The day began with pain.
Sophus felt it the moment he opened his eyes. Not the dull ache of bruises or the sharp sting of old wounds. This pain was deeper, spread through muscle and bone alike, a pressure that seemed to come from inside his body rather than from without. It was as if his flesh itself protested his continued use of it.
He sat up slowly, breathing through the sensation. The hut was quiet. Pale light filtered through the gaps in the hide walls. Outside, the tribe was already stirring.
Sophus placed a hand on his chest and closed his eyes.
He listened.
His breath was steady. His heart strong. His mind clear.
But beneath all of it lay tension. A tightness, like metal heated too long without being shaped.
Wisdom stirred.
He understood.
His body was nearing its limit.
….
The training ground was already alive when Sophus arrived. Polemos stood in the center, lifting stones with fierce determination. Sweat soaked his skin. His muscles bulged and trembled, but he laughed through the strain.
Valerius practiced controlled strikes against a thick wooden post, each blow measured and precise. His injury still limited him, but his focus sharpened his movements.
Thalara supervised a group of hunters practicing still stances, correcting them when impatience crept in.
Arete Chalybe hammered metal nearby, each strike ringing like a heartbeat. She paused often, studying the metal's response.
Alexios Soterios guided several wounded through breathing exercises, his calm voice steady and reassuring.
Aletheia carried water and watched, her eyes always returning to Sophus.
Chronicus Annales sat at the edge of the ground, carving symbols into bark, muttering quietly as he worked.
Sophus stepped into the center.
"Today," he said, voice carrying clearly, "we push body harder."
Polemos grinned. "Finally."
Sophus raised a hand. "Harder, not foolish."
The grin faded slightly.
"Our flesh must change," Sophus continued. "Not grow bigger. Grow stronger inside."
He demonstrated a new movement. A slow, grinding stance that put immense strain on the legs and core. He held it, breath even, muscles locked.
The hunters copied him.
Almost immediately, strain showed on their faces.
"Hold," Sophus said. "Breathe."
Seconds stretched.
Legs shook.
Arms burned.
Breaths wavered.
"Do not break," Sophus said. "Feel limit. Sit there."
Polemos grunted, teeth clenched. Valerius's face went pale. Thalara's jaw tightened in concentration. Arete's hands trembled but did not drop her hammer. Alexios's breathing remained slow, but sweat poured down his face. Aletheia wavered slightly, then steadied.
One hunter collapsed.
Sophus was there instantly, catching him before he hit the ground.
"Too far," Sophus said calmly. "Rest."
He guided the man to the side, instructing Alexios to watch him closely.
Training resumed.
They held the stance again.
Longer.
This time, something changed.
Sophus felt it first.
A deep heat bloomed in his muscles, not painful, but intense. His bones hummed faintly. His breath seemed to draw something subtle from the air, not energy itself, but the promise of it.
His skin prickled.
Wisdom whispered.
This was the peak.
….
As the sun climbed higher, Sophus pushed himself further. He demonstrated lifts, strikes, and holds that forced every part of his body to work together. He ran until his lungs burned, then stood still until his heart slowed. He struck heavy stones until his knuckles split, then breathed until the pain dulled.
With each cycle, his body responded faster.
Stronger.
Denser.
But the pressure inside him grew.
By midday, the pain became impossible to ignore.
Sophus staggered slightly during a stance hold. A sharp heat flared in his chest, spreading outward. His vision blurred.
Aletheia noticed instantly. "Sophus."
He raised a hand, signaling her to stay back.
He breathed.
Slow.
Controlled.
But the pressure did not ease.
Instead, it intensified.
Then it happened.
A violent wave surged through his body.
Sophus dropped to one knee, gasping. His stomach clenched painfully. His throat burned.
He retched.
Dark, foul-smelling fluid spilled onto the ground.
The tribe froze.
Polemos rushed forward. "Sophus."
"Stay back," Sophus said hoarsely.
Another wave hit him.
He vomited again, this time thicker, almost tar-like. His skin flushed red, then pale. Sweat poured off him in sheets.
Alexios ran to his side, hands hovering uncertainly. "Your body purge something."
Sophus nodded weakly.
Wisdom flared.
He understood immediately.
Impurities.
The weakness of old humanity.
The residue of a body not made to endure the world.
His flesh convulsed as more impurities forced their way out. His pores oozed dark grime. The smell was acrid and sharp.
Some hunters gagged.
Sophus barely noticed.
Pain tore through him, deep and relentless. His muscles felt as if they were being twisted and reforged. His bones burned. His breath came in ragged gasps.
But beneath the pain, something else existed.
Clarity.
He felt lighter.
Stronger.
More solid.
The pressure that had plagued him eased slightly, replaced by a deep, steady heat.
After what felt like an eternity, the convulsions stopped.
