For the next hour and a half, Jeremiah gave Nyx a brutal introduction to the "Morning Routine" his master had put him through for years.
It was a relentless cycle of push-ups in the hot sand, sit-ups with the morning sun beating down, and squats that turned her legs to jelly.
Then came the running—back and forth along the shoreline.
Watching Nyx struggle was… admittedly a little entertaining. Every time she stumbled or gasped for air, he was right there, moving with an effortless grace that probably felt like a personal insult.
When she'd wheezed out a "Why?" halfway through, Jeremiah had just shrugged. "To learn my technique, you need a foundation. Right now, yours is made of glass."
After her fifth lap, the glass finally shattered. Nyx collapsed into the cool, damp sand.
Jeremiah strolled over and stood over her, his tall frame blocking out the mounting sun and casting a long, cool shadow across her trembling form. He looked down at her, a cocky grin tugging at his lips.
"Hey, Saintess. You're not quitting on me already, are you?" He gestured to himself with a thumb, looking remarkably refreshed. "I did every workout right alongside you, and look at me—I'm not even breathing hard."
Nyx tried to glare up at him. She really did. But between the salt in her eyes and the fact that her lungs felt like they were on fire, the look had all the intimidation of a disgruntled kitten.
Jeremiah scratched the back of his head, his smirk softening. Maybe I pushed her a bit much for day one.
"…Alright," he relented, his voice dropping the teasing edge. "Sorry."
Nyx blinked, her eyes widening slightly. The apology seemed to catch her more off guard than the workout.
"You've got fifteen minutes," he continued. "Relax. Catch your breath."
Jeremiah lifted one hand, his fingers curling slightly.
A small swirl of cold, crystalline mana gathered in his palm. Frost spread outward, weaving through the air until it solidified into a simple cup of clear ice. With his other hand, he conjured a steady stream of water mana, letting it settle into the frozen container until it was filled to the brim.
He held it out to her. "Here."
Nyx blinked up at him from the sand, her chest still heaving. She looked at the cup, then at him, her surprise momentarily overriding her exhaustion. She accepted it with both hands, the chill of the ice a cool, welcome contrast to her overheated skin.
"Drink slowly and breathe it will cool your body down," he added casually.
Then a thought crossed his mind. He looked out at the morning sun, now fully clear of the horizon, before lowering himself into the sand beside her. He sat with his legs crossed.
"While you rest," Jeremiah said, leaning back on his hands and watching the rhythmic roll of the ocean, "I'll tell you about the technique."
Nyx listened quietly, her chest still heaving as she fought to catch her breath.
"It isn't really a school," he continued. "It's something I built over time. It focuses on internal mana control—circulating it through the body rather than pouring it into flashy, external spells." He tapped a finger against his chest. "Most people just coat themselves in mana like a shell. I enforce specific muscle groups for superhuman results. For most, it's dangerous—even damaging—but with a reserve as vast as yours, it would be a boon."
He moved his hand in a sharp, shallow cutting motion through the air. "The goal isn't to overpower. It's about positioning, timing, and the ability to adapt the moment you see an opening.
My master taught me the foundation—how to move mana without wasting a drop—but the rest I learned by surviving fights I probably should have lost."
Jeremiah traced a jagged line in the sand. "The weapon doesn't matter. Sword, spear, dagger—the principles of control and movement stay the same. I never bothered naming it, but if you're going to learn it, maybe it finally deserves one."
Nyx finished chugging her water, letting out a long, steadying breath. In her grip, the frozen cup dissolved into drifting motes of ice mana that scattered into the morning wind. She pushed herself upright, her eyes shining with a sudden, caffeine-like energy despite the brutal morning they'd just had.
"I've got ideas," she said, leaning forward.
Jeremiah's brow furrowed. "What kind of ideas?"
"Well, your technique is all about movement and timing, right? Reading the opponent and striking at the perfect moment." She ticked a finger into the air. "So, idea one: Flowing Edge. Or maybe Windstep Blade, because of the way you reposition." She paused, her grin widening as she reached her favorite.
"Fatebreaker Style. Because it feels like a style meant to cut through whatever is supposed to happen."
She looked at him expectantly, waiting for the spark of approval. Instead, Jeremiah stared at her for a long beat before groaning softly and dragging a hand down his face. What the hell… her naming sense might be worse than mine.
