Birds tweeted sharp and clear; lizard-things hissed and croaked from hidden spots in the undergrowth; insects of strange shapes buzzed in lazy loops around the sun-warmed leaves.
The sun was now high in the sky, light scattering through the roaming clouds above, warming the back of his neck.
Arion—
"Gyaaahh—!"
…
Arion was—
"Mmph!"
"Fuck!"
Breathing hard, Arion gently bent his legs deep, then pushed his hips forward, carrying his new date steady across his shoulders.
"Gah!"
Umm—ah yes! Arion was training with his new partner, Recall.
His body was bare except for his trousers and belt, skin already slick with sweat that caught the dappled light.
With his trusty Recall resting across his back, two reed ropes dangled from each end, their stone weights fused solid with frost.
"23…"
Squats were essential for both strength and power.
"26..."
They added a whole new dimension to kinetic force once he brought them into the equation. It wasn't just for the lower body but for the body as a whole, every muscle firing together to drive the movement.
"29…"
"3—!"
He yelled with buckling knees, pushing the ground away from his feet, wanting to bring the weight back up to clear his last rep as his thighs burned deep.
That is of course until a very curious and suicidal twin-headed bird dropped on one side of Recall with a sudden flutter of wings.
The tiniest weight meant everything—his balance crumbled, tipping one way as his left leg collapsed under the power of a small bird.
Arion's face bulged out with both strain and surprise.
DUFF!
Eyes twitched, teeth ground together.
The oblivious bird still stood on the collapsed Recall, both heads angled curiously over his shoulder.
Ice exploded outward in a sharp crack, freezing the poor bastard mid-squeak, its twin heads locked in a startled pose.
…
After finishing his squats, he decorated his cabin with his new, small ice sculpture, setting the frozen bird on a shelf beside other collected sculptures, where sunlight would make them sparkle like twisted trophies.
With a small water break, he took slow pulls from the canteen, the cool liquid sliding down his throat and easing the fire in his chest. He proceeded to find the most comfortable fallen tree trunk, moss-soft under his back.
Grabbing Recall, he laid down, performing the staff press.
The chest, arms, and shoulders worked as one system—forming a single chain along the upper body, power travelling cleanly through each link, holding huge potential.
Anyone can swing a quarterstaff; yet mastery demands strength, control, and unbroken focus to both defend and attack simultaneously.
Especially dealing with heavy strain or impact, the staff was strong and flexible. It was capable.
So, in return, the human wielding it needed to be as well.
Once completed, this time without any additional interruptions or additions to his sculpture collection, he lowered the weight smoothly and held Recall in front of him. Arion then proceeded to perform wrist curls, forearms tightening with each controlled twist.
Power drives from below, control from above—but if the link between them falters, everything collapses.
His master had drilled it so deep into his head that even in a new body, he still performed wrist curls without realising, the motion automatic as breathing.
With strong enough wrists, one could, in theory, dish out—and take—devastating force with barely any shock in return.
…
The midday breeze cut through the leaves, threading through his hair and carrying the sharp scent of pine resin.
Wrists swelling and throbbing, Arion stood upright with his eyes closed, balanced atop one of Recall's metal fittings, lost in total mental and physical focus, the narrow edge biting into the sole of his foot.
Balance came hand in hand with a staff user, if one cannot maintain one's own balance, the fight is already over.
After an hour, Arion stepped off and landed, feet on the ground with a soft thud that sent a small puff of dirt into the air.
He lifted Recall gently with his foot, it glided elegantly along until it balanced midway. He stared at her, perfectly balanced, hands grasped together behind him, chest still rising and falling.
I never properly learnt Great Unc's Technique before retiring from his training.
He tilted his foot, let her slide down it only to quickly swap feet, his left foot came up in time for it to bump Recall up into the air with a clean whoosh.
The Legwork Gyre—also called the Gyre-Leg Juggle—was an art built around the lower body and the staff moving as one. It was Master's legacy technique.
Recall came back down, straightened perfectly, his right foot came back out and caught the tip on the base of his foot with a solid tap.
Many people thought it was just a jester trick, a clown act produced by an old man who could spin a staff. Which, of course, was the whole point. Funnily enough no one expected it nor could predict it, everyone was confident, until a foot juggling staff knocked them out.
His foot snapped, Recall jumped from the base to the tip of his toes in a smooth arc.
"Well.. It's never too late to learn."
