The days began to bleed into each other.
Sunrise and sunset blurred into rhythm. Breath into breath.
Matteo had begun to understand it—the feeling of letting the energy flow.
The Cradle Tree had served as training wheels. A spark to awaken what lay dormant.
But now, Matteo could gather and circulate energy on his own. Without help. Without guidance.
It had become natural. Like breathing.
This morning, he sat quietly in the yard. Cross-legged on the cool, dew-speckled grass.
Dragon lilies bloomed beside him, their violet petals swaying with the mountain breeze.
The red-leafed trees in the corner rustled softly, their branches whispering secrets to the wind.
The sun had only begun to rise.
Matteo's chest moved slowly. Each inhale drew in a sliver of energy. Each exhale refined it.
His core—once a still lake—now stirred with depth.
One more push. One final tide…
And then—
Boom.
Like a dam bursting, the energy surged.
It flooded through him like molten silver. Every limb, every vein, every breath.
His ears rang—but not in pain. He heard everything.
The flutter of wings high above.
The soft rhythm of Yurisha's breath.
The old man shifting his coat, far behind him.
His senses became sharp.
The grass beneath his fingertips felt individual strands.
The wind tickled the scars on his arms.
The flowers smelled like citrus and honey.
His body no longer resisted the flow.
It welcomed it.
A full circulation.
Energy now moved in a loop within him—constant, stable, like a living forge burning beneath his skin.
When his eyes opened at last, the manor was bathed in morning gold.
Birds sang above. The mountain glistened in new light.
He turned his head.
The old man sat nearby with Yurisha curled up in his lap, half-asleep and drooling onto his robe.
The old man gave him a look. Not a smile. But a rare nod of approval.
"Good. The core has stabilized."
Yurisha snorted herself awake.
"Bwuthur's done medimating?"
Matteo let out a small exhale. "Yeah. I am."
She toddled over and hugged his arm, then ran off into the trees—chasing a butterfly that probably didn't exist.
The old man stood, brushing snow-white strands of hair from his robe.
"Then it's time."
---
By afternoon...
Matteo stood at the edge of the cliff behind the manor.
A steep, craggy slope dropped sharply into the lower mountain valley.
Clouds clung to the rocky sides like foggy curtains.
And far below, the mouth of a dark cave yawned open like a beast.
Behind him, the old man adjusted the heavy cloth bands wrapped around Matteo's wrists and ankles.
"Every afternoon from now on, after meditating you will do this next task."
Matteo glanced down at the weighted bands.
"…How heavy are these?"
The old man didn't answer.
Instead, he smacked one of the bands. It thudded against Matteo's leg like a block of lead.
"Heavy enough."
He pointed down the cliff.
"Your task is simple. Climb down to the water cave without dying. Fill the two buckets you'll carry with fresh water. Then bring them back—up the carved staircase on the other side of the ravine."
Matteo followed the path with his eyes.
Down. Jagged rock. Ice. Near vertical slope.
Then…
Up.
A winding staircase etched into the side of the mountain.
It spiraled all the way back to the manor. Hundreds of steps. Maybe a thousand.
"You're not allowed to use the stairs down. Only up."
"…Why?"
"Because dragons don't start strong. They climb to power. And so will you."
Matteo looked down again.
Yurisha peeked out from behind a bush with a flower crown on her head.
"Bwuthur's gonna fall~"
"…Thanks for the encouragement."
---
And then later...
Matteo grunted as he climbed. Fingers bleeding slightly. Ankles screaming.
The weight of the bands pulled at his limbs like iron chains. His breath burned his lungs.
By the time he reached the cave mouth, he had lost count of the times he nearly slipped.
The shadows inside the cave swallowed sound, the air thick and cold.
He knelt beside the underground spring—a still pool of water so clear it looked like glass.
He filled the buckets.
Then the climb back began.
Up the staircase.
One step. Two. Ten. Fifty.
His legs trembled.
His arms shook.
His vision blurred.
But he kept moving.
---
By the time Matteo stumbled into the courtyard with sloshing buckets, he looked like a ghost dragging through fog.
Yurisha clapped.
"Bwuthur looks dead~!!"
He dropped the buckets. Collapsed face-first into the grass.
The old man stood nearby.
"Hm. Not bad."
Matteo wheezed. "You… say that… like you didn't try to kill me…"
"If I wanted you dead, I'd have given you three buckets."
"…That's… not comforting…"
The old man sat beside the fire and took out a long pipe.
"Tomorrow, we begin with real movement training. Reflexes. Sword drills. You'll use what your body learns in this climb."
Matteo groaned, dragging himself toward the fire.
Yurisha already had the meat prepped from earlier.
"Bwuthur!! Time to do the cooking!!"
He sat up, wiped the blood from his knuckles, and grabbed the skillet.
"…Yeah, yeah. I'm on it."