Date: August 20, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The night in the tower, if it could be called night, passed peacefully. The glowing lines on the floor did not go out, but their pulsing slowed, becoming almost imperceptible, and in this soft, even radiance, the group settled for the night in one of the side chambers the old man called "cells." It was dry, warm, and quiet — so quiet one could hear one's own breathing and the rare, deep sighs of Sobra, who lay at the entrance, his head on his paws.
Ulvia slept poorly. Not from fear or worry — simply her body, accustomed to constant movement, to battles and treks, could not relax in this unnatural silence. She lay on her back, looking at the ceiling where the glowing threads formed intricate patterns, and thought about what the old man had said. About techniques older than spirits. About the method they would learn. About how some might not have enough lifetimes.
Beside her, on his hide, Datuk snored softly. Sobra occasionally sighed in his sleep, his silver stripes pulsing faintly with his breath. Rosh, as always, slept lightly, half-sitting against the wall, his fingers still folded in a faint, barely visible pattern — a habit he could not break.
In the morning — if one could call morning the moment when the glowing lines on the floor began to pulse faster and a barely perceptible freshness appeared in the air — the old man was already waiting for them on the central platform.
---
He stood in the same place as yesterday, at the edge of the elevation. His black cloak was open, and Ulvia noticed for the first time that beneath it was simple, rough clothing of unbleached linen, belted with a rope. No adornments, no insignia. Only his hands — long, thin, with sensitive fingers — were folded on his chest.
The group gathered before him. Datuk yawned, not covering his mouth, and Sobra, sitting beside him, looked at him with slight disdain. Rosh, as always, was composed and cold. Ulvia stood in the center, her left hand hidden under her sleeve, but the vine was already awake and pulsing with her heart.
"Today we begin," the old man said without preamble. "But before you start training, you must understand what I can give you. And what I cannot."
He stepped forward, and the glowing lines beneath his feet flared brighter.
"I will teach you only one method of using energy," he continued. "One of many that existed in ancient times. I do not know others. Information about them is lost, scattered, hidden in places even the Tree does not reach. Perhaps someday you will find them yourselves. But for now — only this one."
"And what is this method?" Datuk asked, not hiding his curiosity.
"Movement," the old man replied. "Pure, fast, elusive. Energy you will learn to gather in your legs to move faster than an ordinary body can. Short, sharp bursts to the side, allowing you to dodge blows you cannot even see. Increasing overall running speed — not for a moment, but for as long as you maintain concentration."
He fell silent, and in the silence, only the old man's even, deep breathing was audible.
"No strikes," he added. "No body fortification, no defensive techniques. Only legs. Only movement. Only speed."
---
"This is the only thing I can convey in six months," the old man replied. "Other techniques require teachers long dead and texts that have burned or decayed. I cannot teach you what I do not know myself. And I know only this."
He approached the edge of the platform and pointed to the glowing lines beneath their feet.
"But do not think it is little. He who can move faster than his opponent has already won. He who can dodge any blow has already not lost. Your Herald is strong — you know that. But if you become faster than him, if he cannot reach you… you will have a chance."
"And if he is also fast?" Datuk asked.
"Then whoever is faster will win," the old man simply replied. "And whoever is slower will die. It has always been so."
---
He began with theory. Brief, without unnecessary words.
"The energy flowing in your channels does not have to fill your entire body evenly. You can direct it to the necessary areas, concentrate it, compress it. Usually you do this intuitively — when you strike, when you defend. But for movement, special concentration is needed."
He pointed to his legs.
"Imagine your feet are not just supports. They are pumps that gather energy from the ground, pass it through your channels, and expel it back, creating impulse. The faster you learn to do this, the faster you move."
"And if there is little energy?" Ulvia asked.
"Then you will move slowly," the old man shrugged. "Or not move at all. But you have enough. You are all Pillars. Your Vessels are full. The question is not quantity, but the ability to distribute."
He approached her and looked into her eyes.
"We'll start with you. You were the first to receive the green leaf. You should feel energy more acutely. Stand in the center of the platform."
Ulvia obeyed. The glowing lines beneath her feet pulsed with her heart, and she felt the vine on her left hand freeze, listening.
