The sun hadn't even cleared the trees when Toren woke me up. He didn't use a bell or a shout. He just dropped a heavy pile of clothes on my chest.
"Up," he grunted. "Dren doesn't like waiting."
I groaned, rolling out of the warm blankets. The Hollow inside my chest gave a hungry lurch, demanding breakfast. I reached out with my mind, pulling a little bit of heat from the dying coals in the fireplace. The cold vanished, replaced by that familiar, buzzing warmth under my skin.
I was eight years old.
In my old life, eight-year-olds watched cartoons. In Verdwood, eight-year-olds learned how to hold a sword so they didn't cut their own toes off.
I dressed quickly in the scratchy cotton tunic and pants. I tied my belt and checked myself in the metal plate by the door.
I looked like a kid. Scrawny, pale, messy hair. But I didn't feel like a kid. My grip on the doorframe was tight. My legs felt springy, like they wanted to jump. The Curse—the thing Toren called "The Hollow"—was changing me. It wasn't just keeping me warm anymore; it was making me tough.
"Ready?" Toren asked from the doorway. He was holding two wooden practice swords.
"Ready," I said.
We walked up the hill in silence. The village was waking up below us, smoke curling from the chimneys.
Master Dren's dojo wasn't a building. It was just a flat patch of dirt at the top of the hill, surrounded by old pine trees. A small hut sat to one side, smelling of strong tea and old oil.
Kaela was already there. She was bouncing on her toes, swinging a stick at a pinecone. She looked like a little fire, red hair wild, eyes bright.
Lysara was there too, sitting on a rock, looking miserable. She was hugging her slate like a shield.
"He's going to make us run," Lysara mumbled as I walked up. "I heard the older kids talking. Running until you throw up."
"Good morning to you too," I said.
"Line up!"
The voice sounded like rocks grinding together. Master Dren stepped out of the hut.
He was old. Not weak-old, but like an old tree root—gnarled and tough. He wore loose grey robes and leaned on a wooden staff that was smooth from years of use. One of his eyes was white and blind, but the other one was sharp as a hawk's.
"Get in line," Dren ordered.
We scrambled into a line. Me, Kaela, Lysara, and about ten other village kids. Jaron was there, of course. He was twelve now, big and beefy, standing at the end like he owned the hill. He smirked at me.
"Fresh meat," Jaron whispered.
"Quiet," Dren snapped, without even looking at him. "You are here because your parents want you strong. I am here to see if you are worth the time. Run."
He pointed his staff at the trail that looped around the ridge.
"Ten laps. Go."
Kaela took off like a shot. She wanted to win. Jaron and the big kids thundered after her.
I started to run.
I expected it to be hard. I remembered running in my old life—the burning lungs, the heavy legs, the need to stop. I paced myself, keeping my breath steady.
Lap one. Easy.
Lap two. The other kids were starting to huff. Lysara was trailing behind, her face bright purple.
Lap three. Jaron was sweating hard, his big body struggling on the uphill part.
I waited to get tired. I waited for my legs to burn.
It didn't happen.
The Hollow inside me was humming. Every time my foot hit the ground, I felt a little bounce. It was like I was made of rubber. The faster I ran, the warmer I got. The warmer I got, the more energy the Hollow fed back to me.
I wasn't getting tired. I was getting charged up.
By lap five, I was passing the older kids. I wasn't trying to show off; I just felt... good. I felt like I could run all day.
"Hey!" Jaron wheezed as I breezed past him. "Slow down, runt!"
I ignored him. I focused on breathing. In, out. The air tasted sweet. The Silver Seam—the magic threads I saw everywhere—seemed to glow brighter as my blood pumped faster.
I finished the ten laps without breaking a sweat. Kaela finished right behind me, gasping for air, hands on her knees.
"You..." she panted, grinning. "You cheated. You... used... magic."
"Just running," I said, trying to fake being out of breath so I wouldn't look weird. I bent over, huffing a little. "So... tired."
