Fixing Perception.

Eli turned the cigarette pack over in his hands, his golden eyes flicking between the box and Ian, curiosity evident in his gaze.

The lighter was an oddity too, a tiny metallic thing with a mechanism he didn't quite understand. His fingers traced the ridges of the wheel before flicking it open, watching the small flame spring to life.

"What does it do?" he finally asked, his voice low as he observed the flickering light.

Ian exhaled a slow plume of smoke, letting it curl into the cold night air before answering. "Relief." He took another drag. "Escape, maybe." Another puff. "Definitely a bad habit."

Eli hummed, considering that as he finally managed to extract a cigarette from the pack. He studied the slim stick of dried leaves, turning it between his fingers before glancing at Ian.

Imitating his movements, he placed it between his lips and struck the lighter again, bringing the flame to the tip. The paper smoldered, and he took his first experimental inhale.

The result was immediate.

Eli lurched forward, hacking violently as the smoke filled his lungs. His entire body tensed as he coughed uncontrollably, his golden eyes narrowing in irritation as Ian chuckled under his breath.

"Bastard," Eli rasped, his voice rough as he fought to catch his breath.

His glare was sharp, but Ian only shrugged, lips twitching in amusement.

"Should've warned you to take it slow." Ian's smirk widened as he tapped the ash off his cigarette.

Eli scowled, but after another moment, he stubbornly brought the cigarette back to his lips and took a much shallower drag.

This time, he managed to hold in the smoke without choking. He let it out slowly, watching the tendrils disperse into the cold air.

Then, something shifted.

A strange sensation spread through his limbs, a tingling that settled in his fingertips and ran down his spine.

His senses sharpened, the distant crackling of the fire suddenly louder, the scent of burning wood richer. The world around him felt just a bit clearer, like a fog lifting from the edges of his perception.

Eli exhaled, his brows furrowing as he murmured, "What the hell?"

"Great, right?" Ian grinned, watching him with amusement. "Don't get addicted, though. Not like you can find more if you do."

Eli scoffed but didn't argue. He took another slow drag, now more accustomed to the sensation.

Ian sighed, stretching his legs before tossing his nearly finished cigarette to the ground. He crushed it underfoot, the embers snuffing out against the dirt.

"I'm just gonna close my eyes for two minutes," he muttered, leaning back against the log.

Eli didn't respond, only watching as Ian settled into an exhausted slouch.

---

A sharp kick to his ribs ripped Ian from his sleep.

He groaned, curling slightly as pain flared through his side. It wasn't hard enough to break anything, but it sure as hell wasn't gentle.

"It's morning, slave," Eli's voice drawled above him.

Ian cracked an eye open, squinting against the morning light that filtered through the thick trees. His body protested as he sat up, rubbing his face. His clothes were still stiff with dried blood, though his wounds had mostly healed overnight.

He blinked at the sunlight.

"How is that possible? I closed my eyes thirty seconds ago."

Eli snorted. "Just get the hell up." And for good measure, he kicked Ian again.

"Alright, alright!" Ian grumbled, pushing himself to his feet. His limbs felt stiff, the lingering exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. He pulled his tattered cloak tighter, rolling his shoulders as he tried to shake off the sluggishness.

Eli watched him for a moment before speaking. "Your first day of training starts now."

Ian raised a brow.

Eli nodded. "After that fight against the vermin, it's obvious where you're most lacking."

"And that is?"

"Perception."

Ian frowned. "Perception?"

"Yes," Eli confirmed—but his voice came from Ian's left, even though he had been standing a few feet in front of him just a second ago.

Ian jumped back, startled. His eyes darted to where Eli now stood, an amused smirk on his face.

"It doesn't take much speed to blitz your perception," Eli explained. "And that's terrible for a fighter."

Ian let out a breath, rubbing his face.

"Alright, so how do we fix it?"

Eli grinned—a sharp, dangerous expression that immediately put Ian on edge.

"Well," Eli mused, stretching lazily, "I've learned the best way to improve perception is by getting hit."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, getting hit?"

Without answering, Eli nudged a long, sturdy stick with his foot, flipping it up into his hand with practiced ease. He tested the weight of it, spinning it effortlessly before leveling his gaze at Ian.

"Brace yourself," Eli warned, his grip tightening on the stick.

Ian took an uneasy step back, his instincts screaming at him to run.

"This is going to be a painful first lesson."

Then, with a devious smirk, Eli struck.