Sophus collapsed forward onto his hands, breathing heavily.
Alexios knelt beside him, eyes wide with awe. "Your body clean itself."
Sophus lifted his head slowly.
"Yes," he said. "This part of path."
The tribe stared at him with a mix of fear and reverence.
Polemos whispered, "You shed weakness."
Sophus nodded.
"This stage strip body. Forge flesh. Remove poison."
He looked at his hands.
They were trembling slightly.
But they felt powerful.
….
As Sophus recovered, training halted. The tribe gathered quietly, watching him with new understanding.
Chronicus scribbled frantically, his hands shaking. "First recorded purge of body weakness. Mark this. Very important."
Sophus caught his eye. "Write. But not teach yet. This dangerous."
Chronicus nodded vigorously.
Thalara approached, concern etched on her face. "Can all do this."
"Not yet," Sophus said. "Body must be ready. Push too early, body break."
She nodded. "Then we careful."
"Yes."
Aletheia knelt beside him, offering water. He drank slowly.
"You scared me," she said softly.
Sophus met her gaze. "I scared too."
She smiled faintly. "Good. Fear keep you alive."
He almost laughed.
….
By late afternoon, Sophus felt strong enough to stand again. His body still ached, but the pain was different now. Deeper, but steadier. Like the soreness after hard labor, not injury.
He walked alone to the edge of Firsthaven.
The world felt sharper.
He could see farther. Hear more. Smell subtle differences in the air.
He slowed his breath and focused inward.
His body responded immediately, heat spreading evenly through his limbs.
But when he tried to draw the world's energy closer, the same resistance appeared.
The wall remained.
Wisdom spoke clearly now.
This was the end of Body Forging.
His flesh had reached its peak.
It could endure more, but it could not advance further without changing the way it interacted with power.
He whispered, "Body complete."
Not perfect.
But complete for this stage.
….
A sudden shout broke his concentration.
"Horns."
Sophus turned sharply.
Hunters on the wall pointed toward the plains.
Movement.
Shapes darted through the grass.
Beasts.
Not a full assault. Not a random wander.
A probe.
Sophus felt it immediately.
The wolf was testing them.
"To wall," Sophus called.
Hunters scrambled into position. Polemos grabbed his spear-like staff, eyes blazing. Valerius took position beside him, jaw set. Thalara directed non-combatants with crisp commands. Arete armed herself with a heavy hammer. Alexios moved the wounded inside. Aletheia stayed close to Sophus, ready to assist.
The beasts approached cautiously. Wolves, three of them, moving low and silent.
Sophus studied their movements.
They were watching.
Measuring.
"Do not chase," Sophus ordered. "Hold line."
The wolves circled, testing reactions. One darted forward, snapping at the wall, then retreated.
Polemos growled. "Cowards."
"They learn," Sophus said.
Another wolf lunged, faster this time. Valerius struck, forcing it back. The beast snarled, eyes intelligent.
After several tense moments, the wolves retreated, melting back into the grass.
The test ended.
For now.
The tribe exhaled collectively.
Sophus felt the message clearly.
The world had noticed their growth.
And it would respond.
….
As dusk settled, Sophus gathered the main cast again.
"You see," he said quietly. "Beasts watch us. They feel change."
Polemos cracked his neck. "Good. Let them fear."
"They not fear yet," Sophus replied. "They curious."
Valerius nodded. "Curiosity dangerous."
Thalara crossed her arms. "Then we prepare."
"Yes," Sophus said. "But not just with muscle."
He looked down at his hands.
"My body reach limit today."
They stared at him.
"What mean," Polemos asked.
"It mean flesh cannot go further without new path."
Arete frowned thoughtfully. "Like metal need mold."
Sophus nodded. "Yes. Body forged. Now need foundation."
They did not fully understand.
But they would.
….
In the shadows beyond the firelight, Drakon Serpen Invidius watched silently.
He had seen Sophus collapse. He had seen the tribe's awe. He had felt the weight of Sophus's growing presence.
Envy burned hotter in his chest.
"He grow too fast," Drakon whispered. "World choose him."
His fingers dug into the dirt.
"If body reach limit," he murmured, "then maybe limit can be broken."
A dark idea took shape in his mind.
….
That night, Sophus sat alone again, breathing slowly. His body felt heavy but stable. His mind clear.
Wisdom settled.
He spoke softly, to no one and everyone.
"This stage is about forging body. Stripping weakness. Making flesh endure world."
He nodded to himself.
"Body Forging."
The words felt right.
True.
He had not stepped beyond it yet.
But he had reached its peak.
And beyond that peak waited something new.
Something deeper.
The foundation of all that would follow.
The fire crackled.
The wolf howled faintly in the distance.
And Sophus, standing at the end of one path, prepared to step onto another.