"Close your eyes," the old man said. "Do not think about what you must do. Just stand. Feel how energy flows through your channels. Where is it now? In your hands? In your chest? In your head?"
"Throughout my body," Ulvia replied after a pause. "Evenly."
"That is bad," the old man shook his head. "Even distribution is for life, for breathing, for sleep. For movement, uneven distribution is needed. You must learn to gather energy where it is needed and withdraw it from where it is not. Right now, your energy is smeared in a thin layer. Like water on a table. It should be gathered in puddles — where you step."
He stepped back a few paces.
"Try shifting your weight to your right leg. But not as you usually do. Gather energy in your foot, your sole, your toes. Make your leg heavy. Then — push off sharply."
Ulvia did as he said. She gathered energy, felt her right foot become heavy. She pushed off.
She did not jump — she shot forward. Only at the last moment, when her nose almost touched the floor, did she manage to put out her hands and roll. The glowing lines beneath her flickered out for a moment, then flared again.
"Too much," the old man said without reproach. "You put all your power into one burst. You need to distribute it. Not an explosion — a flow. Not a blast — a current."
Ulvia rose, brushed herself off. Her heart pounded in her throat, but she felt no pain. Only excitement.
"Try again," the old man said. "But this time, do not put all your energy in at once. Imagine you are not striking the ground, but gliding over it. Like a boat on water."
Ulvia tried again. And again. And again.
---
While she trained, the old man approached the others.
"You will not stand idle," he said. "I will now show you exercises you will repeat every day. Without them — nowhere. They are boring. They are monotonous. They will drive you crazy. But if you miss even one day — you will not progress."
He pointed to the far end of the platform, where circles of glowing lines were laid out on the floor — five of them, of different diameters.
"These are tracks. Your task is to run along them without leaving the line. Not fast. Slowly. Very slowly. So that every foot movement is precise. Energy must gather in your legs not in bursts, but constantly. You must learn to feel it even when standing still."
Datuk grunted but approached the nearest circle. Sobra followed him, his paws stepping silently on the smooth stone.
"And if I leave the line?" Datuk asked.
"You start over," the old man replied. "And so on until you complete the circle without mistakes. This may take a day. Or a month. Or a year. Time does not matter here. The result matters."
Rosh was already standing on his track, his fingers folded in his habitual pattern, but the vectors did not appear — he was learning to do without them.
"Do not try to accelerate yourself with your spirit," the old man said, noticing this. "Now you work only with your own body. Without intermediaries. Feel the energy itself. It is inside you, not outside."
Rosh nodded and lowered his hands.
---
All day they trained. Ulvia learned to control her bursts, not overloading her legs. Datuk and Sobra ran the circles, leaving the lines, cursing, starting over. Rosh, silent and focused, repeated the same movement again and again — step forward, gather energy, step back, relax.
The old man walked among them, correcting, advising, sometimes falling silent for long periods, observing.
"You are too tense in your shoulders," he said to Ulvia at the end of the day. "The energy comes from your legs, but if your shoulders are tight, it won't rise past your knees. Relax."
"If I relax, I'll fall," she replied.
"Then you'll get up," the old man shrugged. "That's not scary. What's scary is not trying."
By evening, everyone was exhausted. Datuk sat on the floor, leaning against Sobra, his legs trembling slightly. Rosh stood by the wall, massaging his stiff ankles. Ulvia lay on her back, looking at the ceiling, feeling the glowing lines beneath her pulse with her heart.
"Tomorrow, the same," the old man said before leaving. "And the day after. And in a week. Until the movements become natural, until you stop thinking about how to gather energy — it will gather itself."
He stopped at the exit and turned.
"This is the first form. The only one I can teach you. Everything that follows depends only on you. Your stubbornness. Your pain. Your will."
He left, and the glowing lines on the floor went out — not all, only those leading deeper into the tower. The platform plunged into twilight, and only the circular tracks continued to glow, reminding them that tomorrow they would run them again.
Ulvia closed her eyes. The vine on her left hand pulsed evenly, calmly. She felt the energy gathering in her legs — not as she would have liked, but no longer smeared in a thin layer, but in clots, puddles, living streams.