Master Dren was watching me. His good eye tracked my chest, noting that I wasn't heaving like the others. He tapped his staff on the ground.
"Water," he said. "Then swords."
We drank from the rain barrel. Lysara collapsed onto the grass.
"I hate this," she whispered. "My legs are jelly. Why do we need to run to learn magic?"
"Can't cast spells if you're dead," Kaela said cheerfully, splashing water on her face. "Swords! Finally!"
Dren handed out the wooden swords. They were heavy, made of dense ironwood.
"Pair off," Dren ordered. "Spar. First to land a clean hit to the chest wins. No head shots. No crying."
Kaela immediately paired with a boy named Thom. Within ten seconds, Thom was on the ground, and Kaela was standing over him, sword raised.
"Dead!" she cheered.
I looked around. Most of the kids were paired up.
A shadow fell over me.
"Ren," Jaron said. He slapped his wooden sword into his palm. "Let's go."
He was four years older, a foot taller, and twice my weight. He had a mean grin that said he remembered the coal bucket from three years ago.
"Sure," I said.
We circled each other on the hard dirt. The other kids stopped to watch. It wasn't a fair fight.
Jaron didn't bother with fancy moves. He just charged.
He raised his sword high, gripping it with both hands like an axe. He yelled—a loud roar to scare me—and swung down with everything he had.
In my old life, I would have flinched. I would have closed my eyes and waited for it to hurt.
But this wasn't my old life.
I saw Jaron's muscles tighten before he moved. I saw him lean forward on his toes. I saw the line of his swing before it happened.
He was heavy. He was putting everything into a downward chop. If he missed, he would fall forward.
Step left, my brain said.
I stepped left.
It was a small movement. Easy.
Jaron's sword slammed into the ground right where I had been standing. THUD. Dust puffed up.
Jaron stumbled, his weight carrying him forward.
I looked at his open side. I could have hit him. I could have ended it right there.
But I waited.
Don't show off, Miren's voice echoed in my head. Hide it.
If I beat him too easily, Dren would see.
I held back my swing.
Jaron recovered. He spun around, face red with anger. "Stand still!"
He swung again. This time, it was a sideways slash. It was wild, sloppy, but fast.
I tried to block it. I brought my sword up.
CRACK.
Our wooden blades hit. The force of his swing was huge. I felt the rattle travel down my arms to my teeth.
But my arms didn't buckle.
That was the surprise. Jaron was strong, but I... I was sturdy. It felt like my bones were made of rock. I held the block, my feet rooted to the ground.
Jaron's eyes went wide. He had expected to knock the sword out of my hands. Instead, he had hit a wall.
He grunted and pushed, trying to shove me over.
We were locked together, swords crossed, faces inches apart.
"You're strong for a bug," Jaron hissed.
"You're heavy," I grunted back.
He shoved me. I stumbled back a step.
He took the opening. He swung low, aiming for my leg.
I saw it coming. The line was obvious. But I was still getting my feet back under me. I couldn't dodge this one.
Take it, my gut said.
I tightened my leg muscles. I turned my thigh to take the hit.
WHACK.
The wooden sword hit my thigh. Hard.
It should have hurt. It should have been a dead leg, a bruise that lasted for weeks.
Instead, it just felt... dull. A thud. [cite_start]Like someone had tapped me with a finger[cite: 5060, 5061].
The pain didn't come. The Hollow inside me seemed to eat the hit, spreading the shock through my body instantly.
I didn't fall. I didn't even limp.
Jaron froze. He looked at his sword, then at my leg. He knew how hard he had hit me. He expected me to be on the ground crying.
I looked at him. I saw the confusion in his eyes.
Now.
I stepped in. I didn't use a fancy sword trick. [cite_start]I used what I saw[cite: 5063].
Jaron was leaning back, surprised that I was still standing. His weight was on his heels. His toes were light.
