The short month that passed would come to be one of Mahon’s most cherished memories. Up to now, Mahon had been passive most of his time. He had to train to get back to a decent physical level. He had to adapt to a new world after having spent decades in Nightmare. He had to run after Fada cultists in endless patrols. He had to endure bad treatment from arrogant nobles.

But, in the last weeks, everything had been different. He performed the 12 Steps of the Lance. In Ratho. With the help of Zac, they infiltrated the Fada cult, actively looking for ways to destroy them from within. His body became stronger than ever and he steamrolled every single training session Slander concocted. The interminable gainage or running specialized lessons were just forgotten memories.

Evenings spent outside with Zac, wondering what Tiarsus would do to them today, had turned into peaceful nights with Zac and Ash, practicing music and laughing happily. Meaningless patrols were no more, supplanted by Zac’s lessons about nobles and infiltration time, gathering information and trust from the cult.

And with his experience with patrolling, Mahon had no trouble acting like a city guard to scare potential recruits. In fact, it was even in his own interest that he scared most people so the cult wouldn’t grow too fast. Far from the nobles and their plots, or the cultists and their murders, he enjoyed his simple and peaceful life.

Every single day, Mahon felt more at ease. He was back in control, free to do what he wanted. Free to move on, unimpeded.

“Only three more! Don’t you dare to stop now, you snail!”

As always, Mahon ignored Slander’s incessant screaming beside his ears. Instead, he focused on the path ahead of him.

Three more laps.

In the past month, he had never managed to complete Slander’s finisher exercise. He got close the whole week, each time reaching the last lap. But it was too much of a toll on his body. It had been seven months since he came back from Nightmare. From a crippled boy, he had trained into a well-shaped man, but that wasn’t enough compared to most of the other students.

Zac had trained for years before being accepted into the Pine Hill Officer Institute. People like Jorik had probably trained for even more. It was impossible to close such a gap in seven months. But Mahon had other assets. Nightmare had turned him into a monster of efficiency. Every single one of his moves was perfectly executed, with the minimum amount of energy.

Because of that, he could compete with people with twice his strength and endurance. Still, it seemed it was not yet enough to complete the twenty laps at the end of an intensive training session. The gap was too wide. Unless he found a way to be even more efficient. And Mahon knew one such way. If only he could use it while running.

“Go on, mollusk! Don’t slow down! My grandma could move faster than you right now, and she uses canes!”

It was hard to ignore Slander’s incessant insults completely. His muscles protested from the training they had been put through just before. His breathing was ragged from the previous fights and seventeen laps of running.

Mahon refocused on his body. He felt the ground under his feet resist his push. He felt his thigh’s muscles contract, fighting to extend his leg and propel him forward. His arm went forward too, helping to jump as far as possible. He felt the shock through his entire body as his other leg absorbed the impact. It then started to contract, and the cycle started again. One more step.

Push. Extend. Jump. Shock. Resist.

Push. Extend. Jump. Shock. Resist. Another step forward.

Push. Extend. Jump…

The cycle went on and on endlessly. Mahon lost himself inside the process. He could almost hear the melody of his body running. Push. His muscles screamed as his heart pumped all the blood he could. Extend. His joints softly clacked at maximal extension, reaching their physical limit. Jump. The whistling of his body cleaving through the wind. Shock. The thud of his foot on the hard soil. Resist. The squeaking noise of his bones struggling to absorb his momentum.

Scream. Clack. Whistle. Thud. Squeak.

Scream. Clack. Whistle. Thud. Squeak. Another step forward.

Scream. Clack. Whistle…

A melody he had heard thousands of times already. A melody he could almost draw the underlying rhythm. Almost. He had tried before, but it had not worked. Something was missing. A subtle detail…

“But, run! Are you trying to change into a tortoise, by the Fada? Are you a man? Just fucking run!”

Mahon clenched his jaw in anger. Every time he was close to grasping what was missing, Slander’s constant flood prevented him from enlightenment. Desperately trying to ignore the instructor again, Mahon focused back on the melody.

