'Late?' Was that even supposed to be a lesson? he pondered, and that led to his reply:
"I… Sir, I walked here and it's far, you know."
The man grumped and ignored him. They had now walked through a big hall flanked by glassy walls, illuminated by a circular light fixture hanging above like a sun in an artificial sky. It felt surreal, too modern, too polished to exist inside what looked like a shack from the outside.
Then came the spiral staircase, it looked old, creaky, and distinctly at odds with the high-tech architecture above. As they began their descent, Simma kept grumbling behind the towering man, his complaints falling on deaf ears.
"…How is being late even a training?" he had said again, only to be ignored again.
They reached the base after what felt like a never-ending descent. It looked like an underground basement since the air was different, colder, damp, tinged with moss and age.
The walls here weren't metal or glass but rough stone, jagged like a cave, as if they'd crossed into a different dimension altogether. Only a wooden, swollen-looking door stood before them, its seams glowing faintly with the thin slivers of light seeping in from outside.
Finally the man turned to him.
"Being late is a failure,"
he said, voice deep and measured.
"Just like the Wood Hints Tournament rewards effort. It also punishes delay. Finish your quest late… and you fail."
Simma stared, aghast, more like frozen. He didn't even know that. So what were the citadel waiting for before telling them this kind of information?
Before he could object, the man had already turned and opened the door, and a blinding light flooded in.
Simma had to shield his eyes with his hands since the place was dark, and now that the light came in, his eyes had to adjust to it first.
"Come on," the man said, walking towards the door. Simma walked up close to him, but when he stepped close to the door, a gasp left his mouth.
It was as if they were hanging on the threshold door of a cliff, not just any cliff, but a very high one.
He could see the tops of the trees far below, they were rather like grasses wallowing merrily in the wind, also the tops of mountains that stood far away on the other horizon. He couldn't even make out the land, not at all.
He was still hanging on to his breath, wondering why the man had decided to show him this, when the man said:
"Jump."
Simma turned.
"Wait... what?!"
"You heard me," the man said, face expressionless.
"You… you can't be serious, ri...AAARRRGGGGHH!"
The rest of the words in his mouth turned into a deadly scream. The man had hurled him off the door.
What followed was chaos.
He was falling, a fall that seemed endless and also very disastrous. The wind roared past his ears as he tumbled violently through the sky.
He was already imagining himself becoming a butter splash right on the floor.
If he died now he is going straight to hell, thanks to the lady that wanted to seduce him.
His heart was now pounding hard against his ribs, and his lungs seemed too flat to contain enough air. He couldn't think, he could only fall.
He came tumbling and spiralling through the air. Now he was reaching the trees that were all down below.
"No... no... no... no... no... no... no... no... nooooooo!"
Squashes!
He crashed through the trees. Leaves and twigs whipped at his face and arms. Thorns tore at his skin. Each bounce off a branch sent a jolt of pain through his spine, as he crashed through the canopies.
At least it slowed the force with which he was falling. But then the trees were also so high, and when he found himself out of the high branches, he was falling again.
It was now as if the force was much. He descended.... heart pounding harder, breath hitching.... He was now about 19 feet away from the ground... he was going to die in the most painful and stupid way.... 15 feet, All the pain from the branches that hit him now felt like they turned into fear..... 10 feet away... 4 feet away and…
Hitch.
He stopped, lying flat in the air. For a moment, it was as if time paused just for him. But just as the unseen force had caught him, it had left, and he now slammed to the floor with a dull thud.
Simma lay there, gasping, his heart raced high, as if trying to run away from his chest. Every part of him hurt. His arms were scratched, his clothes tattered, his pride obliterated.
Thorns protruded from his skin like pins in a voodoo doll. Slowly, and painfully, he began pulling them out.
"Who in his right senses throws someone off a cliff without warning, eh?"
He cursed very angrily. And just as he turned to take a look at the forest where he found himself, the man came descending like an angel, calmly and gently, like he took a magical elevator that Simma wasn't seeing.
"Right,"
Simma muttered bitterly.
"I get to crash through hell and he gets to enjoy the ride in a magical whatever, descending like a feather. Great... Just great. Soo great,"
The man, without even the slightest noise, landed beside Simma. His landing stirred not even a leaf. a smile on his face like he enjoyed Simma's fall.
Still grinning, he said:
"Lesson three failed. Your Within Beast should have helped you, even saved you, but you didn't summon it."
Simma blared red, flushing with rage. The man didn't even offer an apology, just another cruel remark wrapped in a lesson. What kind of lesson did he just turn out to be having? He was sure that Sarah and the others were busy enjoying theirs, but for him, it was the other way around.
And he couldn't hide that anger, so he burst it out:
"First, you say I'm late… Second, you say that I don't have control over that whore that was seducing me, probably the one you set on me… Third, you push me off a cliff, and now… and now…"
He didn't know what else to add. He looked at the man, who was now bewildered, and then added:
"…Yeah, I'm done."
Simma thought the man would have taken it out on him, but instead, he started laughing. He laughed in a way that almost made Simma want to laugh too.
"You should see your face right now," the man said amidst laughter... still laughing, but in a way that still commanded respect, like some king.
Simma grimaced. Is he drunk? Or had he hit his head on one of those branches? Well, he had hit his own head there as well, so he wouldn't blame the man if that was what was affecting him.
The laughter died down. The man straightened, his face becoming serious once more.
"Lesson four failed. Your self-control is zero."
Simma shrugged.
"Whatever."
The man studied him closely now. His voice dropped to something heavier.
"Before we continue… are you sure you're ready for this?"
Simma didn't speak. He just nodded, quietly, but firmly.
The man nodded back.
"You might be wondering why I chose to train you. That's a tale for another time, perhaps when you finally find yourself."
'Find myself?' Simma frowned. 'What does he mean? I'm right here.'
"There are conditions," the man continued.
"Rules you must obey. If you want to become Azren, truly become one, you'll follow my every word. No questions. Understood?"
Simma kept mute. His breath was still calming down gradually. He needed this. This was like his key card, his only path toward vengeance against the Haydes, and toward saving others from suffering as he had. then gently he nodded in acceptance.
"All right then. Walk."
Simma followed the man. They moved together, footsteps crunching softly over the bed of dry leaves.
He looked around, now feeling the lovely breeze of the woods and the scent of leaves from the trees.
The day was a sunny one. Though the canopy above filtered the rays of the sun into dancing gold patterns, some managed to escape through openings in between leaves. Occasionally, a ray pierced through, catching Simma's skin with gentle warmth.
After some time, they emerged onto what looked like a forgotten beach, a secluded strip of sand beside a tranquil river that shimmered like glass. The trees bowed away, allowing a clear view of the place, but the fresh air they produced still lingered.
The river stood beside the forest, and then the sand ran down across the horizon, which extended to a small hill and beyond.
On the riverbank sat a lone ceramic bowl, filled with water.
The man stopped beside the bowl and gestured. "Sit beside it."
Simma hesitated, then obeyed. He knelt beside the bowl, eyes narrowing in confusion.
'What now? Another vision? More psychological torment?'
Simma wanted to ask what it was all about, because if it is what he was thinking, then his nightmares had already given him enough of that, but then remembered that the man had told him to obey his words.
Also, he didn't want to hear him say that he failed another lesson.
Also last time he experienced such was in Cinzel's chamber, and that was when he saw his Azrax the first time.
He glanced at the man, who stared down at him with that unreadable gaze.
Then came the instruction.
"Open your palm wide… and slap the water."
Simma blinked.
"What?"