Date: May 25, 541 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Dawn over Ligra was cold and gray. For Dur and Maël, the luxury of the Agrim estate ended as abruptly as it had begun. At five in the morning, Divilla was already waiting for them on the training ground. In her hands were no weapons—only two pairs of heavy, dully gleaming lead plates with leather straps.
"Today and for the next week, you will forget about Spirits and techniques," her voice, usually melodic, now sounded like the clang of steel. "Maël, your Spirit is a parasite on a body with weak Energy. Dur, your Vessel is sturdy, but its volume is laughable. To build a tower to the heavens, you need a foundation of granite, not sand."
She ordered them to fasten the plates to their ankles. The weight of each was enormous—about twenty kilograms. Just standing became a trial, but Divilla merely pointed towards the steep slopes, overgrown with thorny bushes, surrounding the city.
"Run. Until noon. If I see either of you walking, I'll add another plate each. And remember: no Energy to ease the weight. Only muscles. Only bones."
The first hour was tolerable. But soon their lungs began to burn, and their legs turned into cast-iron pillars. Dur, accustomed to forest treks, held up better, but even his endurance was melting. Every movement caused a dull pain. The lead plates rubbed their skin raw, and sweat stung their eyes, making the path slippery and dangerous.
Maël looked worse. His aristocratic pallor had given way to an unhealthy flush, his breathing a wheezing whistle. Several times he stumbled, nearly tumbling down, but each time he felt the cold, appraising gaze of Divilla, who followed them easily, weightlessly, without shedding a drop of sweat.
"Energy is water," she said, when they reached the top of another hill, not giving them a second to rest. "And your body is a jug. If the jug cracks from simple running, how do you intend to hold an ocean inside it? Dur, you think the path of the Vessel is just to be strong? No. It means being so dense that the Energy within you begins to change its structure, turning from steam into liquid steel."
By midday, the world for Dur had narrowed to the next step. He stopped feeling his feet. Every breath came with difficulty, his ribcage seemed constricted by iron hoops. His forest experience told him he was nearing his limit, but the oath given at the Old Pine pounded in his head like a tocsin. "The weak won't build a Better World," he repeated to himself, clawing at the ground on a steep incline.
Divilla stopped them only when the sun was at its zenith. Maël simply collapsed to his knees, his arms trembling. Dur stood, swaying, his face a mask of mud and sweat.
"This is only the beginning," Divilla remarked coldly. "In the evening, you will lift boulders. And tomorrow—running again. Your body must understand: either it becomes stronger, or it dies. There is no third option in the Agrim Family."
That evening, lying on the hard floor and listening to the distant howl of the wind, Dur touched his solar plexus. He didn't use his power, but he felt the Energy within him, usually calm, now pulsing, as if trying to heal the micro-tears in his muscles. The foundation was being laid—through pain, sweat, and the total denial of weakness.
After a short break, during which they were allowed only a few sips of warm water mixed with a bitter restorative infusion, the training moved to a deep, rocky ravine behind the estate. There was no shade here, only sun-scorched rocks and stagnant, heavy air.
Divilla stood on the edge of the cliff, looking down at Dur and Maël approaching two massive boulders. These stones weren't smooth; their sharp edges promised to dig into flesh, and the weight of each exceeded one hundred kilograms.
"Your task is simple," her voice echoed through the ravine, bouncing off the rocks. "Lift the stone above your head. Hold it until I allow you to lower it. If the stone falls earlier—both of you start the exercise again. Ten sets."
Dur approached his boulder. He felt the muscles in his thighs trembling after the morning run, his back aching. He squatted, embracing the rough, dusty granite. The skin on his palms, already calloused, protested at the touch. The young man took a deep breath, filling his lungs to the limit, and heaved the weight upward.
At first, the stone yielded heavily, as if the earth itself didn't want to let it go. Dur growled, straightening his back. The weight pressed on his spine, making his joints crack. When the boulder reached chest level, the most difficult moment came—the shift and the push upward. At that instant, the Energy within him instinctively surged towards his hands, wanting to ease the suffering, but Dur, remembering Divilla's order, suppressed the impulse with an effort of will. He had to manage on his own. Only flesh. Only bones.
