By the time he was ten years old, the boy was no longer running on the mountain.
He was running through it.
Loose gravel didn't slow him. Narrow paths didn't scare him. Where he once looked down to avoid tripping, his eyes now stayed forward, body adjusting on instinct alone.
The old man noticed.
He said nothing.
That silence was more frightening than shouting.
One morning, the old man handed the boy a basket.
"Deliver this," he said.
The boy peeked inside. Herbs. Heavy ones.
"Where?"
The old man pointed toward the village in the valley.
"That's far."
"Yes."
"When do you need it back?"
The old man sipped his tea. "Before it wilts."
The boy hesitated. "That's impossible."
The old man smiled faintly.
"Run."
The village elders blinked when the boy arrived.
"Where did you come from?" one asked.
The boy didn't answer. He was already turning around.
By the time the sun shifted slightly in the sky, he was back.
The old man looked at the basket, then at the boy's legs.
"…Still fresh," he muttered.
The boy beamed. "Did I do well?"
The old man turned away. "Average."
Training became crueler.
Not louder. Not flashier.
Crueler.
The old man started timing him—without telling him what the time meant.
Sometimes he forced the boy to run after being woken at midnight.
Sometimes he made him sprint after fasting all day.
Once, he tied a bell to the boy's ankle.
"If I hear it," the old man said, "you're too slow."
The boy ran silently.
At eleven, something broke.
Not the boy.
The air.
During one downhill sprint, his foot struck stone and pushed off harder than intended.
The ground burst.
Dust exploded behind him.
The boy stumbled to a stop, staring at the cracked rock beneath his heel.
"…Master?"
The old man crouched, fingers brushing the fracture.
Silence stretched.
"…Don't do that again," the old man finally said.
"Why?"
"Because people will notice."
The boy frowned. "Notice what?"
The old man stood.
"That you're no longer normal."
That night, the boy sat alone, legs soaking in cold water.
"Master," he asked quietly, "am I strong?"
The old man didn't look at him.
"No."
The boy's shoulders slumped.
"…Am I fast?"
The old man paused.
Then said, "Fast enough to live."
That answer made the boy smile.
High above, clouds shifted.
Somewhere far away, the world continued turning—unaware that a child was being sharpened into something dangerous.
The old man watched the boy stretch before sleeping.
"…I should have stopped earlier," he muttered.
But he didn't.
End of Chapter 4