Aren's eyes slowly fluttered open. Morning light poured through the cracks in the old watchtower walls, painting thin golden stripes across his face. He let out a long, stiff groan, feeling every muscle in his body complain as he stretched.
The Smiling Blade lay on the small table beside him, glinting faintly as though it had been watching over him all night.
"Finally awake, lazy fox?" the dagger teased, its voice light and sharp as always.
Aren sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. "Don't start," he mumbled. "I was up all night escaping death, remember?"
The dagger let out a sound that might have been a snort. "Excuses, excuses. You said we'd start today. Are you backing out already?"
Aren rolled his eyes, standing and flexing his shoulders. "I never back out. Let's go."
He grabbed the dagger and stepped out of the tower. Behind it, a small clearing stretched into a natural training ground , a patch of earth surrounded by tall trees, the ground mostly flat and covered in scattered leaves. He looked around, nodding with approval.
"This will do," he said, planting his feet firmly on the ground.
He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday ,just an apple . His stomach grumbled loudly in protest. He gave it a light slap. "Later," he told it. "First, the training."
The dagger hummed in agreement. "Welcome to the First Rank: Foundation of the Blade. Today, you learn to control your stance and balance completely. Even a tiny slip means failure."
Aren took a deep breath, shifting into a wide stance. His knees bent, arms relaxed but ready. He felt the ground beneath his feet, the way each muscle stretched and pulled.
Hours slipped by as he repeated each motion again and again: sliding forward, shifting back, turning to the side. His arms and legs burned with exhaustion, sweat dripped from his jawline and soaked his shirt.
He stumbled a few times but pushed through, breathing hard. The dagger corrected him, barking quick tips. "Lower your center! Move with the hips, not the shoulders! Feel the earth, don't fight it!"
By the time the sun dipped low above the trees, Aren dropped to his knees, gasping. He leaned forward, planting his palms on the ground, his whole body shaking.
"Completion rate: eighty-four percent," the dagger announced calmly.
Aren snorted out a tired laugh, wiping sweat from his eyes. "Eighty-four? That's… that's not even close to finished."
"But it's a strong start," the dagger replied. "Tomorrow, we continue. But for now… I believe your stomach has been threatening to murder you." Aren's gut growled so loudly he could barely hear the dagger. He stood, nearly stumbling, and looked around. "Food. Now."
With the dagger guiding him, he slipped deeper into the forest. The blade led him to a thicket where a fat grass cutter hid among the bushes. Aren crouched low, his eyes sharp. With a quick thrust, he speared it, and the animal dropped instantly.
Aren held up the catch proudly. "Dinner is served."
He carried it back to a small clearing, gathered dry sticks and stones, and managed to build a small fire. Flames crackled to life, the orange glow lighting up his dirt-smudged face.
After cleaning and preparing the grass cutter, he roasted it over the fire, turning it slowly. The smell rose into the air, rich and smoky, making his mouth water even more.
When it was finally ready, he didn't hold back. He tore into the meat, chewing and swallowing with wild hunger. The dagger watched silently, almost amused.
"You look like a starving wolf," it finally commented.
Aren didn't bother to answer, just waved it off as he devoured more. When he was finally full, he wrapped the leftover meat carefully in some large leaves and set it aside.
"Can't waste good food," he said, licking his fingers.
Next, he searched around and found a small calabash-like gourd near a bush. He cleaned it quickly, then followed the sound of running water until he found a clear stream. He drank deeply, feeling the cool water wash away the dryness in his throat.
He filled the gourd, carried it back, and placed it beside the saved meat.
As the last light of day faded, Aren leaned back against a tree, sighing in relief.
"Tomorrow, we finish the first rank," he said, staring up at the darkening sky.
The dagger shimmered faintly in the low firelight. "Tomorrow, we make you stronger," it replied softly.
Aren's eyes grew heavy, but a small, satisfied smile played at his lips. His body was battered, his mind exhausted, but in that moment with a full belly, water by his side, and the promise of growth ; he felt truly alive