"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "But none of those really fit."
Rather than looking discouraged, Nyx's grin only grew. "That's perfect, actually! Because after saying all of those out loud, the real name finally came to me." She pointed at him with dramatic flair. "How about… Flowing Blade Style?"
Jeremiah paused, the name echoing in the quiet air between them.
He rolled the name around in his mind, testing the weight of it.
Flowing Blade Style. It suggested movement, adaptation, and the subtle art of controlling a confrontation through counters. A slow smile spread across his face as he glanced at Nyx. "You know what? I like it."
Nyx beamed, her excitement palpable.
Jeremiah stood and brushed the clinging sand from his clothes before reaching down to pull her to her feet. "Alright then. First lesson of the Flowing Blade Style…" He gathered a faint shimmer of mana in his palm, shaping it into a simple wooden sword before tossing it toward her. Nyx caught it, though she fumbled the initial grip before steadying her hands.
Jeremiah smirked at her clumsy recovery.
"Let's have a little spar."
Though she paled slightly, Nyx didn't back down. She raised the wooden sword into a stance, trying to mirror the fluid grace the name implied. Jeremiah watched her, feeling something inherently off about the way she held the weapon, but he kept the observation to himself for now. "Begin," he commanded.
Nyx moved immediately, lunging straight in without hesitation. Jeremiah pivoted smoothly, sidestepping the strike with a single, economical movement. Before she could reset, his blade tapped lightly against the back of her neck—a clean, decisive loss.
Nyx froze as Jeremiah lowered his sword with a slight frown. "Hey, Saintess," he said, his voice softening. "I think learning this style will help you, especially when things get unpredictable, but my instincts are telling me this isn't where your talents truly lie."
Her expression fell for a brief moment before she steeled herself, her voice firming as she asked, "If that's true, where do you think they would show better?"
Jeremiah studied her in the stretching silence, really looking at the way she carried herself. She lacked Tessa's raw physical presence and didn't have the temperament of a front-line fighter. She wasn't an elemental caster like Mariah, either. Her strengths were internal: pure mana, healing, and an obsession with runes.
"Your love for rune sorcery and your will to get stronger actually go hand in hand," he said slowly, his eyes lighting up as the vision took shape. "Rune technology is already devastating on the battlefield. If you mix that with archery, or those cards you mentioned, and use the blade only to defend yourself… Saintess, you'd be deadly."
Nyx stood still, the wooden sword forgotten in her hand as her mind raced through the possibilities. When she finally looked up, her smile was wide and bright. Jeremiah huffed a quiet breath of relief; she saw the path now.
"Well," he said, "looks like we have a winner. We're changing your training regimen from now on."
For the next three days, they fell into a grueling rhythm. Every morning began with Jeremiah's "Mourning Routine". Once her body was spent, they moved to the training grounds to drill the basics of archery—followed by the survival fundamentals of the Flowing Blade Style. He wasn't teaching her mastery; he was teaching her how not to die.
In the quiet hours that followed, they meditated.
Jeremiah guided her through his method of storing and cycling mana, refining her control to eliminate waste. It was slow, agonizing work, and the moment he released her for the day, Nyx would disappear into the lab to apply those lessons to her runes.
The isolation didn't last long. Tessa joined them first, making it clear she wasn't there to learn from Jeremiah, but to push herself through her own punishing drills. Mariah followed soon after, quieter but no less focused.
What began as separate routines gradually merged into group drills and competitive conditioning until they were all training as a single unit. By the end of the week, a palpable change had settled over the group—not just in Nyx's growing competence, but in the sharpened resolve of them all.
By the end of the second week, they had all gathered in the lounge.
Tessa sprawled across the couch with Nyx curled up beside her, an idle show flickering on the screen. Nearby, Mariah sat as composed as ever, but Jeremiah wasn't watching.
Jeremiah leaned back in his seat, eyes half-lidded, while his fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the armrest. His mind drifted back to the
Annex—how relentlessly they had hunted Nyx.
It had been too long since then. If they were going to make a move, it should have been by now, yet the stagnant silence only made his skin crawl.
As if the gods had been eavesdropping on his unease, the spell broke.
Mariah signaled Nyx to mute the TV with a sharp motion. She pulled out her communicator, and the Overseer's hologram flared to life, casting a cold, flickering blue light across the room.
"Good," the figure projected. "You're all here."