When I turned six, my routine stopped being something I simply repeated.
It became something I studied.
During the earlier years I had trained mostly through experimentation—trying different exercises, observing what worked, and slowly improving through repetition. But by six years old I had gathered enough information to realize that progress could be made faster if I understood why things worked.
So that year became less about pushing limits and more about building systems.
If I wanted to grow strong enough to face the future I suspected was coming, random effort wasn't enough.
I needed method.
Refining the Training Regimen
My mornings still began before sunrise.
The forest at that hour was silent except for the wind moving through leaves and the distant sound of the river.
Flexibility training came first.
It had once been simple stretching, but now it was deliberate maintenance. The medical texts I had been reading explained clearly that joints and tendons determined how efficiently muscles could generate force. Limited range of motion meant wasted strength.
So every morning began with controlled stretches for the spine, hips, shoulders, and ankles.
After that came movement drills.
Running through the forest paths.
Not for distance or speed, but for control.
Roots, rocks, and uneven ground forced constant adjustments in balance. Over time my body learned to move across the terrain almost automatically.
Most children simply ran.
I focused on foot placement, weight shifting, and posture.
Years of this had already changed the way I moved.
Even walking felt lighter.
After the forest drills came the river.
The river had become the most important part of my training system. The current constantly pushed against the body, forcing every movement to stabilize itself.
During that year I refined how I used it.
Instead of simply moving against the current, I divided my training there into different sections.
Balance drills.
Resistance movement.
Breath control.
Standing still in the current for long periods forced the small stabilizing muscles in my legs and core to activate continuously. Moving slowly through the water trained endurance without damaging my joints.
By the end of the year my balance had improved dramatically.
Even when standing on narrow branches or uneven rocks, my body adjusted instinctively.
Strength Without Excess
I still practiced calisthenics every day.
Push-ups.
Pull-ups from tree branches.
Squats.
Core exercises.
But that year I began paying more attention to how much I trained.
The medical books Dad had brought back from the trade towns explained something many people ignored.
Muscles grew during recovery.
Training only created the stimulus.
If the body never recovered properly, progress slowed.
So I adjusted my regimen.
Training intensity alternated between heavier and lighter days.
Some mornings focused on endurance.
Others focused on strength.
Others were dedicated almost entirely to flexibility and recovery.
The result was subtle but noticeable.
My body stopped feeling constantly tired.
Instead it felt ready.
Observing Combat
Physical training was only one side of preparation.
The other side was learning how people actually fought.
The clan's hunters practiced frequently near the clearing. Most of their training focused on practical combat rather than formal martial arts.
Grappling.
Weapon drills.
Sparring.
Whenever I had the chance, I watched.
Observation revealed patterns quickly.
The strongest fighters weren't always the largest.
They were the ones who controlled distance and balance.
A small shift in footing could destabilize an opponent.
A well-timed step could redirect someone's momentum completely.
I began mentally recording those details.
Body positioning.
Weight distribution.
Timing.
Even without direct practice, simply watching experienced fighters improved my understanding.
Someday I would test those ideas myself.
But for now, learning was enough.
Expanding Knowledge
Evenings were dedicated to books.
Dad had begun bringing more texts from his trips to the trade towns. Some were simple histories, others were travel guides or merchant records.
But the ones that fascinated me most were the medical texts.
Traveling healers had written small manuals explaining the structure of the human body.
Muscles.
Bones.
Ligaments.
Common injuries.
Recovery techniques.
Those books completely changed how I viewed training.
Instead of treating the body like a machine that could simply be pushed harder, I began thinking about it as a system that required balance.
Strength.
Mobility.
Recovery.
Diet.
Everything connected.
Mom occasionally watched me reading with quiet amusement.
One evening she asked,
("Why are you always reading those healer books?")
I answered honestly.
("If I understand the body, I can train it better.")
She laughed softly.
("You sound like an old scholar.")
Maybe I did.
But knowledge was the one advantage I already possessed.
Understanding the World Outside
That year I also began asking more questions about the outside world whenever Dad returned from his trading trips.
The settlement rarely interacted with outsiders, but trade towns existed beyond the forest. Dad sometimes traveled there to exchange carved tools, herbs, and pelts.
Each time he returned, I asked about the world beyond the clan.
Cities.
Roads.
Markets.
And sometimes the calendar used outside the forest.
One evening I asked directly.
("Dad, what year is it outside the forest?")
He looked slightly surprised by the question but answered anyway.
("According to the trade calendars? It's the year 1975.")
That number stayed in my mind long after the conversation ended.
Knowing the year meant I could roughly estimate where the world currently stood in the larger timeline.
More importantly—
It confirmed that I still had time.
Years.
Enough time to prepare properly.
Meditation and Awareness
Toward the end of that year I added another element to my routine.
Meditation.
Every evening I sat quietly outside the cabin near the edge of the forest.
Breathing slowly.
Letting my mind settle.
At first it felt like nothing happened.
But over weeks something changed.
My awareness sharpened.
I began noticing subtle things inside my own body—heartbeat rhythm, muscle tension, breathing patterns.
Small sensations I had never paid attention to before.
If controlling life energy was real, then awareness of the body would likely be the first step.
So meditation became part of the system.
The End of Year Six
By the time my sixth year ended, the results were clear.
My training was no longer random.
It was structured.
Flexibility.
Balance.
Strength.
Recovery.
Knowledge.
Mental focus.
Each part supported the others.
The foundation had been built carefully.
Now only one thing remained.
Testing it.
And that test would come soon.
Because when I turned seven, observation alone would no longer be enough.