Beside him, Maël, teeth clenched until they ground, also lifted his boulder. His hands, unaccustomed to such crude labor, trembled finely. Streams of sweat ran down the Agrim heir's face, leaving tracks on his dusty skin.
"Hold it," Divilla commanded coldly. "Feel the weight sinking into your feet. Feel your bones becoming denser under this pressure. Energy is not something you summon from without. It is something born in response to the world's resistance. If your body doesn't learn to resist gravity, it will never be able to control higher-order Energy."
The minutes stretched into an eternity. For Dur, time lost meaning. There was only the weight, the scorching sun, and the flies buzzing around his face, which he couldn't shoo away. Blood from his scraped shoulders soaked his shirt, making it sticky. The stone seemed like a living being, trying with all its might to crush him, to press him into the ground.
"Why..." Maël rasped, barely holding his boulder, which had begun to tilt slowly to one side. "Why no Energy?.."
"Because you're used to using Energy as a crutch!" Divilla cut him off, instantly appearing beside him. Her gaze was sharper than any blade. "You patch the holes in your preparation with magical power. But on the Eastern Frontier, under Valtorn's pressure, your Spirit might fail. Energy can run out. And then only you will remain. If your foundation is rotten—you'll die in the first second."
On the sixth set, Maël couldn't hold on. His arms gave way, and the huge stone crashed into the dust with a roar, nearly crushing the young man's feet. Maël fell after it, gasping for air.
Dur, whose stone was still raised, looked at his friend. His own hands were numb, black spots swimming before his eyes. According to the rule, he was supposed to lower the stone and start all over again with Maël. But Dur didn't lower it. He kept standing, staring into emptiness. At that moment, something inside him changed. The fear of failure that had always haunted him in the orphanage was replaced by a cold, stony fury. It was fury at his own weakness.
"Get up, Maël," Dur uttered hollowly. His voice didn't sound human; it was the grinding of stone against stone.
Maël raised his head, saw his friend's unwavering figure, and, clenching his teeth, got up. Without another word, he grasped his boulder again. Divilla watched this in silence, and in the depths of her eyes, for a moment, something resembling approval flickered, which she immediately hid behind a mask of indifference.
When the last, tenth set was completed, the sun had already disappeared behind the horizon, painting the sky the color of dried blood. The heroes stood in the ravine, unable to move even a finger. Their arms hung like limp ropes, their fingers convulsively curled.
"Enough for today," Divilla said, jumping down into the ravine. She approached Dur and touched his shoulder. The young man flinched—her fingers were icy, despite the heat. "Tomorrow we will repeat this. And the day after. Until your bodies stop protesting and accept this weight as part of themselves."
She turned and walked towards the estate, throwing over her shoulder: "Dinner in the dining hall. Don't be late. Those who don't eat, don't recover. Those who don't recover—die."
Dur and Maël sat in the darkening ravine for a long time. The silence was broken only by their heavy, labored breathing.
"She's insane..." Maël whispered, looking at his bloody palms. "My father... he always said Divilla was the most effective teacher in the Family. Now I understand what he meant."
Dur said nothing. He looked at his hands and felt something strange. Despite the monstrous fatigue and pain, somewhere deep in his muscles, in his very bones, he felt a strange itch. Energy, deprived of the chance to manifest externally, had begun to slowly, drop by drop, soak into his flesh, strengthening the fibers, making them denser. The Vessel Koh spoke of was beginning to expand. But the price of this expansion was high.
That evening, they ate in silence, barely able to hold their spoons. In the Agrim estate's dining hall, it was quiet, but this silence was not peaceful. It was the silence before the storm. Dur knew that tomorrow would be even worse. But he also knew that for the first time in his life, he had ceased to be a victim of circumstance. Now he chose his own pain. And this pain led him towards the strength capable of protecting those who remained in his heart.
Lying down on the hard bed, Dur thought one last time before sleep of Kaedan, Ulvia, and Ghill. "Where are you now? Do you feel the same?" flashed through his fading consciousness. Sleep came instantly, heavy and dreamless, as if he himself had turned into one of those boulders he had lifted all day.