Lee stood before the open arena gates, staring at the enormous figure waiting beyond them.
The man was easily seven feet tall.
Thick muscles covered his arms, shoulders, and chest, but he did not carry the heavy build of someone who relied only on strength.
He stood lightly on the balls of his feet, balanced and relaxed, as though he could move in any direction without warning.
A simple cloth wrapped around his waist.
Leather straps covered his forearms, and old scars crossed his knuckles.
Lee glanced at Hermes.
“That’s the person training me?”
Hermes rested both hands on the top of his staff.
“For the first portion of your training.”
“There’s more than one portion?”
“There are always more portions.”
“That wasn’t very comforting.”
“It was not intended to be.”
Buster remained near the arena entrance, sniffing at the sand.
He sneezed, shook his head, and wandered toward a shaded section of stone seating as though the impossible world around him had already become boring.
Lee wished he could adjust that easily.
The arena looked real enough to touch because it was real.
Warm sunlight pressed against his skin.
Sand shifted beneath his shoes, and the sounds of an ancient city drifted beyond the walls—merchants shouting, animals calling, and cart wheels grinding across stone.
A few minutes earlier, Lee had been standing in a crater behind his home while the world fell apart.
Now he was about to train with someone Hermes apparently considered legendary.
Lee looked back toward the giant.
“Who is he?”
The man stepped into the light.
“Hermes speaks too much,” he said.
His voice was deep and calm.
Hermes smiled.
“Lee Woods, meet Milo of Croton.
Six-time Olympic champion, undefeated wrestler, and one of the finest practitioners of pankration ever to walk the mortal world.”
Milo studied Lee from head to toe.
“This is the boy?”
“This is the boy.”
“He is small.”
“I’m fifteen,” Lee said.
Milo’s expression did not change.
“Then you have time to grow.”
Lee looked at Hermes.
“He seems friendly.”
“He is showing remarkable warmth.”
Milo walked forward and stopped within arm’s reach.
Lee resisted the urge to step back.
His father had trained him in wrestling, striking, and Arnis since he was old enough to follow instructions.
Lee knew how to stand, how to protect his head, and how to escape several basic holds.
None of that knowledge made him feel prepared to fight Milo.
The ancient wrestler circled him once.
“Show me your stance.”
Lee raised his hands and settled into the position his father had taught him.
His left foot moved slightly forward while he kept his weight centered.
Milo watched in silence.
After several seconds, Lee lowered his hands.
“Well?”
“You lean too far forward.”
Lee straightened.
“Now you lean too far backward.”
Lee shifted again.
“Your feet are too close.”
He widened them.
“Too far.”
Lee frowned.
“Do you want to show me?”
Milo’s mouth twitched.
Hermes stepped away from the arena wall.
“That may have been the first correct thing you have done since entering.”
“Thanks.”
Milo moved into position across from Lee.
His stance appeared simple—knees slightly bent, hands raised, one foot ahead of the other.
“Balance is the foundation of violence,” Milo said.
“Without it, strength becomes useless.
Speed only carries you more quickly into failure.”
Lee copied him.
Something strange happened.
The instant he focused on Milo’s posture, details poured into his mind.
He noticed the exact angle of the man’s feet, the bend of his knees, and the alignment of his shoulders.
Lee adjusted until his stance matched Milo’s almost perfectly.
A faint warmth moved through his chest.
Milo’s eyes narrowed.
“There,” he said.
“Again.”
Lee relaxed and repeated the stance.
It felt natural this time.
Hermes walked slowly around them.
“Your first gift has begun to reveal itself.”
Lee kept his eyes on Milo.
“What gift?”
“Mimicry.”
The warmth inside Lee grew stronger.
Hermes continued.
“You can absorb fragments of knowledge, skill, instinct, and physical ability from those around you.
Observation creates a connection.
Proximity strengthens it.
Physical contact is stronger still.”
Lee glanced at him.
“So I can copy anything?”
“That is not what I said.”
“It sounded like what you said.”
“Mimicry gives you access.
It does not give you judgment, experience, or discipline.”
Milo stepped forward without warning.
His hand struck Lee’s shoulder.
The world tilted.
