Kairos still gazed at the greenish dusk mist that enveloped the swamps and the dilapidated lodge where he stood. His breath still felt short in his not-fully-recovered lungs, but now it was more regular.
The magma fire in his soul's core swirled more calmly, and the pain in his shoulders and legs had subsided into a faint ache, easier to ignore. Hunger and thirst gnawed at him again, but the urge could still be postponed.
The most important thing now was to master this body, the human vessel that once belonged to Aerion.
Kairos looked at his palms, now dirty, scratched, and with nails beginning to harden at the tips. Not yet fully claws, but already showing signs of change.
A cage of flesh, he thought, with a cynical tone. Weak, but it is mine now. I must understand every limitation.
He stepped out of the lodge; the muddy ground felt cold beneath the worn cloth wrapping his feet. Kairos focused his attention, listening with his now sharper senses, which came from the remnants of ancient predatory instincts now seeping into every nerve of this body.
The sound of marsh crickets, one behind the reeds to his left, another at the roots of a mangrove, and another near the water. The hiss of small reptiles sliding in the mud.
A splash in the distance, perhaps a fish, or perhaps something larger. Wind rustled through the reeds, carrying the sweet-rotten scent of the swamp.
And he smelled... smoke? Very faint, perhaps from a camp or a patrol, about one or two kilometers to the east.
Hmm... good. An ordinary human would not be able to sense this, but now this body can.
He closed his eyes, sharpening his other senses. His skin felt the change in air humidity and the gusts of wind.
The smell of mud, fungus, and something faint, like metal, or more accurately, rust. He opened his blue eyes and swept the swamp.
No metal was visible, but his instincts told him there was something at the bottom of the swamp, near the lodge's foundation. Beneath the murky water, his eyes caught a dim glimmer.
What is that? Scrap iron?
But none of that mattered now; these tests proved his senses were sharper, honed by the best teacher, Kairos.
This human body is indeed full of limitations, he muttered to himself, clearly with a tone of disgust mixed with cold curiosity. But its senses... will be sensitive enough if trained. Only hindered by its previous owner's stupidity.
Then Kairos decided to test the physical limits of this body. He lowered himself into a half-crouch, his back straight, and his weight evenly distributed—a basic martial stance remembered from Aerion's palace training memories.
His thigh and calf muscles began to tremble violently, but he forced them to hold.
He counted based on a heartbeat too fast for his own dragon standards. His breathing was regulated, drawing in the humid, foul-smelling swamp air, and exhaling it slowly.
Suddenly, he ran forward with quick strides, trying to avoid outstretched roots and leap over mud puddles. His movements were still stiff, and his reflexes had not yet synchronized with the faster nerve impulses.
His foot slipped on a slick root, making him almost fall, but his hand quickly braced his body against a damp mangrove trunk. The bark felt rough and pricking against his palm. He hissed in annoyance.
Then, standing tall, he regulated his breath. He pulled out a small rusty knife and spun it deftly in his hand, a natural movement from Kairos's instincts from thousands of times before.
He focused his gaze on a thick reed stalk, ten paces ahead, about two fingers thick.
With a swift motion, his hand lashed out, throwing the knife, which whizzed and spun through the air.
Thwack!
The knife struck the middle of the reed stalk but did not penetrate it. My throw is not strong enough, he thought, growling softly. These arm muscles are still weak.
Kairos approached, pulled out the knife, and examined its tip, which was dull. He sighed in annoyance and searched for a rough, flat stone.
He found it at the edge of the swamp, and with forced patience, he began to sharpen the knife. The sound of metal scraping stone echoed in the dusk's quiet, in rhythm with the wind.
Carefully, he observed every hand movement, every muscle contraction, and every breath. He reaffirmed his determination to understand and make this body very strong.
While sharpening, his blue eyes scanned the surroundings. He saw small tracks in the mud, not human tracks, but cloven hooves, perhaps a marsh deer, leading south along a dry path.
Animal trails, seems like they could be a safe route, he thought.
Near the water, he also saw splashes of mud with dragged marks. Large predator, perhaps a reptile or marsh crocodile, he noted to himself. An area to avoid or perhaps exploit as a trap.
The knife in his hand now felt sharper. After testing it with his fingertip, he stood up satisfied, then stretched his body with slow, deliberate movements.
Straight punches, elbows, low kicks, and body turns. His movements began to flow more smoothly, though still feeling stiff in some parts.
He began to imagine the enemies of this body, the black-clad Therions who destroyed the Lyceum, and the Vaelgard assassins he had killed.
He dodged, parried, countered with knife thrusts to human weak points. Neck, armpit, and groin.
Suddenly, his foot slipped on the slick mud as he turned. His body tumbled, his back hitting the ground with a blup, splashing foul-smelling mud everywhere.
Rage burned in his chest. "Shit! Stupid body!" he cursed.
He restrained himself from further anger, especially as the fire in his core began to roil. An outburst of rage would expend energy and draw attention.
He allowed himself to lie for a moment in the mud, gazing at the dusk sky that was beginning to speckle with stars. His breath was ragged, not from pain, but from frustration.
Suddenly, Aerion's memory intruded, of himself at a younger age, falling on the palace grounds, and being laughed at by Therion.
Seeing the memory of Therion, Kairos growled and buried the memory again. With a decisive movement, he rose.
Mud dripped from his torn tunic, but his eyes stared forward coldly. Failure was a lesson.
Falling on slick ground was something that must be overcome. I need to train this body's balance and core muscles, he thought bitterly.
He wiped the knife clean on a reed blade, then slipped it back into his belt.
His gaze shifted to the animal trail to the south. The thickening mist began to envelop the swamp, but his eyes discerned the shadows of trees and the movement of water.
Night is when predators hunt, he thought, his lips curving into a thin smile. But not for him; he was the hunter learning his territory.
Tonight he would not explore, as this body needed rest. He turned towards the lodge, which was now dark.
At the doorway, he paused, turned, and glanced at the mist-shrouded swamp. The sounds of the night grew livelier: insects, owls, and water splashes.
"Tomorrow," he muttered, Kairos's voice echoing through Aerion's throat. "Tomorrow, we hunt."