Chapter Twelve: Restless Night
The next morning came faster than I wanted.
"Up," Monroe's voice called from the doorway.
I groaned into my pillow. "Five more minutes."
"You get five more push-ups instead."
That woke me up. I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on my training clothes, and followed him outside. The air was crisp, the ground still damp from dew.
First came the warm-ups—push-ups, squats, lunges, and then a slow jog around the clearing. Monroe watched with his hands in his coat pockets, giving the occasional "lower" or "faster."
Once my muscles were warm, we moved on to Soul Energy drills. I sat cross-legged while Monroe stood in front of me, explaining for what felt like the fiftieth time.
"Control is everything. If your Soul Energy leaks, you're wasting it. If it clumps, you slow down. Even with your trait, you'll be a mess without proper flow."
I nodded, closing my eyes and focusing inward. My energy felt like water under pressure—slippery, unpredictable. I tried to push it evenly into my arms and legs. At first, it worked. Then my left arm got too much and started tingling.
"You're overloading the left," Monroe said.
"Yeah, I can feel that."
"Then stop doing it."
I opened my eyes to glare at him. "You make it sound so easy."
"It is. For me."
"Thanks. That's very encouraging."
Monroe smirked. "You're welcome."
We went on like that for an hour—me trying, him pointing out what was wrong in the most straightforward way possible. Eventually, we moved to sparring.
This time, I didn't rush in like before. I circled him, keeping my staff up, and waited for him to make a move.
"You're stalling," he said.
"I'm thinking."
"Thinking is fine. Thinking too much gets you hit."
Then he moved. One second he was standing there, the next his palm was inches from my chest. I twisted my staff down, blocked, and immediately countered with a sweep.
He stepped over it. Again.
I knew what was coming—his little tap-to-throw-me-off trick—so I jumped back before he could reach. He actually raised an eyebrow at that.
"Better," he said.
I pushed forward, keeping my energy focused in my legs for speed. My swings weren't random now. I aimed for his hands, his knees, his side—places that could mess up his stance.
For a moment, I thought I might actually land a clean hit.
Then his hand flicked out and caught the staff mid-swing.
Not again.
I tried pulling it back. He let go immediately, and the force sent me stumbling. Before I could regain my footing, his foot touched the side of my staff, kicked it up, and the weapon flew from my hands.
"You still lose your balance too easily," Monroe said.
"I was doing better this time!"
"You were. And then you weren't."
I sighed, going to retrieve the staff. "One day, you won't be able to pull that grab move on me."
"One day, maybe."
We kept going until my arms felt like stone and my legs refused to move without complaint. When Monroe finally called a stop, I collapsed onto the floor of the dojo.
"Drink water," he said, tossing me a bottle.
"You sure you're not trying to kill me slowly?"
"If I was trying to kill you, you'd already be dead."
"…Fair."
---
That evening, I trained alone in the clearing. Monroe had gone into town for something—he didn't say what. I stuck to basic drills, practicing my footwork and keeping my Soul Energy balanced while moving.
It wasn't easy. The moment I tried to speed up, my control slipped. But I kept at it, repeating the same steps over and over.
I was starting to get into a rhythm when I noticed how quiet it had gotten.
The usual chirping of insects had stopped. No rustling in the trees. Even the wind seemed to have gone still.
I told myself it was nothing. Probably just my imagination.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling.
The shadows between the trees felt darker than usual. My eyes kept flicking toward them between swings of my staff.
When I finally stopped to catch my breath, I thought I heard something.
A faint, distant crack.
Like a branch snapping.
I turned toward the sound, squinting into the treeline. Nothing moved.
"Relax," I muttered to myself, trying to focus again. "Just keep training."
But my grip on the staff tightened anyway.
---
Later that night, I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Monroe still hadn't come back. He'd disappeared before, but for some reason, this time felt different.
I kept thinking about the silence earlier in the forest. The way it felt like something was… watching.
Eventually, I closed my eyes, telling myself it was fine.
Somewhere far off, a dog barked.
Then, just barely audible through the walls, came a low, rumbling sound.
Not thunder.
Something else.
And just like that, sleep didn't seem likely anymore.
—