Chapter 292: Training
The Next Day
A pigeon flew off in a huff, feathers scattering like it had been personally offended by their laughter.
Finn watched it go, still grinning. "Never seen a bird get embarrassed before."
"You’ve never seen me laugh before," Lucian said.
"That too."
He stretched, rolling his shoulders. The hay had done nothing for his back—not that he needed comfort, but old habits died hard. Finn, on the other hand, looked more rested than he had in days. The bread had helped. The warmth of the barn had helped. The absence of fear had helped most of all.
Lucian stood up and walked to the open doorway. Morning light spilled across the fields. Cows in the distance. A farmer shouting at someone. Normal sounds. Normal world.
"We should go to the capital," he said.
Finn almost choked on his bread. "What?"
"The capital. You said the Academy is there. The Mage Council. The archives." Lucian turned back to face him. "If there are answers about erased people, they’ll be there. Or at least, the trail will lead there."
Finn swallowed hard. "I thought you said the trail was dead."
"The trail is cold. Not dead. There’s a difference." Lucian leaned against the doorframe. "Besides, you need to take the Awakening Trial eventually. Might as well see what we’re dealing with."
"You’re doing this for me."
"I’m doing this because I’m tired of walking in circles." Lucian’s voice was flat, but there was something underneath it. Something that might have been kindness. "You coming or not?"
Finn stared at him for a long moment. Then he stuffed the rest of the bread in his mouth, scrambled to his feet, and nodded.
"Let’s go."
---
The road to the capital took three days on foot.
Lucian could have cut that down to three seconds. He didn’t. Finn needed the time. Not for rest—for training.
"Why?" Finn asked on the first morning, after Lucian had woken him before dawn.
"Because you’re going to take the Trial. The Trial is dangerous. You need to be stronger than you are."
"I’m not weak."
"I didn’t say you were. I said you need to be stronger." Lucian pointed at a fallen log. "Start there. Twenty push-ups."
Finn looked at the log. Looked at Lucian. "What are push-ups?"
Lucian blinked. Then he sighed. Then he lay down on the grass and showed him.
It took twenty minutes for Finn to do twenty push-ups. His arms shook. His face turned red. He collapsed twice. But he finished.
"Good," Lucian said. "Now squats."
"What are squats?"
Another demonstration. Another twenty minutes. Another collapse.
By the time the sun was fully up, Finn’s muscles were screaming. He sat on the ground, breathing hard, staring at Lucian like he wanted to murder him.
"You’re enjoying this," Finn accused.
"A little," Lucian admitted.
They walked for an hour. Finn limped. Lucian didn’t comment.
Around mid-morning, Lucian stopped at a stream. He knelt, cupped his hands in the water, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, his hands held a small vial of dark liquid.
"What’s that?" Finn asked.
"Supplement. Drink it."
"What does it do?"
"It’ll help your muscles recover. Faster healing. Better stamina. Don’t ask how it works."
Finn took the vial, sniffed it, wrinkled his nose. "Smells like dirt."
"Drink it."
He drank. The taste was worse than the smell. He gagged, swallowed, gagged again. Then warmth spread through his chest, down his arms, into his legs. The soreness faded. The exhaustion lifted. He felt... good. Better than good.
"What the hell was that?"
"Magic."
"You said not to ask."
"And you didn’t listen." Lucian stood up. "Now, punching."
They found a tree with thick bark. Lucian showed Finn how to stand—feet apart, knees slightly bent, weight balanced. How to make a fist—thumb outside the fingers, not inside. How to punch—from the shoulder, not the elbow, turning the fist at the last moment.
Finn punched the tree.
It hurt.
"Again," Lucian said.
Finn punched again. Harder this time. The bark scraped his knuckles. He pulled back, shaking his hand.
"Again."
"I don’t think—"
"You’re not thinking. That’s the problem." Lucian stepped closer, adjusted Finn’s stance. "When you punch, don’t think about hitting. Think about moving through. The target is not the surface. The target is what’s behind it."
Finn looked at the tree. Looked at his fist. Looked at Lucian.
"Behind it?"
"Behind it."
He punched.
