Morning came early.
Too early.
Arkiz groaned as he rolled off his bed, face-first into the fur-lined rug, limbs protesting like he was ninety and not, well, eight.
Four months.
That's how long it had been since Uncle Vaeril's training started. Since his peaceful life was replaced by stretches, stances, sweat, and a soul-deep desire to punch someone named "Stamina."
He got dressed automatically, tying his ponytail back and slipping into light training clothes. At this point, even the buttons knew the routine.
Today, though… something felt different.
______
"Uncle Vaeril?" he called, stepping out into the crisp morning air.
Vaeril was already waiting at the edge of the estate courtyard, arms crossed, sword on his back, and that ever-present scar making him look like a grumpy hero from a war ballad.
"We're not training here today," he said flatly.
Arkiz blinked. "Then where—?"
Vaeril turned around and… floated.
Straight up.
No wind-up. No dramatic gesture. Just a slow, graceful lift off the ground like gravity had decided "Nah, not today."
"What the—"
Then the wind surged around Arkiz, warm and wild, wrapping around his body like invisible arms. Suddenly—
He was floating.
"I—what—"
"Focus," Vaeril called, already drifting higher. "Don't flail."
"I'm not flailing—WOAH!" Arkiz's arms spun like broken helicopter blades. "Okay! Okay, I'm flailing!"
The sensation was nothing like he expected. It wasn't like falling or flying in dreams—it was real.
Like standing on a breeze that decided it liked you.
His heart thudded in his chest, panic melting quickly into wonder.
The sky around them was a canvas of white-streaked blue, the sea below catching sunlight like molten silver. To the north, the Vaelmir Isles stretched out like scattered emeralds across the water, each island unique—some forested, some rocky, some crowned with small estates and towers. It was, in a word, magic.
"This is… insane," he whispered, eyes wide as the ground grew smaller.
"Uncle Vaeril, How do you—how do you fly forward like that? I'm just kinda… drifting."
Vaeril raised an eyebrow but didn't stop. "Wind propulsion. I guide the flow beneath my feet and at my back. Pressure changes create lift and directional push. It's not that different from sailing, just without the boat."
"Can anyone with wind do this?"
"If they have the control for it," Vaeril said. "Takes years of practice. Most wind users can float, maybe hop around. True flight takes more than raw aether — you need timing, feedback, finesse. If you push too hard, you spin out. Push too soft, you drop like a brick."
"Oh."
In the distance, a smaller island curved like a crescent moon, thick with green.
"That's where we're headed," Vaeril said, nodding toward it. "Training Island. Mostly used for real combat practice. Low tier Beasts. Terrain. No babysitters."
Arkiz's breath caught as a sea breeze hit his face. Cool, salty, alive.
"This is incredible…" he said softly.
The world looked different from up here.
Brighter. Wider. Full of stories waiting to be written.
He tilted his head to the clouds above and whispered, "I want this. This freedom. This strength."
Because right now, he was gliding like a bird — not running, not learning, not waiting.
Just flying.
_______
They landed at a small outpost harbor on the island's edge, where a few awakeners stood on watch. Most just nodded in respect to Vaeril and ignored Arkiz completely. Which was fair. He still looked like a kid who'd stolen his dad's sword from the closet.
The forest ahead buzzed with the hum of insects, the rustle of leaves, and something deeper — the quiet rhythm of unseen creatures moving through underbrush.
Vaeril unslung his dulled training blade and nodded toward a narrow trail between the trees. "Stay close. Eyes sharp. Heart sharper."
Arkiz nodded, knuckles wrapped tight around his own practice blade.
But inside, part of him was still up there — gliding over the sea, held by wind and wonder.
They moved deeper.
Vaeril whispered as they crouched behind a mossy boulder. "Tracking lesson. What do you see?"
Arkiz squinted at the ground. Broken twigs. A smudged pawprint in the dirt. A tuft of fur caught on bark.
"Something passed here recently. Heavy paws. Four-legged. Straight path. Didn't wander."
Vaeril gave a short nod of approval.
