The training courtyard looked like someone had asked a medieval architect "what if we made everything extra?" and then given them an unlimited budget.
Target dummies stood at attention in rows so precise they looked military, their straw stuffing rustling occasionally like they were whispering to each other. Floating orbs drifted in lazy patterns that probably meant something to someone but mostly just looked pretty. A rack of practice swords gleamed in the sunlight with the kind of polish that suggested they'd never actually been used for anything more strenuous than being admired.
Everything screamed "expensive." Everything whispered "breakable."
Everything looked at Evan with what he could only describe as existential dread.
"RIGHT!" Ross bellowed, his voice bouncing off stone walls and somehow multiplying, echoing back from multiple directions at once. He was built like someone had taken a brick wall and taught it enthusiasm and possibly caffeine addiction. "First things first! Let's see what you can DO!"
"Break things," Evan said flatly. "We've established this. I'm very good at it. It's basically my only skill. I'm like a one-man demolition crew, except I don't get paid and I feel bad about it afterward."
"Yes, but how? And why? And can you do it on PURPOSE?" Ross bounced on his heels, radiating the kind of energy most people reserved for illegal stimulants or extremely exciting news. His whole body vibrated with anticipation.
"I'm not sure I want to do it on purpose. Accidental is bad enough. Intentional feels like I'm asking for trouble. Like I'm poking the universe with a stick and daring it to bite me."
Ross either didn't hear or had developed the superpower of selective listening that allowed him to only hear things that excited him. He grabbed a practice sword from the rack—a perfectly ordinary piece of oak wrapped in leather, the kind of sword that had probably been used by generations of trainees—and tossed it like he expected Evan to catch it like a normal person.
"CATCH!"
Evan caught it. The sword immediately developed opinions about its existence.
The wood groaned—a deep, resonant sound like a tree in pain. The leather squeaked. And right there in Evan's hands, the blade bent into a perfect U-shape, the hilt twisted forty-five degrees to the left, and the pommel grew a tiny face that looked vaguely offended about the whole situation.
"FASCINATING!" Ross didn't look concerned. He looked like a kid who'd just found an extra present under the tree on Christmas morning. "Now try to hit that dummy!"
Evan looked at the sword—now more pretzel than weapon—then at the dummy, then back at Ross. "With WHAT? A very determined croquet mallet? This thing has more curves than my last relationship. It's not a sword anymore. It's a statement piece."
"With INTENT!" Ross grabbed another sword and demonstrated, slicing through the air with enough force to make a whoosh sound that seemed almost impressed with itself. "See? FOCUS! WILL! DETERMINATION! The sword is just a tool! Your mind is the weapon!"
Evan sighed the sigh of a man who'd long ago accepted that the universe had it out for him personally. He gave the dummy a half-hearted swing with his U-shaped disaster.
The dummy didn't get hit.
It moved.
The entire thing—straw-stuffed burlap sack nailed to a wooden post that had probably been there for decades—leaned sideways like it was dodging a punch in a bar fight, held the position for an uncomfortably long moment, then slowly straightened up again.
Both men stared.
The dummy's burlap face, which absolutely did not have features before, now had what could only be described as a smug expression. Two eye-shaped indentations and a slightly upturned corner that screamed "I'm better than you and we both know it."
"That's... new," Evan said.
"FASCINATING!" Ross circled the dummy like a shark who'd discovered prey that could think. "It's not just objects! It's EVERYTHING! The universe itself is... accommodating you! Making space for you! Avoiding your intent!"
"That sounds nice until you realize it means even inanimate objects are too polite to let me hit them." Evan dropped the bent sword. It hit the ground, immediately straightened itself out, and then the pommel-face gave him a look of pure disappointment before turning away. "Oh, don't you start. You're the one who bent yourself into a pretzel."
"Okay, new approach!" Ross grabbed one of the floating orbs. It glowed a soft blue in his hand, pulsing gently like a heartbeat. "Magical energy! Try to match its frequency!"
"I don't know what that means."
"Just... FEEL it!" Ross tossed the orb to Evan with the casual confidence of someone who'd never considered that this might be a bad idea.
Evan caught it. The orb's glow intensified immediately, shifting from soft blue to brilliant white to a color Evan couldn't name—something between ultraviolet and existential dread, a shade that hurt to look at directly. It began to vibrate, humming at a pitch that made Evan's teeth ache and his eyeballs feel slightly loose in their sockets.
Then it exploded.
Not violently. Gently. Like a dandelion releasing its seeds into the wind. Tiny motes of light drifted upward, catching the sunlight before fading away into nothing, each one making a soft pop sound as it disappeared.
Ross stared at the empty space where the orb had been. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "Huh."
"I told you," Evan said.
"No, no, that's GOOD! We're learning!" Ross's enthusiasm was apparently unkillable. "The orb didn't break from overload! It... harmonized with you! Too perfectly! It couldn't handle being that in tune with your aura and just... became light!"
"So I'm musically gifted. Great. Can I be a bard instead? I feel like bards have better working conditions. Less breaking things, more singing in taverns."
Ross ignored him, scribbling notes on a piece of parchment that appeared from nowhere. His handwriting was enthusiastic—large, looping letters that covered the page in seconds. "Resonance frequency... catastrophic harmony... reality accommodating user... possible applications... FASCINATING!"
Evan was starting to think "fascinating" was magical community code for "terrifying but we're trying to be polite about it."
"Okay!" Ross crumpled the parchment, which immediately uncrumpled itself and floated away to land neatly on a bench. "Let's try something simpler! Basic levitation!"
He demonstrated, making a small rock float in a lazy circle around his head. The rock looked bored but complied. "See? Simple! Focus! Intent! You want the rock to rise, so it rises!"
Evan focused. He intended. He pointed at a nearby rock—a perfectly ordinary rock, about the size of his fist, minding its own business.
The rock didn't levitate.
The ground beneath it did.
A perfect circle of earth, about three feet in diameter, rose into the air complete with grass, dirt, several very confused worms, and the rock sitting innocently on top. It hovered there for a moment, defying gravity and all reasonable expectations, then settled back down with a soft thump.
The grass was slightly greener where it had been. The worms gave Evan what could only be described as dirty looks before burrowing away in disgust.
Ross stared. "You levitated... an entire section of ecosystem."
"I was aiming for the rock."
"Close enough!" Ross clapped him on the back again. Another floor tile cracked. "Progress! Sort of! We're learning about scale! Your magic doesn't do small! It does COMPREHENSIVE!"
Evan looked at the slightly greener patch of grass, the embarrassed worms, the general air of confusion that seemed to permeate the training yard. "I have a question."
"Shoot!"
"What happens if I actually try? Like, really try? With intention and focus and everything?"
Ross's cheerful expression didn't falter, but his eyes held a flicker of something—caution? Excitement? The look of a man who'd just been handed a very interesting problem and wasn't sure if the solution would be brilliant or catastrophic. "Let's... save that for later. After more training. And possibly some structural reinforcements. And maybe a signed waiver from the kingdom."
From the sidelines, Emma's voice floated over: "Also, maybe outside the city walls. Just to be safe. And away from anything valuable. And anything living. And anything that might miss existing in its current form."
Evan sighed. "Right. Baby steps. Don't accidentally rearrange geography. Got it."
He looked at his hands again. They still looked like hands. Harmless hands. Hands that had never hurt anyone.
Hands that had just lifted three feet of earth without trying.
This was going to be a long training session.
***