The fire had burned down to a low, stubborn glow.
Tomora sat hunched beside it, elbows resting on his knees, staring into the embers as if they might answer him if he looked long enough. The dream clung to him like damp cloth—heavy, suffocating. Every time he blinked, he half-expected to see steel walls again, to feel iron biting into his wrists, to hear that calm, infuriating voice say his name like it already owned him.
Dave.
The word alone made his jaw tighten.
Across from him, the hooded figure prodded the fire with a stick, sending a few sparks drifting lazily into the night. He looked unbothered. Too unbothered. Like unconscious boys collapsing at his feet was a normal part of his evening routine.
The forest watched them in silence. Trees loomed close, their branches tangled overhead, blotting out most of the moonlight. Somewhere far away, an owl called once—then nothing.
The stick cracked softly as the figure shifted it in the coals.
"Listen," he said at last.
Tomora didn't look up.
"I'm not here to babysit you."
That earned him a glance. Tomora's eyes were sharp despite the exhaustion, still carrying the edge of someone who didn't trust easily—and trusted even less after being beaten into the dirt.
"I'm here to train you."
The words settled between them, heavier than the smoke curling into the air.
Tomora let out a short, humorless breath. "Why?"
The hooded figure stood, brushing ash and dirt from his cloak with a few lazy swipes. "Because you and I," he said, turning just enough for firelight to catch the edge of his hood, "share the same dream."
Tomora straightened slightly. "Which is?"
The figure raised one finger, posture suddenly dramatic, as if standing on an invisible stage.
"To destroy the wor—"
He stopped.
The finger wavered.
"—uhh." He coughed. "I mean the government."
A pause.
"Haha."
The laugh came out stiff and alone, dying almost instantly.
Tomora stared at him.
Not with anger. Not even confusion.
Just a long, flat stare reserved for people who said very stupid things with great confidence.
The hooded figure shifted his weight. Cleared his throat.
"Anyway," he said quickly, lowering his hand. "I'll train you so you can fight without your element."
Tomora's expression sharpened.
"You depend on it way too much," the figure continued, poking the fire again like it had personally offended him. "And you already lost your lightning."
The world tilted.
Tomora froze, every muscle locking at once.
"…How did you know that?" he asked.
The figure went still.
Too still.
"Uhhh—" he began.
Tomora watched closely as the man's shoulders tensed beneath the cloak. A fraction of a second passed. Then—
"I meant your light," the figure said quickly. "Yeah. Your light. You lost your light."
He nodded to himself. Once. Twice.
"Totally what I said."
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Tomora's eyes narrowed.
The hooded figure visibly cringed beneath his hood, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead.
"…I'm an idiot," he muttered.
Then, louder—"So what's it gonna be?"
He turned, squaring his shoulders like a merchant pitching a bad deal.
"You wanna train?" he said. "Or you wanna go get killed trying to take on the government alone?"
Tomora scoffed, the sound sharp. "I don't accept charity."
The figure's mouth curved beneath the hood. Not kind. Not cruel. Just knowing.
"Don't worry," he said. "You'll owe me one."
The fire popped, sending a burst of sparks skyward.
"…In the future."
Tomora's jaw tightened. He hated the way the words settled into him, hated the implication, hated that familiar tug in his gut—the one that told him this was a bad idea wrapped in inevitability.
Still, he nodded.
"…Fine."
The hooded figure straightened. "Good."
They stood there, facing each other across the dying fire. The forest seemed to lean in closer, as if memorizing the shape of this moment.
Mentor.
Student.
—or something more dangerous.
The hooded figure gestured with his chin. "We start now."
Tomora blinked. "Now?"
"Yes, now."
"It's the middle of the night."
"And?" the figure replied. "Enemies don't wait for sunrise."
He stepped forward without warning.
Tomora barely had time to react before a boot swept toward his legs. He twisted instinctively, stumbling backward as the strike skimmed past where his knee had been a heartbeat earlier.
"Hey!" Tomora snapped. "I agreed to train, not get ambushed!"
"Same thing," the figure said, already moving again.
Tomora raised his hands on instinct—and stopped himself.
No water surged. No lightning crackled.
Nothing answered.
His chest tightened.
The hooded figure noticed. Of course he did.
"That hesitation?" he said calmly, swinging again. "That's what gets you killed."
Tomora ducked, feeling the wind of the strike pass over his head. He lunged forward, throwing a clumsy punch. The figure slipped aside with minimal effort, tapping Tomora's ribs with two fingers as he passed.
It hurt.
More than it should have.
Tomora grunted and stumbled, catching himself before he fell. He turned, breath coming faster now.
"You fight like your power's going to save you," the figure said. "But power's just a tool."
He came at Tomora again—faster this time.
Tomora blocked, barely, forearms screaming as the impact rattled through him. He swung back, missed, nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Stop thinking," the figure snapped. "Move."
Tomora growled and charged, throwing everything into a reckless rush. The figure stepped in, pivoted, and sent Tomora sprawling into the dirt with a sharp shove.
Tomora lay there for a second, staring at the ground, chest heaving.
He pushed himself up slowly.
"Again," he said through clenched teeth.
The hooded figure smiled.
They trained until Tomora's muscles burned and his breath came ragged. Until his limbs shook and the forest floor was marked with scuffs and footprints. The figure never once called on an element. Never once broke a sweat.
When Tomora finally dropped to one knee, gasping, the hooded figure stepped back.
"That's enough for tonight," he said.
Tomora laughed weakly. "Night's almost over."
"I know," the figure replied. "hope you are ready."
Tomora looked up at him, eyes tired but burning.
"Why are you really doing this?" he asked quietly.
The hooded figure paused. Just for a moment.
"Because," he said, turning away toward the trees, "I have seen your potential and wanna unlock the full thing."