Push. Extend. Jump. Shock. Resist.

Scream. Clack. Whistle. Thud. Squeak.

It’s right there…

“By Fada’s sake!”

Fuck you! Why would you mess with me every single time?

Mahon’s parasite thought almost made him fall. He stumbled for his balance, losing a precious energy needed to finish the twenty laps.

“Two more laps, mollusk! Will you finally start running?”

Mahon’s eyes flashed with anger. If not for Slander, he would have found the rhythm way sooner. Why would the instructor run with him every time he was close to success? Did he find some guilty pleasure to speak every single time the rhythm was at his fingertips?

Wait. Every single time?

Push. Extend. Jump. Shock. Resist.

Slander opened his mouth, and the flood started.

Push. Extend. Jump. Shock. Resist.

From the corner of his eyes, Mahon could see Slander uttering some insults just before he pushed forward. Mahon focused back on his body’s melody.

Scream. Clack. Whistle. Thud. Squeak.

This time, he listened with rapt attention to Slander.

“My grandma can…”

Scream. Clack. Whistle. Thud. Squeak.

“... outrun you even asleep!”

Scream. Clack. Whistle. Thud. Squeak.

“You can’t even run…”

Scream. Clack. Whistle. Thud. Squeak.

“... twenty laps, you slug!”

He’s not insulting me... He’s guiding me!

Mahon immediately focused on this new melody, incorporating Slander’s flood in it. He stopped ignoring the man completely and bathed in this new song of six instruments.

And he found it. Laying there, waiting for him. Mahon breathed in. And out.

His muscles relaxed ever so slightly. It was a minuscule difference, but Mahon knew it was enough. The Flow guided him, how could he be mistaken? He would run the twentieth lap today.

At his side, Slander didn’t change his behavior. He kept the same rhythm, synchronized with Mahon’s own. Now that Mahon was in the Flow, he could see how Slander affected it. Although the instructor uttered insults, his interventions were so perfectly timed, it felt inhuman.

Is he Flowing too?

He spared the man a look, and he could see him smiling back at him. It was short-lived, however, and soon Slander continued with his insult.

“Can’t you run on your own, pothead? Need someone to help you breathe?”

What? I can breathe on my own.

As soon as he thought about his breath, the Flow highlighted it like It did everytime Mahon focused on something while Flowing. His breathing was peaceful, slowly pacing at his own rhythm. There was nothing wrong with it.

Wait. Running needs dedicated breathing. Why does it have a rhythm on its own then?

Something clicked in his mind as he looked back at Slander.

And I don’t need Slander to run. Why would I? It’s stupid.

He focused back on the two different rhythms. First, running.

Push. Extend. Jump. Shock. Resist.

Slander’s mouth started the flood.

Push. Extend. Jump. Shock. Resist.

Slander ended his insult aggressively.

Scream. Clack. Whistle. Thud. Squeak.

“How can you be so…”

Scream. Clack. Whistle. Thud. Squeak.

“... blind to your own breath, snail?”

Mahon focused back on the second rhythm. Breathing. It was a simple one. Inhale. Exhale. Again and again. In fact, it was so simple that Mahon never thought of it as a rhythm. Inhale. Exhale. Breathing was just the way to start the Flow. Inhale. Exhale. Not a rhythm on his own.

How stupid I am.

Something changed in his Flow. The rhythm changed. But the Flow didn’t stop. Instead, It went stronger. At his side, Slander stopped running.

“Finally! By the Fada, he had to wait for the last lap…”

Mahon went to run on his own, without Slander. He didn’t need him. He had his own rhythm.

Push. Extend. Jump. Shock. Resist… Inhale.

Push. Extend. Jump. Shock. Resist… Exhale.

Scream. Clack. Whistle. Thud. Squeak… Gasp.

Scream. Clack. Whistle. Thud. Squeak… Sigh.

The cycle went on as long as it was needed. When Mahon completed the last lap, he was almost eager for another one. He could do it. The Flow was still there. Instead, he stopped and collapsed on the ground with a satisfied smile.

