Chapter 22 – The First Dawn of Training
The sun had not yet risen when Phoenix was rudely yanked out of bed.
One moment, he was in the middle of a dream where he was enjoying a mountain-sized cake while being fanned by two wyverns in butler suits…
The next, he was dangling upside down in the cold morning air, gripped by the ankle like a sack of grain.
"Good," Valeria's calm voice said above him. "You're awake."
Phoenix flailed. "Awake?! I'm upside down!"
"You'll survive." She adjusted her grip and carried him like a captured rabbit through the palace corridors, her expression unbothered by his protests. "Training starts before the sun, little brother. That means you rise when I rise."
"I didn't even get breakfast!" Phoenix groaned.
"You'll eat once you've earned it."
---
The Arena
By the time they reached the eastern arena, the pale light of dawn was spilling over the mountains. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of snow from peaks far above.
The arena floor was empty except for two wooden practice dummies, a rack of training weapons, and a large basin of icy water.
Valeria finally set him down, and Phoenix wobbled on his feet, rubbing his ankle.
"Step one," she said, tossing him a short wooden blade. "You will learn the foundation of every fight — footwork. Without it, all the strength in the world is useless."
Phoenix groaned. "I thought you were going to teach me how to, you know… stab people."
"You will learn to stab when you can move. Until then, you will walk, run, and pivot until your legs scream for mercy."
---
Lesson One – The Endless Circles
Valeria drew a perfect white circle in the dirt with the tip of her sword. "Stand inside. Your goal is to move without ever letting your feet cross the circle's edge. Forward, backward, sideways — never leaving the boundary. If you step out, we start over."
"That's… it?" Phoenix asked skeptically.
"That's it," she confirmed. "For six hours."
Phoenix's jaw dropped. "SIX HOURS?!"
"Would you like to make it twelve?"
He quickly shut his mouth.
---
The first hour was deceptively easy — a shuffle here, a pivot there. Phoenix even started humming to himself.
By hour two, his calves burned. By hour three, his thighs joined the rebellion.
By hour four, every step felt like walking through molten lead.
"Your wings are drooping," Valeria noted without looking up from sharpening her blade.
"Because I'm DYING," Phoenix panted.
"You're barely sweating. Stop complaining."
By hour six, Phoenix's movements were sloppy, his footwork a mess. His toes crossed the circle line for the hundredth time, and Valeria's voice cut through the air like a whip.
"Start over."
Phoenix's soul left his body for a moment.
---
Lesson Two – The Basin of Doom
Finally, Valeria called a halt. Phoenix collapsed onto the dirt, limbs trembling.
"Good," she said, though her tone suggested he had barely scraped by. "Now, the next step: control."
She pointed to the large basin of icy water. "You will strike the surface exactly one hundred times with the tip of your sword. Each strike must hit the exact same spot — no more than the width of a coin off."
Phoenix peered at the basin. "That's not so bad—"
"While holding your breath underwater," she finished.
Phoenix's eyes widened. "That's… cruel."
"That's training."
---
He knelt by the basin, took a deep breath, and plunged his head into the freezing water. His entire body jolted at the cold, and before he could think, his sword shot forward — splash! The first strike landed… slightly off-center.
Above the water, Valeria's voice was calm and unforgiving. "That's one failure. You will start from one again every time you miss."
Phoenix resurfaced, sputtering. "You're trying to kill me!"
"I'm trying to make you worth the time I'm wasting."
He groaned, dunked his head again, and started over. Strike after strike, he fought both the cold and the urge to breathe. His arms ached, his lungs burned, but slowly, his accuracy improved. By the time he finished all one hundred in a row, his fingers were numb and his teeth were chattering.
---
Break? What Break?
"Good. Now we spar," Valeria said immediately.
Phoenix stared at her. "Spar?! I can't even feel my legs!"
"Then you'll learn to fight without them."
The next half-hour was a blur of humiliation. Every attempt he made to strike her was deflected with effortless precision. She barely moved — just small, economical steps, her sword flicking out to tap him on the head, chest, or wrist whenever he left an opening.
Each tap stung more than it should have. Not because of the pain, but because she never even looked like she was trying.
By the end, Phoenix was flat on his back, staring at the sky, wondering if he could just sleep there until next year.
---
A Small Victory
As Valeria turned to leave, Phoenix suddenly rolled to his side, grabbed a handful of dirt, and tossed it toward her face.
It wasn't much — just a petty, tired move. But for a heartbeat, her eyes widened in mild surprise.
Phoenix lunged with the wooden sword, stopping just short of her chest.
Valeria looked down at the blade, then at him. For a moment, there was silence.
Then, she smirked. "Improvisation. Finally."
Phoenix, panting, managed a faint grin. "Does this mean I get breakfast now?"
"Yes. But tomorrow," she said, turning away, "we start twice as early."
Phoenix groaned into the dirt. "I'm definitely doomed."