…
The forest was still except for the hum of wind through the trunks of trees and the faint creaking of branches overhead.
Arion stood blindfolded on the tip of a single stone, no wider than his heel, the rough surface pressing into his skin. Recall spun between his legs in a blur of motion, wood whistling through the air.
He breathed once, slow and deep.
Recall dropped toward the ground—and his foot rose to meet it.
Instep—catch.
He flicked the shaft upward, letting it arc behind the opposite knee with a soft thump of contact.
Knee—cradle.
The wood kissed cloth, rolled along his thigh, and slid down toward his ankle in a fluid line.
Heel—snap.
The spin reversed direction and climbed again, the same rhythm looping over and over, each tap and roll sending tiny vibrations up his legs.
After a few attempts, he had finally got the hang of the basics, the movements settling into muscle memory.
He wasn't holding Recall anymore; he was juggling it with his legs, keeping it alive through rhythm and balance.
The pole danced, weaving between his feet, tapping the floor with crisp clicks, springing back into the air.
Every contact was a note in a song only his body could play.
A bead of sweat traced the side of his face, tickling as it fell. His supporting foot wobbled for a split second.
He shifted his hips, bent his knee, and found balance again, breath steady.
Recall never faltered.
Then Recall lay there perfectly level on the tips of his toes, steady as stone.
His ankle flexed.
Recall sprang upward.
Arion dropped backward with it—one leg rising, one hand striking the stone.
For a heartbeat his whole body inverted in a crooked half-handstand, weight balanced through a single palm and one bent shoulder.
His free leg snapped up.
Tack.
The sole of his foot struck her mid-spin and launched her higher.
He twisted out of the inversion before gravity could claim him, rolling through one shoulder, planting both feet, then kicking her again before she had fully descended.
This time she shot behind him.
"Recall."
She curved back at once.
He didn't turn.
He dipped, let the shaft skim over one shoulder, then mule-kicked backward without looking.
Thock.
Recall spun away again, only to be dragged back by the pull of his command.
He caught her descent on his shin, bumped her upward, then whipped into a sharp turning flip that sent her arcing over his head in a smooth, rising spiral.
For a few clean breaths, man and staff moved in one impossible rhythm—kick, recall, redirect, release.
Then sweat betrayed him.
His supporting foot slipped across the narrow stone.
The rhythm broke.
His hips dropped, balance tilting hard to one side as Recall came spinning back toward him too fast.
Instead of bailing, he let himself fall with it.
One hand slapped the stone.
His body folded low beneath the returning shaft.
Recall skimmed into his open palm—not stopping, not quite touching, but gliding along it as if the two opposing pulls had met in the middle.
The spin hummed against his skin.
He ducked under the circling blur, shoulder turning with the motion, and fed the momentum across his back into the waiting opposite hand.
Hand to hand.
Palm to palm.
The staff kept spinning around him in a tight orbit, guided but never quite held, a wheeling line of wood and metal carving rings through the air as he crouched beneath it.
Then he released her upward.
Recall shot into the air, spinning end over end.
Arion pivoted under the drop, planted one foot, and timed the descent by feel alone.
The return came.
He turned with it.
Back-spin kick.
CRACK.
His heel met the shaft cleanly and sent Recall whipping back out through the trees in a flat, screaming line.
Silence followed for half a breath.
Then—
"Recall."
She flew back into his palm with a satisfying smack.
He finally took off the blindfold, blinking until his vision settled on the sunlit trees.
"Haa… I think this blind date went well, don't you think?"
Recall slightly vibrated in his palm, her shard humming with pulses of Essence-saturated light that warmed his skin.
Strange, I feel like there's a connection, well other than our amazing compatibility…
He turned Recall over and stared into her slotted green shard.
I sense a sort of pulse… like my Vitalis is receiving a wave. A message. Sentient communication?
He smiled, jumped back onto solid ground with a light landing.
"I think it's time for a break," he said, treading back to his cabin, boots crunching over fallen needles.
…
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
Arion, now back in his cabin, finally took a rest, the wooden door clicking shut behind him.
He caught his breath, drank deep from the canteen until his throat felt cool again, and slumped back at the desk, shoulders dropping with relief.
He had finally managed to form a new spell that he'd come up on the spot in dire need. He was confident it was calibrated well enough to earn an entry.