As they crept forward, Arkiz found the hours spent navigating obstacle branches at the estate actually helped. His footwork was steady, if slow, and he could move across roots and raised stones without faceplanting. A win in his book.
Then they saw it.
A grey wolf, lean but muscular, lounging by a stream with its ears twitching at every sound. It looked half-asleep, but Arkiz knew better.
Grey wolves. Incredible hearing. Great sense of smell. Faster than they look. Strong jaws.
He'd read that last line in a book called Don't Die to Common Beasts, Volume I.
Vaeril stepped back. "Tier 0. It's yours."
Arkiz swallowed.
Alright, plan time.
He scanned the area. There were stones near the stream and an incline with roots sticking out like handles above the wolf.
Okay. Throw a rock to the right. Wolf turns. Sneak down from the higher ground. Bonus points if I look cool doing it.
He crept up the incline, picked a round stone, and tossed it toward a nearby bush.
The rock hit with a thunk.
The wolf's ears perked.
It turned… and immediately sniffed the air.
"Ah, shit," Arkiz muttered. "I'm cooked."
The wolf spun toward the ridge and growled.
Arkiz made a decision: Nope, plan B.
He jumped.
Tried to land behind it.
Did not land behind it.
The wolf twisted mid-air and slammed into him. Arkiz raised his blade just in time, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. He hit the ground hard, the sword nearly flying from his grasp as the weight of the beast drove him into the dirt.
He rolled just as the wolf's jaws snapped where his neck had been.
Arkiz scrambled to his feet and swung the blade wide — the wolf leapt back with surprising speed, circling him.
He adjusted his stance, just like Vaeril taught: knees bent, blade up, eyes on the chest — not the teeth.
The wolf lunged again.
This time, Arkiz sidestepped and swatted with the flat of his blade. It wasn't enough to injure, but it forced the wolf to rethink its angle.
They circled each other.
The wolf's eyes tracked every twitch of Arkiz's stance, low and quiet, teeth bared in warning.
Arkiz adjusted his grip, breath slowing. The beat of his heart echoed in his ears.
Then they both moved.
The wolf lunged, teeth bared, a flash of muscle and fury aimed straight for his throat.
But Arkiz dropped low — sliding through the dirt, blade angled upward in instinct and desperation.
A hot line of red split the wolf's underside as it soared above him, crashing into the underbrush with a howl and a spray of blood.
It staggered up, whimpering, limping away through the thicket.
Arkiz lay still for a beat, panting.
Back on Earth, a body like his would've been flattened by the sheer weight of this planet's gravity. But not here. Not on Vireya. Even before Omniscript arrived, life here had adapted to thrive under pressure — literally. Two times the gravity meant stronger hearts, denser muscles, and bones like forged steel. Kids were built tougher, grew up faster, and trained harder. And with months under Vaeril's merciless regime, Arkiz was no exception.
He rolled to his feet, blade still trembling in his grip.
Arkiz didn't move at first. His hands trembled around the hilt.
Do I let it go?
Vaeril's voice rang out, sharp and cold. "Kill it."
Arkiz's stomach twisted, but he nodded.
He sprinted.
The trail of blood was easy to follow. The wolf wasn't fast anymore — its steps dragging, body swaying.
He ran across a line of jagged rocks, leapt off the last one, and landed in front of it — breathless, blade ready.
The wolf flinched back, snarled, then made one last desperate charge.
He sidestepped.
Drove the blade through the side of its skull.
Finally, the wolf dropped.
For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at the body, the dull blade still lodged in it.
Breath in. Breath out.
The forest went silent.
Then—
"Too slow," Vaeril's voice came from behind. He was standing on one of the rocks, arms crossed. "I could've finished it in ten seconds. Back when I was your age."
Arkiz's lips twitched, but he kept his mouth shut.
He pulled the blade free, blood dripping off the tip as he looked down at the corpse.
I need to get used to this, he thought. I can't stay inside the estate forever. Sooner or later… it won't just be beasts. It'll be people. Maybe even other races.
He let out a slow, heavy breath.
Sigh. Better get ready.