Chapter 9: The First Step

  Eryan woke before dawn, the cold, quiet darkness a familiar companion. He rose silently, his movements careful not to disturb his family. The house was still wrapped in the peaceful silence of sleep, his parents' steady breathing the only sound, except for the occasional creak of the old wooden beams. He had become accustomed to this stillness—had learned to embrace it as a sign that he was alone with his thoughts. Alone with his secret.

  With quick, deliberate motions, he donned his worn cloak, the one that had seen him through countless secret journeys. His heart beat in steady rhythm, his mind already focusing on the day ahead. Today was another step in the path he had carved for himself, and each step brought him closer to the strength he so desperately needed.

  As Eryan slipped through the door and out into the cold morning air, the world around him seemed to hold its breath. The village, still deep in sleep, lay beneath a blanket of fog, the distant mountain peaks barely visible in the grey light. He inhaled the sharp, crisp air, letting it fill his lungs and steady his nerves.

  The path he took led him through the woods, toward the small grove he had claimed as his training ground. The trees loomed tall, their branches swaying in the early breeze, casting long shadows on the ground. Each step felt like a quiet rebellion against the world that would never understand the urgency he carried with him. The urgency of his secret. The need to be more.

  The grove was empty when he arrived, save for the trees and the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. Eryan paused for a moment, taking in the sight of it—the place where he had pushed himself beyond his limits, day after day. The ground beneath him felt solid, but the weight of his own thoughts was ever-present. He needed to grow stronger. There was no other way.

  He began his routine with the same discipline that had governed his life for years now. The run was the first step. His legs burned as he sprinted through the trees, pushing himself harder with each stride. His breath came in short bursts, his chest heaving, but there was no stopping. The forest blurred around him, the sounds of the world fading into the background as the rhythm of his run took over. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored them. He would not stop until he had exhausted every ounce of his strength.

  When he finally slowed, his heart racing and his body trembling, he paused to catch his breath. The cool air felt sharp against his skin, the sweat on his brow glistening in the first light of the sun. But this wasn’t enough. Not yet.

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  Next, he turned to the trees. His fingers gripped the rough bark, his hands calloused from years of training. He climbed with the same intensity he had applied to his run, each pull of his body a challenge. His arms burned, but he pressed on, higher and higher, until he reached the highest branch he could manage. From there, he looked out over the grove, his breath still coming in ragged gasps. He felt the familiar sense of accomplishment, but it was fleeting. This was just the beginning. His goal was still too far away.

  The final part of his training was always the hardest: lifting the stones. These were no ordinary rocks. They were large and jagged, heavy enough to test his limits. He set his jaw, bent down, and grabbed the heaviest one he could manage. His muscles protested, but he willed himself forward, each step a struggle. The stone was an anchor, reminding him of the weight of his ambition, and he carried it across the grove with all his strength.

  When he finally dropped the stone into its place, his body trembled from exhaustion, but there was no satisfaction in it. His mind didn’t let him rest. He had to push farther, to go beyond the limits he had already set. There was always more to do. He couldn’t afford to stop.

  Eryan collapsed to the ground, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breath. The pain in his body was sharp, but it was a reminder of what he was working for. This was the price of strength. And for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to rest, the soft rustle of the leaves above his head the only sound in the stillness of the grove.

  But as the moment passed, the quiet began to feel oppressive. He couldn't stay here forever. He needed more. Always more. The hunger for power, for strength, gnawed at him. There was no rest. Not until he had done what he had set out to do.

  He stood, legs shaky, and began the long walk back to the village. The sun had risen higher now, casting long shadows across the path as the world slowly began to wake. The village was still quiet, the houses nestled against the landscape like sleeping giants. The distant sounds of life—footsteps, voices, the hum of daily activity—began to filter through the air. But for Eryan, none of that mattered. He had learned to shut it all out. His path was his own, and no one else would understand it.

  As he entered the house, his family was already up, the smell of breakfast drifting from the kitchen. His father was at the hearth, turning the bread, while his mother hummed quietly as she prepared the meal. Eryan moved through the house with practiced ease, slipping into his room without a word. His muscles ached, but he said nothing.

  He changed out of his sweat-drenched clothes, hiding them beneath his bed, out of sight. The smell of the forest still clung to his skin, but he washed it off as best he could, the cool water soothing his aching body. He couldn’t afford to let anyone see the toll his secret training was taking on him. Not yet.

  When he emerged, his father glanced up with a smile, though his eyes seemed a little more tired than usual. "Up early again, Eryan?"

  Eryan nodded, returning the smile with a casual shrug. "Just went for a walk."

  His mother didn’t press him further, though she studied him for a moment longer than usual. There was nothing to indicate she had noticed any change in him. The familiar warmth of their household comforted him for a fleeting moment. But even as he ate with his family, his thoughts remained distant. The quiet ache of his secret path gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside. There was no reason to alert them. He was alone in this journey, and that was how it would remain—for now.

  As the morning wore on, the village stirred to life. The sounds of chatter and movement filled the air, the ordinary world going about its business. Eryan sat at the table, his mind far away, already focused on the next part of his journey. He ate without savoring the food, his thoughts occupied with his secret path—the path that no one else would ever understand.

  One day, when the time was right, he would reveal the strength he had built in silence. Until then, he would continue to walk his hidden path, hidden in plain sight.

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