The impact jarred his arm all the way to his shoulder. Pain shot through his knuckles. But something else happened too. A shift. A crack. The bark splintered, just a little.
Finn stared at his hand.
"Again," Lucian said.
He punched again. And again. And again.
By noon, his knuckles were raw. By evening, they were bleeding. Lucian made another vial—this one a thick paste—and rubbed it into Finn’s hands. The pain faded. The cuts closed. By the next morning, you couldn’t tell anything had happened.
"That’s not fair," Finn said, flexing his fingers.
"Fair doesn’t matter. Results do." Lucian pointed at the road. "Walk."
---
The second day was worse.
Lucian added kicks to the routine. Front kicks, side kicks, roundhouse kicks. Finn fell over more times than he could count. His balance was terrible. His form was worse. But he kept getting up.
"Why are you doing this?" Finn asked during a break. They were sitting on a rock, looking out at a valley. The capital was still a day away, visible now as a smudge on the horizon.
"Because you asked to help."
"That’s not what I meant." Finn wiped sweat from his forehead. "Why are you training me? You could just... carry me. Or whatever. Get me to the capital in a second. Make me strong with your magic. Why are you making me work for it?"
Lucian was quiet for a moment.
"Because strength that’s given can be taken away," he said. "Strength that’s earned... that’s yours. Forever."
Finn thought about that. It made a kind of sense. The kind of sense that came from someone who’d lost everything and had to build himself back from nothing.
"What kind of magic do you want to awaken?" Lucian asked.
The question caught Finn off guard. "I told you. It doesn’t matter what I want."
"For the Trial, maybe. But I’m not asking about the Trial." Lucian looked at him. "I’m asking you. If you could choose. What kind of magic would you want?"
Finn stared at the valley. At the smudge of the capital. At the clouds overhead.
"Spirit," he said finally.
Lucian raised an eyebrow. "That’s the dangerous one."
"I know."
"Why?"
Finn was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "Because my mother used to tell me I had it. Before she died. She said I could see things. Things that weren’t there." He paused. "I thought she was lying. Or crazy. But maybe... maybe she wasn’t."
Lucian nodded slowly. "Spirit affinity lets you see between worlds. Between realities. It’s not magic, not really. It’s perception."
"Have you met anyone with it?"
"Yes."
"Did they go mad?"
Lucian thought about Evelyn. About her silver hair and her steady hands. About the way she used to stare at empty corners like she could see something he couldn’t.
"No," he said. "They became something else."
"What?"
"Strong." Lucian stood up. "Now, kicks again. Your form is still terrible."
Finn groaned but got to his feet.
---
The third day, they ran.
Not walked. Ran. From dawn until mid-morning, Lucian set a pace that pushed Finn to his limits. His lungs burned. His legs screamed. His vision blurred.
But he kept going.
"You’re not going to collapse," Lucian said from beside him, not even breathing hard. "Your body can handle more than your mind thinks it can. The supplements I gave you are working. You just have to push through."
"Easy... for you... to say," Finn gasped.
"It is easy for me to say. I’m not the one running."
Finn wanted to punch him. He didn’t have the breath.
They reached the outskirts of the capital around noon. The city walls rose before them, grey stone and iron gates, guards in polished armor watching the flow of travelers. Finn slowed to a walk, then stopped, hands on his knees, chest heaving.
"We’re here," he said.
"We’re here," Lucian agreed.
He reached into his pocket—that same pocket that held infinite things—and pulled out a small cloth bag. He tossed it to Finn.
"What’s this?"
"Money. Enough for food, lodging, supplies. Don’t spend it all on bread."
Finn opened the bag. Coins glittered inside. More money than he’d seen in his entire life.
"I can’t—"
"You can. And you will." Lucian started walking toward the gate. "This is your city now. Your capital. Your Trial. I’m just here to watch."
Finn stared at the bag. At the coins. At the impossible man who’d appeared in his alley and changed everything.
"Lucian," he called.
Lucian stopped. Didn’t turn.
"Thank you."
Lucian was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Don’t thank me yet. The hard part hasn’t started."
He walked on.
Finn clutched the bag, took a deep breath, and followed.
The capital swallowed them both.
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