The mornings didn't sting as much anymore.
The earth was still cold beneath my feet. The wind still tugged at my hair. But something had shifted. A strange calm had settled inside me—like stepping outside after a storm to find the sky impossibly blue.
It feels… pretty good.
No more slipping through space at the twitch of a nerve. No more flickering out of fear. I had a reasonable level of control now.
Once I'm stronger, I'll run from that demon for real…
Just thinking about her made my spine prickle. She had… a very physical approach to education, as my bruises could attest.
I pushed open the warped door and stepped into the morning haze. Plor was already outside, crouched atop a mossy boulder, gnawing on something leathery. Her blue eyes locked onto me as I approached.
"Didn't vanish in your sleep?" she called.
"Didn't even twitch," I said, managing a crooked smile.
She spat the last bite into the grass and stood, stretching like a cat. Then she suddenly fixed me with a glare sharp enough to stop my heart.
"Good… now disappear."
I flinched, stumbling back as my jaw clenched. We stood frozen, silence thick between us.
"What?" I said through gritted teeth.
She relaxed, a wide grin breaking across her face before she burst into a deep, hearty laugh.
"That expression—priceless. What, did you really think I was going to kill you?"
"I mean… you've been trying all week."
She waved a hand dismissively.
"Please. If I wanted you dead, you'd be mulch."
She pointed toward a half-rotted stump near the edge of the clearing, maybe ten meters away.
"You see that old stump? I want you to teleport to it."
My heart gave a quiet knock.
Until now, teleporting had always been reactive. Unconscious. A last-ditch instinct to avoid harm. Now she wanted me to do it on purpose?
"I… don't know how."
She shrugged.
"You didn't know how to breathe once either. But look at you now."
Yeah, super helpful.
She stepped into the grass, clearing a line of sight to the stump. Her long braids swung damp and heavy behind her.
"You've felt it before, haven't you? That feeling just before you use your Point? Like your spine's trying to shout?"
"Yeah," I said. "It doesn't exactly feel great."
"Then stop ignoring it. Use it." She folded her arms. "I'm not asking for miracles, Kael. Just effort."
I fixed my gaze on the stump. Same clearing. Same moment. I imagined myself beside it.
Nothing.
Of course it's not that easy.
Plor let out a low whistle.
"Wow. Did the universe just fall asleep?"
I shot her a flat look.
So much for 'effort.'
I tried again—leaning forward like a runner at the blocks, as if movement might fool my body into responding.
Still nothing.
Plor cracked her neck. "Time for some motivation."
She plucked a long, jagged stick from the ground and tossed it at me. I caught it on instinct.
"Now hit me."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"Swing it. I won't dodge."
"Sure. That sounds like a trap."
"If you land the hit, it means you deserved it."
She stood there, relaxed, grinning like a lunatic. No tension in her stance. Just waiting.
I swung, hesitantly. She ducked.
Then she moved. A blur. Her arm lifted.
I flinched.
SNAP.
The shimmer cracked through my chest like flint on stone—and I vanished.
I reappeared behind her, stumbled, and tripped over a root. The ground slammed into my side.
Plor turned, smirking.
"See? Easy."
I groaned. "You lied."
"And you didn't get hit. You wanted out, and you got out."
She was right. It hadn't been instinct. Not really. It had felt like… a choice.
We kept at it for hours.
The shimmer came in bursts—slippery and fast, like trying to catch a breath between heartbeats. Sometimes it sparked from my chest, other times behind my eyes.
"Again," Plor called, standing by a stack of rocks. She tapped one mossy rock, marked with a crude arrow.
"This time, to the left. Focus."
I stared at it.
I want to be there.
I reached.
Nothing.
I exhaled and softened my thoughts. Less force. More intent.
I need to be there.
Flick.
I landed beside the rock—one foot in cold water, but still. My heart thudded with a flicker of pride.
Plor nodded. "Now back."
I groaned. "You could at least fake encouragement."
"I'm not your mother. Now, again."
I tried. Overshooting it, a meter too wide.
"Too slow," she muttered. "Sharpen the image in your head. You don't just want it, you need it."
And again.
And again.
By midday, my legs ached and my chest buzzed with static. Not exhaustion, something deeper. Like I wasn't meant to move this way, but my will refused to listen.
"You're not tired?" Plor said as I doubled over.
"I feel like I'm coming apart."
"Well, training muscles is just tearing them and letting them heal. This is the same."
She handed me a dented tin cup. Bitter tea. I gagged but drank anyway.
Plor stretched out in the grass beside me, casual as a cat.
"You know, most people get control fast. It's like your body doesn't know what to do with a Point."
I looked at her. "What, I'm that untalented?"
She met my gaze, blue eyes flickering like frost over flame. "You're stubborn. That's better. Takes longer, but the result's the same."
"And what result's that, old woman?"
"Strength. So you don't get trampled. Maybe even enough to be one of the Sovereigns."
I blinked. "What do you mean sovereigns?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You don't know who the Sovereigns are?"
I looked down. "…Probably slept through that lesson."
She snorted. "Only the thirteen most powerful people on the planet. No big deal."
Actually… that does sound familiar. Maybe?
Wind rustled through the reeds. We sat in silence.
Then Plor stood and dusted herself off.
"One last round before we eat. Precision drill."
She led me to a muddy patch ringed by trees. Three of them bore crude symbols: triangle, circle, square.
"I call one. You teleport. Clean, fast, sharp. If you hesitate, I throw something."
I narrowed my eyes. "Throw what?"
She hefted a thick stick and grinned.
"Guess."
⸻
"Circle!"
Flick.
I landed near the right tree—barely ahead of her throw.
"Nice. But last I checked, a circle doesn't have three sides."
Something whistled through the air. I turned just in time to see her stick fly straight at me.
Shit.
Flick.
I appeared in front of the circle tree, breath ragged.
"Square!"
Snap.
I landed behind the mark, my boots slipping in the muck.
"Sloppy," she said.
"Triangle!"
I hesitated.
Crack.
The stick smacked my shoulder. I swore, rubbing it.
"What was that for?"
"Pain helps memory. Again."
Mud sucked at my boots. My breathing was fast—but steady now.
She called again. I moved.
Again. Again. Again.
One miss. One hit.
One short. One scolding.
But each flick felt a little more right. A little more like it was mine.
Eventually, I hit all three marks—clean, fast, controlled.
The sun dipped low, turning the mist to gold. My shirt clung to my back. My limbs trembled, not from exertion, but from something deeper. My Point didn't tire me like a run. It frayed me.
I collapsed on the porch, limbs loose. Head ringing with static. Chest pounding.
Plor dropped beside me, nudging my leg.
"Not bad for day four," she said.
I didn't answer.
Because for the first time, I didn't just feel the shimmer.
I felt control.