I did it.

Slander approached him. “Finally, mollusk. What took you so long? I swear, my grandma cou…”

“Shut the fuck up.” Mahon interrupted him.

With a satisfied smile, the instructor swallowed back his words. He was not mad at Mahon. He was pleased. Mahon had given it all. For weeks, he had never once talked back to him. He had focused on the exercise. He had followed his guidance. He had learned and progressed. He had done his part. He had every right to retort to the instructor now. Such was the tradition.

Both men knew it. A look of understanding flashed as their eyes met. They nodded to each other in respect. Mahon spoke first.

“Thanks.”

It was a single word, but it carried a lot. Slander had trained him to his limits multiple times. He had helped him grow. Without him, he wouldn’t have reached this level so soon. Slander had not just given him a workout. He had searched for Mahon’s weaknesses, poking at them as often as necessary for Mahon to see and fix them. He knew Mahon did not have the physical strength to complete the twenty laps. Nevertheless he had found a way to assist him.

He knew Mahon could Flow. He had seen him fighting. He had witnessed Mahon’s failures at assessing the rhythm of the run. He had found what Mahon had missed. He had subtly helped him find it for weeks, tirelessly. Until Mahon could finally see. And for all that, Mahon was grateful.

“Thanks.”

Slander also expressed his gratitude, for a professor was nothing without a student to teach. Mahon had followed his guidance every time he needed to. He had shown patience and only sought for his own progression. He had listened to the advice of his elder, without complaining ever once. And for all that, Slander was grateful.

The moment passed, and Slander’s expression returned to his usual one. The one he used to admonish his students. He pointed to Mahon while addressing the rest of the students.

“This man has half of your endurance, yet he gave his utmost every time he trained. And today he succeeded. He completed the training. The first training. Starting from tomorrow, he will be given the next grades of training exercises. Fighting stances, tailored for his needs.”

Whispers could be heard within the crowd. There was a more advanced training?

“Silence!” Slander shut them quiet. “He earned it. But, among you, there are at least a dozen who could have completed this training months ago. You!” Slander extended an accusing finger to Jorik. “Why didn’t you complete my training before?”

Surprised at first for being pointed out, Jorik took a few seconds to ponder why he had never finished the session.

“I didn’t know the training would change once completed.”

“Bullshit! Think harder.”

“Ah…” Jorik hesitated. “I… I think, in my mind, I had already mastered it. There are multiple other training sessions throughout the day. I optimized the energy I spent in this one, so that I could give my utmost at other times I judged more important.”

“Explain.” Slander ordered.

“I want to be better at fighting and I learn more during the ring fights. So I spend most of my energy there. The ratio between my energy spent and what I learn is greater in the rings than during the previous training. And even further for the twenty laps. I just optimized my energy and time. Not running to my last strength here will help me to learn more during the specialized lessons because I’d have more energy.” Jorik concluded.

At his sides, some of the First Yellow nodded, showing they agreed with his analysis. But Slander only showed disappointment.

“Who do you think has the most experience training people? You or me?” Slander simply asked.

“You, of course.” Jorik answered without hesitation.

“How many people higher than your level do you think I’ve trained? One? Two?”

Jorik shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know…”

“I’ve trained thousands of people much stronger than you. First Black is barely a rank to me. As of today, I’ve accompanied fourteen people to Last Blue.” A murmur of shock shook the little crowd of students standing in front of Slander. “Who do you think has the most experience to train you?” The instructor asked Jorik. “You or me?”

A flash of understanding swept through Jorik’s eyes as he answered. “You.”

“So why do you want to optimize things on your own when I’m already doing it for you?” This time, the instructor did not aim this question specifically at Jorik, instead glancing at every student, one by one. Everywhere he looked, the men and women bowed their heads in shame.

“Good. From tomorrow onward, I expect everyone to give their utmost every time I say so. By the end of the week, I want at least twenty more slugs to accompany the mollusk there,” he pointed to Mahon, “in the advanced exercises. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!”