Midarion woke to a sharp tap on his forehead. His legs were sore, his back stiff, and Keel's tail flicking against his cheek.
He groaned and turned, pulling his arm over his face. "Five more minutes…"
Another tap. Harder.
"Up," Theomar said.
Midarion cracked one eye open. The jungle loomed above him, already alive—birds crying, insects buzzing like unseen engines, branches creaking under distant weight. Keel's tail flicked across his cheek, warm and irritating.
"So this is day two," Midarion muttered as he sat up. "I miss beds."
Keel chirped in agreement.
Theomar was already standing on a fallen trunk, barefoot, stretching with lazy precision, like the forest itself had shaped him that way.
"After all this time, shouldn't need to be woken up," he said without looking.
"I'm twelve," Midarion replied. "My bones are still loading."
Theomar snorted. "Good. That means you'll heal faster if you break them."
Midarion frowned. "If?"
"Not if," Theomar corrected. "When."
He stepped off the trunk and nodded once.
"Move."
They didn't start running immediately.
At first, Theomar walked—long strides, steady pace, eyes always moving. Midarion followed, still stiff from sleep, boots crunching through leaves. The jungle slowly tightened around them, the air growing warmer, heavier.
Then Theomar sped up.
Not suddenly—but relentlessly.
Roots rose like traps. Vines snagged Midarion's ankles. Branches snapped back at his face. Theomar flowed ahead, barely touching the ground, moving from root to rock like water finding its path.
Midarion stumbled, caught himself, laughed breathlessly—and nearly collided with a small herd of long-eared creatures drinking at a stream.
He stopped short, eyes wide.
"They're beautiful," he whispered.
The animals didn't flee. One stepped closer, sniffed his hand, then flicked its ears and returned to the water.
Theomar slowed, watching carefully.
"Huh," he muttered.
Midarion jogged to catch up. "Did you see that?"
"I did," Theomar said. "Animals don't approach just anyone."
Midarion frowned. "Why?"
Theomar glanced back at him. "They recognize pure souls. Or harmless ones. Sometimes both."
Midarion flushed. "I'm not harmless."
Theomar's mouth twitched. "We'll see."
They continued. Midarion kept slowing—not from exhaustion this time, but fascination. Bright-feathered birds landed near him. A vine-creature uncoiled gently as he passed. Even the insects seemed less eager to bite.
By the time the sun climbed higher, Midarion was soaked in sweat, chest burning.
"I'm going to die," he gasped.
"No," Theomar replied calmly. "You'll adapt."
Keel fluttered ahead, clearly thrilled by the chaos.
They finally stopped beneath a colossal tree. Its trunk rose like a tower, its crown swallowed by mist.
Midarion tilted his head back. "Why are we stopping here?"
Theomar pointed upward.
High above, nestled between branches, water shimmered—clear and untouched, gathered in a natural basin.
"Pure water collects there," Theomar said. "No beasts. No decay."
Midarion squinted. "You're joking."
Theomar stepped back. "Climb."
Midarion stared at the bark—smooth, unforgiving, branches spaced far apart.
"That's impossible."
"Correct."
Then Theomar jumped.
He didn't climb—he rose. Feet struck bark, hands caught branches, body twisting with impossible balance. In seconds, he vanished into the leaves.
Midarion stood frozen.
Keel attempted to flap upward, failed, and slid back down with an indignant chirp.
Minutes later, Theomar dropped lightly to the ground, holding a folded leaf brimming with water.
He offered it.
Midarion took it—then immediately knelt and held it to Keel's snout.
"Drink first."
Keel didn't hesitate. He drank greedily, almost two-thirds gone before Midarion gently pulled the leaf back.
Midarion drank the rest, smiling anyway.
Theomar watched him closely.
A slow grin spread across his face.
"When do I learn to do that?" Midarion asked, nodding at the tree.
Theomar looked up. "You try every day. One day, you won't fall."
Midarion blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it."
They ate fruits for breakfast—bright, strange, sharp on the tongue.
Midarion chewed thoughtfully. "This one tastes angry."
Theomar shrugged. "The jungle doesn't care about your feelings."
By midday, they reached a quiet cascade. Water spilled over smooth stone, moss glowing faintly in the filtered light. The air felt calmer here. Older.
"This is where you meditate," Theomar said.
Midarion was amazed by the beauty of the place, and then without a fuss, he sat.
Closed his eyes.
Tried not to think.
Immediately, he thought of everything.
His legs itching. The sound of water. His breathing. His past. His hunger. Keel sneezing.
"This is impossible," he whispered.
Theomar didn't answer.
Minutes passed. Then more.
Midarion opened one eye. Theomar was standing very still, eyes closed, like a statue carved by time.
Midarion sighed and tried again.
Theomar then knelt beside him. "Stop trying to empty your mind."
Midarion opened one eye. "Then what?"
"Anchor it," Theomar said. "Think of the first thing you ever lost."
Midarion's breath caught.
His mother's voice—fading.
"Don't chase the pain," Theomar continued softly. "Let it sit. Let it breathe."
Midarion closed his eyes again.
This time, something settled.
A faint warmth in his chest. Unsteady. Alive.
He didn't control it. He just noticed it.
Not much—but enough.
When he opened his eyes, Theomar was watching.
"You felt it," he said.
"A little," Midarion replied.
"That's enough for today."
Midarion smiled.
Before sunset, after a well-deserved rest, came the hunt.
Midarion knew it was coming. He still wasn't ready.
"We don't hunt at night, never." Theomar said firmly. "Too many things hunt back."
They tracked silently, moving through shadow and moonlight. The jungle changed at night—quieter, heavier.
They found their target near a clearing. A large horned beast, grazing slowly.
Midarion's chest tightened.
"I can't," he whispered.
"You don't have to strike," Theomar said softly. "Just watch."
The attack was swift. Clean. Over faster than Midarion expected.
But not painless.
The animal cried out.
Midarion's breath hitched. Tears spilled before he could stop them. He turned away, hands shaking.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry…"
"Come," Theomar said gently.
They knelt beside the fallen beast.
Theomar placed his palm over his heart. "We pray."
Midarion hesitated, then copied him.
"Before we take life," he said, "we ask the stars to witness. After… we ask them to guide the soul."
The jungle was silent.
Theomar spoke first, voice low.
"Stars above, witness this taking. We do not kill in cruelty, but in need."
Midarion then whispered the words, voice trembling.
"Guide this soul beyond fear. Let it rest among your light."
Midarion repeated the same words again.
The jungle listened.
Something eased in Midarion's chest.
"Your compassion is not weakness," Theomar said.
"It feels like one."
"It's both," he replied. "That's why it matters."
That night, beneath the stars, Midarion leaned back beside the fire.
"I'll climb that tree one day," he said.
Theomar smirked. "That's the spirit."
Keel curled between them.
Day two hadn't broken him.
But it had shaped him.
And the jungle was only beginning.