Personally, meeting Thorne up close and personal had been a terrifying experience. Maybe it was something that the boy was used to, but I was not.
I hadn't been expecting a man who took up such a large amount of space. Not just in the size of his body, but his presence.
The Aether rolling off him was one of the strongest I'd ever seen. And that was saying something. Thorne wasn't just a dangerous politician. He was something more. If the boy and I did end up fighting him, it didn't look to end well.
For now, we needed to train. The boy also needed rest. The duels would begin at sunrise tomorrow. That was less than half a day away now.
"As long as I have you, I think the first opponent will be easy," the boy was saying as we walked the streets. The moon was bright overhead now, and the city had grown quiet. Everyone was preparing for the early festivities tomorrow.
"What if your first opponent is one of Thorne's?" I asked.
The boy raised his eyebrows. "Is that even allowed?"
"Thorne made the game," I said. "He also makes the rules. And just so you know, one of Thorne's men was just in front of you in line. He may have been put there specifically to win the competition. My point is you don't know who your first opponent will be. You could be out by the first round."
The boy shook his head. "I'm stronger than you think, sword."
"Are you really?"
"Yes. Together we are strong."
But you aren't, I thought bitterly. And the time that we had until the first duel wouldn't be enough to make him stronger. This was all his doing. I was just along for the ride.
We wouldn't be returning to the depths of the slums, where we could possibly run into Aris again. But we were headed somewhere nearby. A place in the city that was secluded enough for the boy to train.
The boy took us past the lantern-lit streets, past shops and warehouses, until we were deep inside of the city.
A graveyard opened up in front of us, the bodies of lost souls now buried beneath the ground, with only a stone marking their names remaining.
One day, I would have a grave. Just like these people. Just like Reginald. But that was still a distant dream.
The boy drew me from his sheath, and I made a show of gasping for a deep breath, even though I didn't have lungs. "It is suffocating in there."
The boy shook his head. "No time for jokes. Teach me. Now. Everything you know."
"Ha! Hilarious. You will have turned to dust by the time I've recounted everything I know."
"The next steps in my training, I mean. How do I sense that Aether stuff? How do I prepare for my enemy's next move? How do I get stronger?"
"None of those are things I can tell you how to do verbally. You have to feel them for yourself. For a mortal to recognize Aether, you'd have to meditate for years. Even then, it won't help you much. And the others still come much later. You can barely stay standing after swinging me."
"Can we not just…I dunno…speedrun the process? Make me godlike by tomorrow morning?" The boy asked hopefully.
"My power is not that easily wielded. This is not like the stories you've read. The hero doesn't become a hero within a day. It's years of hard work. By the time you've mastered me, your name will no longer be 'boy'."
"Then stop talking like I have years," the boy snapped. "I don't."
Silence settled over the graveyard.
The wind whispered through the crooked headstones. Names half-eroded by time watched us from every direction. The dead made excellent listeners.
I sighed. "Fine. If you insist on accelerating your own demise, we'll do it the wrong way."
The boy straightened. "Good."
"First lesson," I said. "Stop thinking of Aether as something outside of you."
He frowned. "Then where is it?"
"Everywhere," I replied. "But more importantly, it travels through you. Through your very soul. I like to think of Aether as the energy that makes up life. Down to the smallest chemical reactions in your body."
The boy closed his eyes for a moment. "Ok. I can imagine it."
"When you swing with me, you spill all of your Aether out, like a cracked cup. Instead, you must learn to keep it inside."
"Right," he said, frowning.
"Swing," I ordered.
He did. Hard. Much too hard.
The strike whistled through the air, uncontrolled, and his momentum carried him forward. He barely caught himself just as he was about to faceplant.
"Again," I said, trying not to judge his clumsiness. "But this time, much slower."
The boy growled with frustration and reset his stance. This time, he swung deliberately.
Better, but still too sloppy.
"You're throwing everything into the blade," I continued. "Your fear. Your anger. Your desperation. That's why you burn out so quickly when wielding me. Keep the energy within your body."
I guided him through the motions. Not with commands, but with my telekinesis. Just a fraction. Enough to adjust and refine the boy's movements.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Minutes stretched into hours. His breathing grew harsh. Sweat dripped down his jaw and darkened the soil beneath us. His arms shook violently now with exhaustion.
We stopped for a moment.
"Do you feel that?" I asked.
He nodded weakly. "My muscles are screaming."
"No," I corrected. "Not your muscles. Think further. Beneath that."
He hesitated.
Then, surprise flickered across his face.
"It's…warm," he said. "Like pressure. Right here." He tapped his chest near his heart.
"Good," I said quietly. "That's you pulling Aether inward instead of letting it spill. Feels better, doesn't it?"
He raised me again, slower than before. The air around us felt denser, as if reality was bending toward his movements.
For a brief moment, the edge of my blade hummed with energy.
It ended just as quickly as it had started.
The boy stumbled back, clutching his nose as blood ran down like a river.
He laughed, wiping away the blood. "I did it. Sword, I did it. Didn't I?"
"Yes," I admitted hesitantly. "But don't try it again without some rest. You're overworking yourself."
The boy sat down on top of a grave, resting his back against a headstone. He looked exhausted. "Wake me early. Before the sun rises. I want to be ready for tomorrow."
"Understood," I said, watching as his eyes drooped.
Guilt washed over me as I took in our surroundings. Hundreds of dead. Just like my wielders.
The boy, my current wielder, was still alive for now. But he was not far from being buried.
If the boy didn't succeed in this duel, against Thorne, and against all the coming adversaries, he would be joining all of my previous wielders.
Then he would become just another volume in my library of memories.