Adrian woke to pain.
Not the screaming agony from yesterday. Something duller. A deep ache that sat in his bones and muscles, the kind that came from pushing the body past its limits.
He sat up slowly, expecting his ribs to protest. They did, but less than they should have.
That's odd.
He lifted his shirt in the dim pre-dawn light filtering under his cell door. The bruises were still there but faded further. Yellow-green now, tinged with brown at the edges. Another day of healing compressed into hours.
This isn't normal. Even with the binding, this is too fast.
His ribs felt stable when he pressed against them. No sharp pain. No grinding sensation that suggested cracks or breaks. Just a dull ache that was already fading.
He stood and tested his weight. His legs held without shaking. His balance was better than yesterday.
My body is changing. Adapting faster than it should. Is this normal for Stage 1? Or is it my Dao?
The lock clicked.
Marcus stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable in the shadows.
"Up already. Good."
"I was just—"
"Save it. Move."
Adrian followed him through the familiar passages. Down the stairs. Through the old corridor. Into the training room that was becoming both sanctuary and torture chamber.
Marcus closed the door and turned to face him. His eyes swept over Adrian with that clinical assessment.
"Show me your ribs."
Adrian lifted his shirt. Marcus stepped closer, examining the faded bruises with a frown.
"These were deep purple yesterday morning. Now they're almost gone." He pressed against Adrian's side. "Does this hurt?"
"A little. Not much."
"Not much." Marcus stepped back. "You should still be barely able to move. Julian's kicks would have kept a normal Initiate down for days."
He's suspicious. More suspicious than before.
"I heal fast. You said that yesterday."
"I said you heal too fast." Marcus walked to the centre of the room. "Stage 1 practitioners heal faster than normal humans. Twice as fast, maybe three times on a good day. You're healing five or six times faster. That's unusual."
"Is it bad?"
"That depends on what's causing it." Marcus rolled his shoulders. "We'll find out soon enough. For now, we train. Today's lesson: defensive movement. Reading attacks."
He gestured for Adrian to approach. "The body remembers patterns even when the mind doesn't. Your problem yesterday wasn't lack of strength. It was lack of awareness. You couldn't see the attacks coming."
Adrian moved to the centre of the room, raising his guard.
"Most fighters telegraph their intentions," Marcus said, circling slowly. "A shift in weight. A tension in the shoulders. Eyes tracking their target. Learn to read these signs and you can defend yourself even against faster opponents."
He stopped moving. "I'm going to attack you. Slowly at first. Watch my body. Tell me what you see."
Marcus shifted his weight to his front foot.
"Your weight moved forward," Adrian said.
"Good. What does that tell you?"
"You're about to attack."
"What kind of attack?"
Adrian hesitated. "A punch?"
Marcus's hand shot forward in slow motion. A straight punch aimed at Adrian's face. Adrian blocked it.
"Good. Again."
Marcus reset. This time his shoulder dipped slightly before the punch.
"Shoulder dipped. Punch coming."
"Which side?"
"Right."
Marcus threw a slow right cross. Adrian blocked.
They repeated the drill. Again and again. Marcus would telegraph an attack, Adrian would identify it, then defend. Gradually, Marcus sped up.
Watch the shoulders. The hips. The weight distribution.
A jab. Adrian saw the shoulder twitch and moved his head. The fist passed where his face had been.
"Better," Marcus said.
The speed increased. Now Adrian had to react instead of just observe. His body moved on instinct, guard coming up, feet shuffling to maintain distance.
I'm not thinking anymore. Just reacting.
Marcus threw a combination. Jab, cross, hook. Adrian blocked the first two but the hook caught him in the ribs.
He grunted but stayed upright.
"You're dropping your right hand after the second block," Marcus said. "Guard stays up. Always."
They went again. This time Adrian kept his guard higher. The combination came faster. He blocked all three strikes.
Marcus's expression didn't change but something shifted in his eyes. Approval, maybe.
"Again. Faster this time."
The attacks came quicker now. Combinations Adrian couldn't fully track. His arms moved to defend positions he didn't consciously choose. His feet carried him to angles he didn't plan.
The body remembers. It's learning faster than my mind can process.
A punch slipped through his guard and caught his shoulder.
Another combination. Adrian blocked two strikes, dodged the third. His body was adapting. Anticipating.
Marcus pushed harder.
The hits came fast enough that Adrian stopped seeing individual strikes. Just movement. Patterns. His guard rose and fell, blocking or redirecting. His feet moved him out of range, then back in.
Is this me? Am I actually learning this fast?
A kick aimed at his ribs. Adrian saw the hip rotation and twisted away. The foot grazed his side instead of connecting fully.
"Good." Marcus didn't slow down. "Now counter."
Counter. He wanted Adrian to hit back.
The next combination came. Jab, cross, low kick. Adrian blocked the punches, stepped inside the kick, and threw a punch at Marcus's ribs.
