That night, as their campfire dimmed to gentle embers beneath the quiet canopy of the northern woods, Baker lay against his bedroll, staring into the stars. Selene kept watch nearby, her red hair glowing faintly in the firelight, and Clarisse hummed softly in her tent. The rhythmic crackle of the fire and the distant hum of nocturnal insects lulled Baker toward sleep.
When his eyes closed, the world shifted.
He awoke not in darkness, but on a vast, sun-scorched plain. The ground beneath him was cracked and hard, smelling faintly of iron and smoke. In the distance, banners fluttered in an endless wind — some tattered, some new — marking countless battlefields scattered across the horizon.
Before him stood a towering figure clad in armor that shimmered with dull gold and crimson light. His face was hidden behind a helm shaped like a roaring lion, and his presence radiated an aura of indomitable power — not cruel, but commanding. When he spoke, it was like hearing the echo of a thousand battle horns.
"Baker Cross," the man said, his tone both firm and approving. "The son of Ventis… the one who trains even when the night grows weary."
Baker blinked, standing straighter. "Are you… the God of Combat?"
The god laughed, a deep, resounding sound that rolled across the battlefield like thunder. "Kael. That is the name your people know me by." He strode closer, his steps leaving trails of faint golden flame. "I have watched your battles — your sparring, your strategies, your courage. You fight not for glory, but for necessity. That is the mark of a true warrior."
Baker bowed respectfully, feeling both humbled and proud. "I… thank you, Lord Kael. But I'm still learning."
Kael crossed his arms, his lion-helmed head tilting slightly. "And yet you learn well. You adapt. You do not run from hardship, nor do you allow fear to dull your blade." His gaze softened slightly, the tone shifting from booming to measured. "You remind me of myself before I took up the mantle of war."
Baker's eyes widened. "You weren't always a god?"
Kael chuckled again. "No god begins as such. We rise from trial, from battle, from purpose. My domain — this realm you stand in — is the forge of warriors' souls. It changes to suit the needs of the one within it. For you, it becomes your Combat Dream World — a place where time is flexible, and your body remembers what your spirit learns."
The cracked plain shimmered. All at once, Baker saw a familiar sight: the Zoar — the six-legged, flame-maned boar — charging toward him, eyes burning with fury. He stepped back instinctively, summoning his reinforcement magic, and Kael barked a laugh.
"Good! Fear is natural. What you do after fear defines your strength. Go on then — fight!"
And so he did.
Baker's movements flowed faster than ever before. He remembered every weakness, every twitch of the Zoar's stance. He struck where the hide was thin — at the joints and throat — using his healing magic to mend small wounds as he fought. When the Zoar fell, Kael clapped a massive hand on his shoulder, his laughter proud and thunderous.
"Well done, young one. You fight with thought, not rage. That will carry you further than brute strength ever could."
As the battlefield began to fade, Kael spoke again, his tone warmer now. "Whenever you sleep, you may return here — to your personal field of battle. You may train against any foe you've faced or any technique you wish to master. This is my gift to you. A blessing born from respect, not pity."
Baker bowed deeply. "Thank you, Lord Kael. I'll make good use of it."
Kael's hand rested briefly on his shoulder, firm but kind. "I know you will. Remember — battle and cooking share a truth: both demand rhythm, timing, and passion. Fight with honor, and feed with heart."
The god's laughter echoed one last time before Baker's vision blurred into golden mist.
When he opened his eyes again, dawn was breaking. The fire had gone cold, and a faint breeze brushed his cheek. He sat up, smiling faintly.
His muscles ached — but not unpleasantly. It felt like he'd truly fought through the night.
And deep inside his heart, the roar of a lion's laughter still echoed — warm, proud, and divine.