I dropped my sword. I didn't need it.
I stepped inside his swing. I hooked my foot behind his ankle. And I pushed his chest.
It was a gentle push. But because he was already leaning back, it worked perfectly.
Jaron's feet went out from under him. His arms flailed.
WHUMP.
[cite_start]He hit the dirt on his back, the wind knocked out of him[cite: 5064].
I stood over him, my hands empty.
Silence fell over the dojo. Even Kaela had stopped cheering.
I reached down and offered Jaron a hand.
"Good match," I said, trying to sound like I was out of breath.
Jaron stared at my hand. Then he slapped it away and scrambled up, face burning purple. He didn't say anything. He just stomped off to the back of the line, refusing to look at anyone.
"Ren Amaki."
Master Dren's voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a knife.
"Here," I said, turning to face him.
Dren curled a finger at me. "With me."
He turned and walked into the hut.
I swallowed hard. I looked at Kaela. She gave me a thumbs up. Lysara looked worried.
I followed Dren.
The hut was dark and smelled of drying herbs. Dren sat on a mat, placing his staff across his knees. He pointed for me to sit.
I sat.
Dren looked at me with his one good eye. It felt like he was looking right through my skin.
"Show me your leg," he said.
I pulled up my pant leg.
There was a red mark where Jaron had hit me. But it was fading already. No swelling. No purple bruise.
Dren nodded, like he expected it.
"He hit you hard enough to crack bone," Dren said. "And you didn't even flinch."
"I... I have thick skin?" I tried.
Dren snorted. "You have something. But it's not skin."
He leaned forward. "I watched you run. You didn't get tired. I watched you fight. You saw him move before he moved. You saw where his weight was."
He tapped his own temple. [cite_start]"You fight with your eyes, boy. And you fight with your blood"[cite: 5065, 5066].
My heart hammered. He knew.
"Are you going to tell my father?" I asked.
"Toren knows," Dren said. "Why do you think he brought you here? He knows you're... different. He wants you to learn how to control it so you don't hurt yourself. Or someone else."
Dren reached out and poked my chest, right over the Hollow.
"There is a fire in you," Dren murmured. "Or maybe a hole. I can feel it from here. It eats energy."
He pulled his hand back.
"I don't care what you are, Ren. I don't care if you're Blessed, Cursed, or something the Void spit back out."
He picked up a cup of tea and took a sip.
"I care about discipline. You have power. Power makes people stupid. It makes them lazy. Jaron is strong, so he is lazy. He thinks he can smash his way through life."
Dren fixed me with his hawk eye.
"You are strong too. Stronger than him, maybe. If you rely on that strength... if you rely on that thing inside you to soak up the hits... you will die. Because someday, you will meet someone stronger. Or someone with a sharp blade instead of a wooden one."
He set the cup down.
"You won today because you saw his balance. Because you were smart. Keep doing that. Don't let the power make you lazy."
I nodded slowly. "Yes, Master."
"Good. Now get out. Run five more laps. You were sloppy on the third one."
I stood up and bowed. I walked to the door.
"Ren," Dren called out.
I turned.
"Next time," he said, a little sparkle in his eye, "hit him back. Being humble is good. But letting a bully think he broke you is bad tactics."
I grinned. "Yes, sir."
I ran out of the hut. The sun was fully up now, shining on the trees. The Silver Seam danced in the leaves.
I ran my laps. I felt the Hollow humming, feeding me strength.
I wasn't just a smart kid anymore. I was a fighter. And for the first time, I felt like I could actually survive this world.
Kaela fell in step beside me on the second lap.
"What did he say?" she asked, out of breath. "Are you in trouble?"
"No," I said, feeling the wind on my face. "He just told me to stop holding back."
Kaela laughed, a wild, happy sound. "Finally! I'm going to hit you so hard tomorrow."
"You can try," I said.
And I ran faster, leaving the dust behind.