The sun blazed high when Darius barked the first order.
"Drop the flute. Today isn't about resonance."
Kael blinked. "Not about?"
"You rely on your echoes too much," Darius cut him off. "If your body fails, no resonance will save you."
Brann grinned, already rolling his shoulders. "This is my part, kid. Time to beat some strength into those noodle arms."
Before Kael could protest, Brann shoved a weighted pack into his arms. Kael nearly toppled from the sheer mass.
"What's in here, rocks?"
"Not rocks," Brann said with a wink. "Big rocks."
"Run," Darius ordered.
So Kael ran. He stumbled around the perimeter of the clearing, breath tearing at his chest. His shoulders screamed under the weight. Sweat poured down his face, blinding him. Every time he slowed, Brann shouted cheerfully, "Keep going, little echo!"
By the time Kael collapsed, the mercenaries didn't even look winded.
That was only day one.
The training continued, each day more punishing than the last.
For seven days, Kael woke before dawn and collapsed well past dusk.
Day Two: Selene filled the air with piercing sound, forcing him to silence it or go mad. Blood trickled from his ears before he finally succeeded.
Day Three: Brann tied weights to his arms and made him spar barehanded until his knuckles split.
Day Four: Darius blindfolded him and demanded he fight only with his hearing, testing his silence against Brann's endless chatter.
Day Five: Selene's illusions of sound dragged up Kael's worst fears, and he had to silence them, one by one.
Day Six: Brann laughed while pushing Kael through obstacle courses laced with traps. Kael fell. He bled. He crawled back up.
Day Seven: Darius gave no orders. He simply stood, watching. Kael trained himself, running, striking, silencing, until his body trembled on the edge of collapse.
By the end of the seventh day, Kael's arms ached, his legs trembled, and his head throbbed from the constant mental drills. But beneath the exhaustion, something new stirred. His body was harder. His focus sharper. His silence stronger.
That night, Darius spoke at last.
"Your silence is powerful. But power is useless if your spirit wavers. Tell me, why do you fight?"
Kael hesitated. "I… I don't want to be a burden anymore. I want to protect Lyra. Protect the people who still believe in me."
Darius's gaze bore into him, unyielding.
"Wrong answer."
Kael flinched. "Wrong?"
"You fight because the world is cruel," Darius said, voice like iron. "Because enemies will not care for your pain, or your heart, or your dreams. They will strike, and only strength will decide who walks away."
Kael stared at him, chest tight.
"But," Darius added quietly, "those you fight for will give you the strength to endure. Without them, power is nothing but emptiness. Never forget both truths."
For the first time, Kael didn't see Darius as just a hardened mercenary. He saw a man who had lived, lost, and learned.
By the end of that week, Kael felt like a blade being sharpened, not a burden to be carried.