeshi caught my wrist mid-flail and gently redirected me back into position.
"Better," he said.
I blinked at him. "Was it?"
"You moved in the correct direction," he clarified.
"We're setting a very encouragingly low bar," I said.
"That is appropriate for your current level."
I considered this. "I appreciate the honesty, even if it wounds me."
"Again."
Time, in the training hall, behaved in a way that was both suspicious and deeply unfair. Minutes stretched into hours, or perhaps the reverse—I couldn't tell. My legs grew heavier, my reactions slower, and my sense of dignity… well, that had left quite some time ago.
Eventually, Takeshi stepped back and held up a hand.
"That will do for now."
I sagged with relief, which immediately caused my muscles to protest their existence.
"Congratulations," he added. "You have reached 'acceptable.'"
"I feel like there should be a ceremony," I said. "Or at least a certificate."
"There is not."
"Tragic."
The girl with the staff pushed herself off the wall and walked over, twirling the weapon idly.
"I'm Mira," she said. "And for what it's worth, that was… not the worst first session I've seen."
I narrowed my eyes. "That sounds like a compliment that has been very carefully downgraded."
"It's a compliment," she insisted. "There was a guy last month who tried to punch Takeshi and ended up punching himself."
"That feels like a story I need to hear in full detail later."
"Oh, you will."
Takeshi handed me a towel, which I accepted with the gratitude of someone who had forgotten what it was like to not be actively dissolving into sweat.
"Take a short break," he said. "Then we will assess your reflexes."
"I was hoping we'd assess my ability to sit down and not move," I said.
"That has already been assessed," he replied. "It is excellent."
I decided to take that as a win.
---
I found a bench near the edge of the hall and collapsed onto it, my legs humming with the kind of exhaustion that suggested they were reconsidering their long-term commitment to supporting me.
Mira dropped down beside me, resting her staff across her knees.
"So," she said, "first day as a Guardian-in-training. How's that going for you?"
"I've learned that my body is a traitor, physics is optional in this building, and 'acceptable' is apparently a high compliment," I said. "So, you know. Mixed results."
She grinned. "You get used to it. Mostly."
"Mostly is not the word I was hoping for."
"Hey, you didn't accidentally summon anything or set anything on fire. That's a solid start."
I paused. "Those are things that happen?"
"Sometimes," she said lightly. "Depends on what the tree gave you."
Ah, yes. That.
I leaned back against the wall, staring up at the high ceiling where the golden light glowed without source.
"Lady Scarlett said we'd figure that out," I said. "What the wishing tree did to me."
Mira's expression shifted, just slightly. "You don't feel anything? Different, I mean."
"I feel like I've been run over by a very polite truck," I said. "But I assume that's just the training."
She studied me for a moment, then shrugged. "It can take time. Sometimes it shows up when you least expect it."
"That's not ominous at all."
"Oh, it is," she said cheerfully.
Before I could respond, a sharp crack echoed across the hall.
We both turned.
At the far end of the room, one of the trainees—a boy who couldn't have been more than sixteen—was standing in the middle of a circle of what looked like… floating sparks. They flickered in the air around him, bright and unstable.
"That's new," Mira said.
"Is that supposed to be happening?" I asked.
The sparks flared.
The boy's eyes widened. "I didn't mean—"
The sparks exploded outward.
Not in a dramatic, fireball kind of way. More like a chaotic burst of light and energy that scattered in every direction, ricocheting off walls and equipment with sharp, stinging pops.
"Down!" someone shouted.
I didn't need to be told twice. I ducked, covering my head as a spark zipped past my ear with an alarming hiss.
Takeshi moved.
One moment he was beside us, the next he was halfway across the room, stepping into the chaos with the kind of controlled precision that made it clear he had done this before.
"Focus!" he called to the boy. "Breathe. Contain it."
"I'm trying!" the boy said, which did not inspire confidence.
The sparks were still flying, erratic and unpredictable.
And then—
Something… shifted.
It was subtle at first. A strange awareness, like a pressure at the back of my mind. The air felt different, charged in a way that had nothing to do with the sparks.
I frowned.
"That's… new," I muttered.
Mira glanced at me. "What?"
"I don't know," I said. "It's like—"
A spark veered sharply toward us.
I reacted without thinking.
I reached out.
There was no plan. No technique. Just an instinctive movement, like trying to catch something before it fell.
The spark stopped.
Mid-air.
Hovering inches from my hand.
I froze.
The world seemed to narrow to that single point of light, flickering softly, no longer wild or dangerous.
"Oh," I said.
Mira stared at it. Then at me.
"Oh," she echoed.
Across the room, Takeshi turned.
For a moment, everything was very, very still.
The spark pulsed once, twice—
—and then, gently, went out.
Silence settled over the hall.
I slowly lowered my hand.
"Well," I said, into the quiet, "that feels like it might be relevant."
Takeshi walked back toward us, his gaze steady and assessing in a way that made me feel like I had just become a particularly interesting problem.
"It is," he said.
Mira leaned closer, her voice low and excited. "Congratulations," she whispered. "You just did something."
"I did do something," I agreed. "I have no idea what it was, but it felt… intentional? Kind of?"
Takeshi stopped in front of me.
"Again," he said.
I stared at him. "I don't know how."
"Then learn."
I looked at my hand, half-expecting it to still be glowing or doing something equally dramatic. It was, disappointingly, just a hand.
"Right," I said. "Of course. Learn. That's what we're doing here."
I took a breath, focusing on that strange, lingering sensation.
The air.
The space.
The feeling of… connection.
Somewhere, faintly, I thought I felt it again.
A flicker.
A possibility.
I raised my hand.
"Okay," I said. "Let's see if 'acceptable' applies to magic too."
Mira snorted. Takeshi did not.
And in the warm, impossible light of a room that didn't quite belong to one world or the other, I tried—really tried—for the first time to understand what the wishing tree had awakened in me.
Whatever it was, I had a feeling my life had just become significantly more complicated.
And, if I was being honest—
Significantly more interesting.