The Body Remembers
The days blurred into weeks.
And the weeks passed like drifting ash, quiet, weightless, never fully settling.
Kael spent the first few days confined to the bed, barely able to lift a spoon without trembling. The smallest movement brought a dull throb through his spine, his limbs heavy with the echo of old wounds. Every breath felt borrowed, fragile.
Lira said little. She brought him meals, bitter broths, boiled roots, stewed barley, nothing noble, but always warm. She tended his bandages with a steady hand, and when the pain flared, she offered no sympathy. Only silence, and the expectation that he would push through it.
And he did.
When the rain passed and the early spring sun began to peek through the wooden shutters, she finally allowed him to step outside.
The first time he stood on his own feet, the world spun sideways. The ground seemed to tilt, and his legs gave out. Lira caught him without a word, helped him sit, then stood nearby, arms crossed.
"You'll try again tomorrow," she said.
So he did.
Every morning, every dusk.
Walking became pacing. Pacing became squats. Squats turned to stances. Weeks passed. His muscles ached. His palms blistered. But the rhythm of recovery grounded him. One movement. One breath. One small triumph at a time.
By the end of the first month, Lira gave him a practice sword.
Wooden. Worn. Heavy in his hand.
"You're not healed," she told him. "But you're not dying either. Might as well use that breath for something."
She trained with him in the clearing behind her uncle's house. The space was small, hemmed in by low trees and moss-covered stones. No arena. No banners. Only mud and grass, and the sharp ring of wood striking wood.
Kael struggled.
His footwork was slow. His balance off. The sword felt like a foreign weight.
Lira was unforgiving.
She struck his arms when his guard slipped. Kicked his legs out when he left them open. Every mistake left a bruise. Every bruise was a lesson.
"You think like a noble," she said one morning, wiping sweat from her brow. "But you don't fight like one. That's good. We'll keep breaking you out of that."
Still, progress was slow.
The second month began. Kael's movements sharpened, but they remained within mortal bounds. No flashes of power. No divine sparks. Just sweat. Grit. Persistence.
But something began to shift.
It was subtle. Quiet. The kind of change that only becomes clear in hindsight.
His grip grew steadier. His stance, more grounded. He moved quicker, reacted faster. The bruises faded sooner than they should've. He woke each morning with less pain than the day before.
And then came the moment.
It was late afternoon. The light through the trees was dimming, casting long gold shadows across the clearing. Lira came at him with her twin practice daggers, fast and sharp. Her feet barely touched the ground, her strikes deliberate and layered. She pressed hard, expecting him to give.
But Kael didn't retreat.
He caught her strike mid-swing, twisted, and shoved forward with unexpected force.
Lira staggered back two full steps. Her boots skidded in the dirt.
Kael stood there, panting. Heart hammering. But the sword in his hand no longer felt heavy. It felt natural. Like it belonged there.
Lira straightened slowly.
Her expression wasn't angry. Just… watchful.
"You're stronger than yesterday," she said, voice low.
He blinked. "I didn't notice."
"You should've. That wasn't muscle memory. That was something else."
Kael lowered his sword. A strange tightness pulled in his chest—not pain, but pressure. Like something waiting to be uncoiled. He looked down at his hands.
They didn't shake anymore.
And beneath his skin, beneath the hard-earned muscle and healing bone, he could feel it—a thread of power, faint but growing.
Something had taken root. Something cold. Steady. Watching.
He remembered the void. The whisper.
"Because your soul cried out louder than the silence."
"I think… something's changing in me," he said, He Said to himself.
Lira looked toward the tree line, brows furrowed.
"We'll train again tomorrow," she said at last.
Then softer, as she walked away,
"Let's see how much more youcan take."