Chapter 2: Tranning

The training platform swayed gently in the evening wind, like the whole world was breathing.

Marci dropped to one knee, chest heaving, palms pressed to the rough bark. Sweat stung his eyes. Master hadn't said a word about the tardiness just nodded once and pointed to the center circle etched in white chalk.

"Again," the old man said.

Marci groaned but stood. His legs felt like wet rope.

Master circled him slowly. "You treat this like a game. It is not. Everyone carries a Dragon Spirit inside. It sleeps until you wake it. And when it wakes..." He paused, eyes narrowing. "It demands balance."

He extended a hand. A faint shimmer rippled along his arm translucent wings of light unfolding from his shoulders, not solid, but enough to lift him an inch off the planks. The wind caught them, and he hovered.

"Wings are will," Master said, landing softly. "Pure determination. No hesitation. No doubt. You want to move you move. Try."

Marci clenched his fists, pictured leaping the gap between trunks like he'd done a hundred times at school. Nothing. He jumped anyway higher than normal, maybe but landed hard, knees buckling.

"Will alone isn't enough," Master continued. "Legs next. Emotions fuel them. Rage, joy, fear whatever burns hottest. But uncontrolled, they consume you."

He stomped once. The platform trembled; bark cracked under his feet as scaled, ghostly legs shimmered around his own, multiplying his strength. He kicked a training dummy across the circle it splintered against a trunk.

Marci tried. He thought of Kael's stupid jokes, Lira's teasing, Torin's quiet support. Warmth spread through his calves. He lunged faster, stronger but the emotion flickered wild. One leg surged forward while the other lagged; he tripped, face-planting.

Master didn't laugh. "Roar is the weapon. It comes later, when the first three align. A manifestation of your true self blade, claw, flame. Yours will reveal itself when ready."

Marci wiped blood from his lip. "And the Breath?"

"The most important. The Breath of Dragon is control. It binds wings, legs, roar into one. Without it, you are a storm with no direction. Power without mastery destroys everything including yourself."

They drilled for hours.

Marci summoned faint wing-shimmers that collapsed mid-jump, sending him tumbling toward the edge. He caught himself on a vine, heart in his throat, staring down at the endless drop.

He channeled emotion anger at his own clumsiness and his legs exploded with force. He sprinted the circle too fast, overshot, slammed into a trunk. Bark rained down.

"Focus!" Master barked.

"I am!" Marci shouted back, voice cracking. He stood, shaking. "This hurts. Every day. Bruises, falls, feeling like I'm breaking. For what? To jump higher? To fight shadows? I could just... go to school. Laugh with my friends. Talk to her."

Master's expression softened just a fraction. "And when bandits come? When someone you love stands in a blade's path? Will laughter save them?"

Marci looked away. The canopy had gone dark; distant lanterns flickered like stars caught in branches. Fyumi's face flashed in his mind her smile on the ledge that morning.

He exhaled, long and ragged.

Master stepped closer. "The Dragon Spirit isn't a gift. It's a mirror. It shows you who you are when no one watches. Keep training, boy. Or walk away now."

Marci met his eyes. Something shifted small, stubborn. He straightened, ignoring the ache in every muscle.

"Two days," he said quietly, more to himself than Master. "Two days from now... I'll tell Fyumi how I feel. No more waiting. No more almosts."

The wind carried his words upward, into the dark green sea above. Master said nothing. He only nodded once.

And somewhere deep inside Marci, something ancient stirred just a whisper, waiting.