It connected.
Not hard. Marcus barely moved. But it landed clean.
They both froze.
Adrian's fist was pressed against Marcus's side. The Hunter looked down at it, then back at Adrian's face.
"You landed a hit."
"I got lucky."
"No." Marcus stepped back. "You read the pattern. Saw the opening. Took it." His eyes narrowed slightly. "On your third day of training."
Shit. I'm improving too fast. He knows something's wrong.
"You're a good teacher."
"I'm adequate. You're learning at a rate that shouldn't be possible." Marcus circled him slowly. "Most Initiates take weeks to land their first clean hit in sparring. You did it in three days."
"Maybe I'm a natural."
"Natural talent doesn't work like this. Natural talent is pattern recognition that develops over time. You're not recognising patterns. You're adapting in real-time." Marcus stopped circling. "Your body is changing. Learning. Evolving. Faster than mine ever did."
He's figured it out. He knows my binding is different.
Adrian said nothing. What could he say? Denying it would be pointless. Marcus had just watched him block combinations that should have been impossible for someone with three days of training.
"What stage were you when you started learning?" Adrian asked instead.
"Stage 1, like you. But it took me months to read attacks reliably. You're doing it instinctively." Marcus walked to the wall and retrieved the water skin. He drank, considering. "Your Dao, whatever it is, enhances adaptation. Physical learning. Maybe mental too."
Close.
"I thought all practitioners adapted faster."
"We do. This is accelerated beyond normal parameters." Marcus tossed him the water skin. "Drink. We're going again."
Adrian caught it and drank. His body was tired but not exhausted. The ache in his muscles was already fading.
How much faster am I healing? How obvious is it?
"Ready?" Marcus asked.
Adrian handed back the water skin and raised his guard. "Ready."
This time Marcus didn't hold back.
The attacks came fast and brutal. No more teaching combinations. No more showing patterns. Just raw combat.
Adrian's guard shattered within seconds. A punch to the face sent him stumbling. A kick to the thigh dropped him to one knee.
Too fast. Can't keep up.
But his body tried anyway. His guard came back up. His legs pushed him upright. His eyes tracked Marcus's movements even though he couldn't react quickly enough.
Another combination. Adrian blocked one strike out of five. The other four hammered into his torso and arms.
Get up. Move. Defend.
His breathing was ragged. His vision was blurring at the edges. But something deeper was happening.
The pain was there, but distant. His body kept moving through it. Kept adapting. Each failed defence taught him something. Each hit showed him where his guard had failed.
The body remembers.
Marcus's next attack came. Adrian saw the pattern half a second before it landed. Not enough time to defend completely, but enough to reduce the damage.
Then another. And another.
By the twentieth combination, Adrian was blocking two strikes out of five. Not enough to win. Barely enough to survive. But better than before.
"Time," Marcus called.
Adrian dropped his guard and bent over, hands on his knees, gasping. Sweat poured off him. His arms trembled. His legs felt like water.
But he was still standing.
Marcus walked over slowly, studying him with that evaluating expression. "You lasted longer than yesterday."
"Doesn't feel like it."
"Because I hit harder. But you adapted faster." Marcus pulled out a cloth and wiped his own face. "In a real fight, you'd still die. But you'd die slower than most Initiates would."
"That's comforting."
"It should be. Dying slower means more chance to run. More chance to call for help. More chance to survive." Marcus turned away, walking to where his coat hung on the wall. "Rest. Eat when breakfast comes. Be ready for afternoon training with the others."
Adrian straightened slowly. "Will Julian be there?"
"Probably. He likes showing off." Marcus pulled a small notebook from his coat pocket and began writing something.
Adrian watched him write. Short lines. Quick notes. Recording something.
He's documenting my progress and reporting to Caspian. They're tracking how fast I'm improving.
Marcus looked up and caught Adrian staring. For a moment, their eyes met. Neither spoke.
Then Marcus pocketed the notebook and gestured to the door. "Go. I need to prepare for the morning briefing."
Adrian walked to the door on legs that held better than they should have. He paused with his hand on the handle.
"Thank you. For the training."
"Don't thank me. I'm not doing this for you." Marcus's voice was flat. "The Vigil needs hunters. You're either going to become useful or you're going to die trying. Either way serves our purposes."
"Right."
Adrian opened the door and stepped into the corridor. Behind him, he heard Marcus pull out the notebook again. More writing. More documentation.
He's suspicious. But he's still teaching me. Still pushing me to improve.
Does he want me to succeed? Or is he just following orders?
Adrian didn't have an answer. He walked back through the dark passages toward his cell, his body already healing from the morning's brutal session.
By the time he reached his door, the ache in his ribs had faded to almost nothing.
The bruises would be gone by afternoon.
And tomorrow, he'd be even stronger.
The body remembers. And mine remembers too well.