Axiom learned something important that week.
Strength did not begin in the arms.
It began in the feet.
The realization came the morning he slipped.
Not dramatically—no cliff, no fall into the sea. Just a wet rock near the edge of Galeheart Wilds, slick with moss and mist. His foot landed wrong, balance shifted a fraction too late, and he went down hard on his side.
The breath left his lungs in a sharp rush.
Esdeath looked down at him.
"…You're careless," she said.
"I was distracted," Axiom muttered, pushing himself up.
"By what?"
He paused. "…Thinking."
She nodded, as if that explained everything. "Then stop."
That was the day they changed how they trained.
They stopped counting time by hours.
Instead, they counted by repetition.
Axiom marked a rough path through the Wilds—uneven ground, exposed roots, slanted stone. Nothing lethal. Everything punishing. He ran it barefoot at first, then with thin sandals, learning exactly how much pressure each surface could take.
Not fast.
Accurate.
When he stumbled, he corrected. When he slipped, he adjusted his center. When his legs burned, he kept going until they shook—not to exhaustion, but to obedience.
Esdeath watched. Then joined him.
She didn't copy his pace. She copied his intent.
Where Axiom focused on recovery, Esdeath focused on control. She cooled her feet just enough to reduce friction, then forced herself to move without relying on it. When she overcorrected, she stopped and started again.
"Cheating teaches nothing," she said flatly.
Axiom laughed weakly. "You say that like you've tried."
"I have."
That explained a lot.
The docks became the second stage.
Axiom practiced sudden starts and stops—short bursts of movement, no wasted steps. Not running away, not charging forward. Just appearing where he meant to be.
Toren noticed again.
"You move like you're trying not to exist," he said.
Axiom shrugged. "It's quieter that way."
"Marines call it shaving steps," Toren continued. "They move so fast it looks like they vanish."
Axiom's ears perked up, but he didn't press.
Names could wait.
Concepts mattered more.
That night, he tried it on sand.
It failed miserably.
He fell flat on his face.
Esdeath watched him lie there, unmoving.
"…Are you dead?" she asked.
"Considering it," he replied into the sand.
She sat beside him. "Your legs are strong. Your timing is not."
"That's encouraging."
"It's honest."
He sighed. "Fine. Again."
Pain became routine.
Not the sharp kind—no injuries, no dramatic wounds. Just the deep, dull ache that settled into bone and muscle and refused to leave. Axiom learned how to move through it instead of fighting it.
The body adapted.
Slowly.
Esdeath adapted faster—but Axiom noticed something important.
When she overtrained, her control slipped.
Frost crept farther than intended. Stones cracked when she meant to only cool them. The cold answered emotion more readily than discipline.
Axiom pointed it out once.
She stared at her hand for a long moment.
"…So this is weakness," she said.
"No," Axiom replied. "It's information."
She looked at him sharply.
He met her gaze without flinching.
"Power that doesn't listen is dangerous," he continued. "Even to the one using it."
Esdeath said nothing—but the next day, she slowed down.
The News Coo returned twice that week.
Once with talk of a pirate skirmish in a neighboring sea. Once with rumors of Marines reinforcing trade routes farther east. Names still meant nothing to the village—but Axiom noticed patterns.
Movement.
Preparation.
The world wasn't waiting.
It was advancing.
That night, Axiom sat on the roof of the house, legs dangling over the edge, staring out at the dark water. Esdeath climbed up beside him without asking.
"You're measuring something," she said.
"Distance," he replied.
"To where?"
"…Trouble."
She smiled faintly. "Good. Trouble sharpens people."
Axiom didn't smile back.
"Only if they survive it."
By the end of the month, something subtle changed.
Axiom didn't run faster.
He started faster.
A single step could carry him farther than before. His feet found ground instinctively. When he stopped, his body absorbed the impact instead of fighting it.
Not mastery.
Not even technique.
But the beginning of a language his body was learning to speak.
Esdeath noticed it during a spar.
She swung lightly—testing, not striking.
Axiom wasn't where she expected him to be.
Her blade cut air.
"…That was wrong," she said.
Axiom blinked, surprised. "I didn't think."
She stared at him, then smiled slowly.
"Good," she said. "Your body listened before you did."
The wind picked up, rustling the trees of Galeheart Wilds.
Somewhere inland, something large shifted its weight and settled again.
The Wilds were no longer deciding if Axiom was prey.
They were watching how dangerous he might become.
And far above, unseen wings carried news from sea to sea—threads weaving tighter around a future neither child could fully see yet.
But both were preparing for.