—— ❖ ——
Coagulate Lock
Biophysics
Description:
Vitalis compresses through internal circuits, focusing pressure on damaged vessels.
Each pulse binds Luminary Essence around the wound, accelerating clot formation until flow slows to a crawl.
The effect burns — heat under skin, like sealing with invisible hands — but the bleed halts within seconds.
On Earth, coagulation depends on platelets, thrombin, fibrin; a chain reaction that crawls over minutes.
Here, Luminary collapses that cascade into one instant decision: clot now, question physics later.
Science:
Vitalis acts as external mechanical pressure, Luminary Essence lowers biochemical activation barriers of clotting factors.
Result: rapid fibrin mesh generation and vascular sealing.
Thermal by-product stems from metabolic overdrive and localized Essence friction.
In Layman Terms:
I turned my own bloodstream into a patch kit.
Hot, painful, messy — but it keeps the red stuff where it belongs.
Maxim:
"Seal the flow, buy the time."
—— ❖ ——
A new addition to my collection.
"Heh." He chuckled, knowing it was just the tip of what he could do.
'Coagulation
…on platelets
thrombin, fibrin;
…a chain reaction'
The words echoed through him while the boiling pot beside him bubbled softly, its familiar sound and faint steam dragging something old to the surface.
He started to stare at the words he had written down—no, the space in between them. The words blurred, becoming out of focus on the page, ink lines softening at the edges.
His mind slipped.
Text became white noise.
His vision vanished into pure darkness.
…Coagulation
…
"... Coagulation–"
A hum of fluorescent light.
The scent of coffee filled the air, rich and bitter.
A pair of eyes stared into space, water dripping down a chin, a slight drool catching the light.
A woman turned around, disappointed in the sight in front of her.
Her messy golden hair was tied back in a bun, a few strands dangling to frame her striking beauty. She wore glasses that gave her a smart, serious look, a black turtleneck jumper completing it. She carried a boyish personality with a serious scientific edge.
"Gah–This kid!" She scoffed, picking up paper and rolling it into a weapon with a crisp rustle.
"Paper!"
Buff!
"Ahh! Hey–what was that for, Mum?" He piped up from his daydream.
She stared at him, eyes narrowed, arms crossed, fingers tapping her arm in a steady rhythm.
"Paper beats rock, dummy. Arion, put that rock of a brain to good use for once!"
Arion leant back on his chair, the wood creaking under his shift.
"But Mum, this isn't Physics! It's boring!" He crossed his arms, letting out a puff of stubborn breath as he deflated into his chair.
His mother stood there shaking her head, the motion slow and fond.
Why did you have to take after me so much…
"Arion, these studies are important, physics can teach you about the universe. But it can't always save your ass." She insisted, coming from experience, her voice carrying that mix of patience and steel.
A defiant silence hung between them.
"Got it? Good!" She turned back to the board she was scribbling on, chalk scratching in quick strokes.
She paused, a sigh escaping her lips.
"This drop-dead, gorgeous lady in front of you won't always be around… Arion." She stopped for a heartbeat, until she went back to scribbling, the board filling with neat lines.
On the board lay words different from his usual lecture;
'Coagulation'
'platelets'
'Thrombin'
'fibrin'
'chain reaction'
And other terminology he never saw before.
There was a sentence scribbled on there, a quote underlined a few times;
Seal the flow, buy the time!
Even if they weren't the usual terms he recognised, he could tell what they generally meant. He saw patterns as if he had a microscope on hand, visualising the cause and effect unfold in real time.
Though, today's lecture never compared to his mother's usual ones, some of the most modern scientific discoveries known to man had been taught to him at a young age, her explanations always clear and alive.
Maybe that had been her fear all along—not leaving him alone, but leaving him without enough of herself to survive it.
This invaluable knowledge was her gift to him.
Her legacy was him.
The scribbles stopped, chalk clicking to rest.
"... The chain reaction of coagulation only takes place with the above components…"
Eyes started to stare in the spaces between the scribbles, focus became blurred, everything muted to black.
"…this is…"
His mother's voice trailed off into darkness.
A ghost of echoes.
Echoing its existence forever.
But now it had lost its warmth he had always cherished.
…
"Mum, it seems those lectures saved my ass after all..."
He exhaled. A soft, unsteady sound.
His fingers brushed over the notes—her knowledge she left behind, the parchment cool under his touch.
"I… I wish I could have done the same for you."