Chapter 19: The Forging Of A Warrior

"Seven hundred and ninety-seven... seven hundred and ninety-eight... seven hundred and ninety-nine... eight hundred."

Each count tore from Erin's throat like gravel, his voice deeper now, rougher than it had been twenty days ago. He rose from the dirt in one fluid motion, his transformed body casting a long shadow across the training ground. Dust cascaded from his palms as he slapped them together, the sound sharp in the morning air. 

The boulder before him—once an immovable opponent—now seemed almost small beneath his hands. His fingers curled against the rough stone, his forearms flexing with new, dense muscle that hadn't existed before. Veins snaked beneath sun-bronzed skin, pulsing with power as he braced himself. 

Then—he pushed.

The boulder rolled forward effortlessly, grinding across the earth until it thudded against the marker. No strain. No scream. Just motion.

"Hmph." 

Noah's grunt came from somewhere behind him, muffled by the ever-present sleeping bag. But Erin didn't turn. He didn't need to. He already knew what Noah would see. 

Twenty days.

Twenty days of agony. Twenty days of blood, sweat, and broken limits. 

And the proof was etched into every inch of him. 

His once-slender frame had filled out, his shoulders broad and thick, his chest a solid wall of muscle beneath his sweat-soaked shirt. His arms—once wiry and weak—now carried the definition of a seasoned warrior, biceps and triceps standing in stark relief even at rest. His legs, no longer stick-thin, were corded with the hard lines of quadriceps and hamstrings, capable of explosive power. 

Even his stance had changed. 

He stood taller. Firmer. Unshakable. 

A man reborn in the crucible of Noah's merciless training. 

Without pause, Erin snatched up the buckets and moved.

His strides ate up the distance between the clearing and the river, his body a machine honed to brutal efficiency. The sun hadn't even reached its zenith before he'd completed a hundred trips to the base—water sloshing, muscles burning, but never breaking. 

Then—the tree. 

The same damn tree that had laughed at his punches weeks ago. 

Erin didn't hesitate. His fist cracked against the bark, the impact reverberating through the forest. 

The tree stood unmoved. 

Erin didn't flinch. 

Again. 

THUD.

Again. 

THUD. 

Again. 

THUD.

The vibrations of his strikes traveled through the earth, reaching Noah where he lay, the tremors strong enough to rattle the ground beneath his sleeping bag. 

Noah's eyes snapped open. 

Not from the pain—Erin's fists had long since calloused beyond that—but from something else. 

Recognition.

"Erin."

The name cut through the rhythm of punches like a blade. 

Erin froze, fist still raised, his breathing steady despite the hundreds of strikes already delivered. 

Noah sat up slowly, the sleeping bag peeling away from him like a second skin. His eyes—sharp, awake, calculating—locked onto Erin. 

"New exercise,"

Two words. 

That's all it took. 

Erin's lips curled into a grin. 

The real training was about to begin. 

***

The forest was silent, save for the distant rustle of leaves and the steady rhythm of Erin's breathing. He stood before the ancient oak, its bark scarred from countless punches, its branches swaying gently in the evening breeze. Noah stood beside him, his usual sleepy demeanor replaced with an uncharacteristic intensity. 

Noah announced, his voice low and deliberate. "Breathing."

Erin blinked. Then his lips twitched. "Breathing? Seriously? That's the new exercise?" He gestured to himself, his chest rising and falling. "Pretty sure I've got that covered."

Noah's eyes narrowed. "Dummy," he muttered, shaking his head. "Not that kind of breathing. A relaxed one. The kind that lets energy users boost their strength."

Erin's smirk faded. "Energy users? Boost strengths?" 

Noah crossed his arms, his gaze piercing. "People born without magic, but who can channel their energy to enhance their strength. And you—" He jabbed a finger at Erin's chest. "—are one of the lucky few."

Erin's breath hitched. His heart pounded, not from exertion, but from the sudden realization of what this meant. "You mean… I can do that? Like, actually use energy?"

Noah's lips curled into a rare, knowing smile. "If you learn to breathe right." 

Erin's fists clenched. "Teach me. Now."

The world seemed to hold its breath as Erin faced the tree once more. Noah's voice, usually lazy and indifferent, now carried a weight of wisdom that commanded attention. 

"Close your eyes," Noah instructed. "Take a deep breath. Again. Again." 

Erin obeyed, his chest expanding with each inhale, his body settling into a rhythm. The forest faded around him, the sounds of rustling leaves and distant birds melting into the background. 

"Picture your energy," Noah continued, his voice a steady anchor. "Gathering in your core."

Erin's brow furrowed. His eyes flew open. "Wait—what's a core?"

Noah sighed, rubbing his temples. "Just—just imagine it pooling in your center. Your gut. Your strength*." 

Erin nodded, shutting his eyes again. He visualized it—a swirling mass of energy, glowing and pulsing deep within him. 

"Good," Noah murmured. "Now, as you hold your breath, let that energy spread. To your arms. Your legs. Every muscle."

Erin could almost feel it—the warmth seeping into his limbs, his veins alight with power. 

"Nlw, Exhale," Noah commanded. "Let go of tension. Of weakness. Make room for strength."

A slow breath escaped Erin's lips. And then— 

Strike!.

His fist slammed into the tree. 

The trunk shuddered. Not a crack, not a split—but the leaves. Every single one trembled, then detached, raining down around him in a silent cascade. 

For a moment, there was only stillness. 

Then— 

"HA!" Erin's laughter burst forth, wild and triumphant. He stared at his fist, then at the bare branches above. "Did you see that?!"

Noah's smile was small but unmistakable. "Not bad. For a first try."

Erin's grin could have lit up the forest. "I did it!"

Noah nodded, his expression shifting back to its usual lazy indifference. "You'll need more practice. A lot more. But—" He glanced at the darkening sky. "—for today, it's enough."

Erin didn't argue. He snatched up the buckets, his body thrumming with newfound energy, and took off toward the base at a sprint. 

Noah watched him go, the ghost of a smile still lingering. 

"Not bad at all."