By now, the days had all started to blend together; The same routine, the same schedule.
Eofa, to Heath at least, was not far off from an immovable mountain that stood in his path. Every leg up he'd gain would quickly be humiliated by Eofa, gradually ramping up his own strength in response. Gone were the days when he went easy on him... with Heath's increase in skill came a new version of Eofa, less willing to hold back his true power.
And yet, Heath didn't protest. Quite the opposite, actually; He thrived.
Two months since training had begun, and progress had already been made. He still had been unable to land even the slightest of hits against him, but it was different now—he could actually stand his ground.
Not forever, and in fact, only for a time most would deem inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. A few hits at most, eventually leading to his eventual collapse by the oppressive wall of steel before him.
Still, progress was progress, and he took whatever he could get.
It was during those same two months that Heath's birthday had passed, moving him into the young age of eight. He celebrated it in silence, if studying and grueling training were considered a celebration.
In truth, it almost appeared he was completely unaware of the passage of time, set only on viewing the world through hours and scenarios; Halucenegetic battles that were waged in his mind. How could he improve? How could he do better next time?
The most pressing concern, that and a realisation, was quick to weigh down on his mind...
He was young and weak. Eofa was not.
Years of experience led to a power ceiling that, through Heath's eyes, only progressively got stronger and stronger with no end in sight. Heath was young and frail, not even comparable to someone like Eofa, who weakens himself and still manages to win every single time without fail.
The solution was pretty clear—he just needed to get stronger faster.
If his age was a hindrance, he'd make up for it by surpassing what most would expect of a child for his years. He no longer allowed any time for rest, no time for relaxation. Even in his sleep, he kept those thoughts circling in his head; Strategies and plans, plots and regimens he'd follow the next day.
It wasn't just the fantasy that kept him going, however. It was actually seeing the fruits of his labor come to fruition, gradually extending the hours he could function, day by day and night after night. By the time an entire year had passed, their sparring matches had lengthened considerably.
Where he once struggled to meet an hour... he now thrived at a full ten.
By the age of nine, it wasn't uncommon for the matches to last until nightfall, Heath learning and taking in as much as he possibly could during that time.
Eofa didn't sit idly either, however. Akin to the first day, he gave hints of wisdom and droplets of knowledge wherever he could fit it.
He wasn't just training him physically... he was training him mentally. A test, of sorts.
One of his riddles that masked advice: "Don't separate memory from moment. You must live them together instead of splitting them apart."
It was akin to his original comments: "What do I not want you to do?" "You need to let it embrace you."
It took him a while to fully understand what he meant... but the breakthrough was immense once he finally cracked the code.
A trick so simple that he was almost ashamed he hadn't done so sooner—no longer rely on after-session clarity to analyze. He had to mend mind and body- to let the art of combat embrace him. To think and theorize the best possible solution to every possible outcome.
At first, it almost seemed like he staggered. It was too difficult to think and fight at the same time, Eofa's speed proving much too difficult of a foe. After many sleepless nights, however... He was finally able to master it.
It didn't just mean prediction and execution, but rather the ability to fall back whenever one had failed. To understand the mind of the opponent, but realise the possibility that that prediction could be wrong.
Now, when a prediction he had set didn't go to plan, it didn't result in an immediate loss due to being in the wrong place. He was able to recover. He used to rely on his eyes—vision notifying him of an assault and prompting him to block. Now, however, it was his mind. He could see it happen before it began.
He could block based on instinct rather than control.
He could tell that even Eofa was mildly impressed, occasionally catching a glimpse of a sly smirk or the beginnings of a smile creeping onto his face, though he was always quick to conceal it.
Either way, Heath had known... he had progressed. He had grown. He had started to view Eofa's goals not as a distant dream he'd never grasp, but a prospect that was actually attainable. One he could reach in the near future, given the appropriate time.
What he never expected, however, was that the day would actually come. In his mind, he kept saying he wasn't ready yet. He wasn't ready yet... until he was.
On a day he couldn't name or remember, after the wind's change and the sky's fall, passed when the mornings and nights mushed together into a freak amalgamation of wretched time's turning... seven years after Eofa had first found him in the woods.
He was taller and a bit bulkier—more defined, light muscles coating the crux of his body. He was no longer a child, though still in the throes of youth's touch. He had a deep longing in his blue eyes, the look of coldness, the glint of a forgotten past. Somewhere within, even, was the lingering traces of hatred and disgust, unawakened, but spreading like a disease in his mind.
For him, it felt like every other day. That morning, cold air brushed against his face, and the rustling of pine floundered his memory of wonder and discovery that he once held. He gripped the blade in his hand, though no longer rusted and dull, having sharpened and refined it over the course of the previous years.
He walked towards the training sight... blissfully unaware that that'd be the final time. He'd finally reach his goal...
...It just hadn't hit him yet.