The next day came abruptly, as if the world itself had shifted gears overnight. Hope, still half-dazed from a restless sleep in the cave, awoke to the harsh glare of a blazing sun. He remembered the cool refuge of the cave from the previous night—but now, it was gone, swallowed by the shifting landscape.
"Wake up, guys," he called out, his voice rough with sleep and surprise. Nefer was roused almost instantly, while Massa remained motionless for a few more moments, her body slow to stir in the searing light. the sun bore down relentlessly, and without warning, the group set to work. There was no firewood around, yet Massa, resourceful as always, managed to conjure a spark that quickly escalated into a modest flame. The fire was meager, but it was enough to roast the raw meat they had salvaged.
Hope's stomach growled in anticipation. As the meat sizzled over the fire, its aroma promised something far superior to the sterile, mass-produced cafeteria meals they'd endured at the academy. Massa, meanwhile, was quietly casting a spell of her own, her whispered incantations melding with the crackle of the fire. Then, as if summoned by the magic of the moment, a transparent shade materialized overhead—a makeshift canopy that blocked some, though not all, of the sun's punishing rays. In this desolate land, even such a modest shelter was a luxury.
Hope couldn't help but let a small smile cross his face as he surveyed his surroundings. "What's more wonderful," he mused inwardly, "than being under a shade with two beauties by my side?" Though his thoughts carried their usual blend of rough humor and self-deprecation, his eyes shone with genuine relief at the respite they'd found.
After some time, Nefer's clear voice cut through the murmurs of the makeshift camp: "Food is ready." The call was simple yet welcomed. Hope quickly sat down at an empty table, his hands steady despite the weariness in his eyes. He picked up a piece of the roasted meat, not minding its heat, and tossed it into his mouth. As he chewed, he felt a burst of flavor—a taste so rich and raw that it surpassed even the heavily seasoned dishes at the academy. "Wow, it's delicious," he muttered to himself, marveling at the simple, robust flavor born of the available resources in this forsaken place.
The meal, though humble, nourished him physically and lifted his spirits. In that moment, as the blazing sun and the shifting land faded into the background, Hope allowed himself to savor the small pleasure—a taste of life that was both a reminder of survival and a promise of something better, even if only for today.
Hope wiped the sweat from his brow, his breathing ragged. The dry, scorching air of the Soulrealm did nothing to ease his exhaustion. His arms felt like lead, each strike becoming heavier, slower. His makeshift dagger trembled in his grip, slick with sweat, but he refused to stop.
"Eight hundred," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own heartbeat. His body was screaming, his muscles spasming with every downward motion of the blade. The dull thud of claw slicing through empty air repeated over and over.
Nefer watched in silence, her arms crossed as she stood a few feet away, observing his form. Her sharp eyes caught every mistake, every flaw in his movement. Whenever he faltered, she corrected him without mercy.
"Your grip is slipping, fix it," she instructed.
Hope gritted his teeth, readjusting his hold. The weight of the makeshift dagger felt unnatural, as if his own hand no longer belonged to him. His fingers were numb, yet he forced himself to continue.
"Nine hundred..." He barely had the strength to count anymore. His mind drifted, thoughts dissolving into a haze of exhaustion. But he kept moving.
A dagger wasn't a weapon of brute force. Unlike a sword, it required speed, precision, and efficiency. Every movement needed to be compact, every strike a controlled explosion of energy. Nefer had explained this in the beginning, but now, as his body struggled to obey, the lesson truly sank in.
"One thousand," he whispered. He could barely stand, his knees shaking.
Nefer stepped forward and placed a hand on his wrist, stopping him. For a brief second, Hope thought she was about to give him a break, but instead, she simply adjusted the angle of his arm before stepping back.
"Your wrist needs to be loose, not stiff. You're fighting against your own weapon," she said. "Keep going."
Hope felt a spark of frustration but swallowed it down. He forced his wrist to relax, adjusting to the corrected stance. Then, with a deep breath, he continued.
One thousand fifty.
One thousand two hundred.
One thousand five hundred.
His vision blurred. His entire body was soaked in sweat, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin. His strikes had lost all refinement, but still, he moved. The pain no longer mattered. The burning sensation in his muscles had long since become a distant ache, drowned out by sheer willpower.
Nefer's voice cut through the haze. "Don't rely on your arms alone. Your strikes should come from your whole body. Use your footwork."
Hope adjusted, shifting his weight properly. It made each strike smoother, a fraction less painful.
One thousand seven hundred.
One thousand eight hundred.
His body was on autopilot now, running on pure muscle memory. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears like war drums.
One thousand nine hundred.
Just a little more.
One thousand nine hundred and fifty.
His mind was blank. He had stopped thinking entirely. There was only movement, only the rhythmic motion of the dagger cutting through air.
"Two thousand," he whispered, the final strike leaving his arm before his body betrayed him. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto his knees, dagger slipping from his grasp. His entire body trembled, his arms hanging limp at his sides.
Nefer walked up to him, crouching so that they were at eye level.
"You lasted longer than I expected," she admitted. Then, without warning, she flicked a finger against his forehead.
Hope barely had the strength to glare at her. "The hell was that for?" he muttered.
Nefer smirked. "Making sure you're still conscious." She stood up, stretching. "Good effort. But you're far from done. This was just the beginning."
Hope groaned, rolling onto his back. His entire body felt like it had been beaten with iron rods. "Great," he mumbled, staring up at the burning sky. "Can't wait for tomorrow."
Nefer chuckled, turning away. "Get some rest. You'll need it."
Hope let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes. Sleep threatened to take him immediately, but before he drifted off, a single thought lingered in his mind.
This training is going to kill me before the Soulrealm does.