Lee landed flat on his back before he understood what had happened.
The impact drove the air from his lungs, and hot sand worked its way beneath his shirt.
Milo stood over him.
“Knowledge,” the wrestler said, “is not the same as readiness.”
Lee coughed and pushed himself upright.
He had seen the movement.
His mind even understood parts of it.
Milo had stepped outside Lee’s lead foot, controlled his upper body, and used Lee’s weight against him.
Knowing that did not make the throw hurt less.
“Again,” Milo said.
Lee stood.
Milo threw him a second time.
Then a third.
By the sixth fall, Lee’s back ached and sand filled his hair.
By the tenth, his frustration had replaced most of his fear.
Milo offered his hand.
Lee ignored it and stood on his own.
“That all you’ve got?”
Milo looked toward Hermes.
“He is becoming foolish.”
“He was already foolish,” Hermes replied.
“You are merely discovering it.”
Lee wiped sand from his face.
“Can we focus?”
Milo moved in again.
This time, Lee saw the grip coming.
He lowered his hips and pulled back, but Milo changed direction, hooked one leg, and dropped him onto his side.
Pain shot through Lee’s ribs.
Before he could recover, Milo pressed a knee against his stomach and trapped one arm.
“Yield.”
Lee struggled.
Milo increased the pressure.
Lee’s shoulder began to burn.
“Yield.”
“No.”
The pressure intensified until Lee felt something in his arm threaten to tear.
“Yield,” Milo repeated.
Lee slapped the sand.
Milo released him immediately.
Lee rolled onto his back and stared at the sky.
“This is terrible.”
“You lasted longer,” Milo said.
“By what, two seconds?”
“Three.”
Lee sat up, rubbing his shoulder.
“Great.”
Milo extended his hand again.
This time, Lee took it.
The training continued.
Milo began with movement rather than attacks.
Lee learned how to shift his weight without crossing his feet, how to keep his hips beneath him, and how to move forward without surrendering balance.
Whenever Lee grew comfortable, Milo shoved him.
Whenever Lee leaned too far, Milo swept his legs.
Whenever Lee looked toward Hermes for help, Milo struck him in the stomach.
After what felt like several hours, Lee stopped looking away.
He began recognizing small changes in Milo’s posture.
A lowered shoulder signaled a rush.
A shift in the hips warned of a throw.
The angle of the wrestler’s feet revealed which direction he intended to move.
Mimicry helped Lee understand those details quickly.
Applying them was harder.
He caught Milo’s wrist during one exchange and attempted the same throw that had dropped him earlier.
Lee stepped outside, turned his hips, and pulled.
Milo did not move.
Lee strained harder.
The ancient wrestler looked down at him.
“You forgot the most important part.”
“What part?”
Milo lifted him from the ground.
Lee’s eyes widened.
“The opponent cooperates because you leave him no other choice.”
Milo threw him across the arena.
Lee hit the sand, rolled twice, and stopped near Hermes’ feet.
Hermes looked down at him.
“An excellent demonstration.”
“I hate both of you.”
“A strong emotional response can improve memory.”
Lee pushed himself upright again.
His body should have been exhausted.
His muscles ached, and his skin was covered in sweat, but the usual heaviness never came.
He did not feel hungry or thirsty either.
He glanced toward the sun.
It had not moved.
“How long have we been doing this?”
“Nearly twelve hours,” Hermes said.
Lee stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“This realm does not follow the same passage of time as Earth.”
“How much time has passed at home?”
Hermes smiled.
“For practical purposes?
None.”
Lee stared at him.
“None?”
“The passage of time here is not bound to Earth.
You may experience hours, days, or considerably longer while no meaningful time passes outside.”
Lee looked toward the arena gates.
“So I could stay here for weeks?”
“Yes.”
“And go home to the same moment?”
“For practical purposes.”
Lee thought of his parents, Ella, and the burning cities on the news.
Then he looked at Milo.
“Then we keep going.”
Milo nodded once.
For the first time, he looked pleased.
Lee stopped counting how many times he hit the ground.
The lessons shifted from stance and balance to striking, clinch work, takedowns, and escapes.
Milo taught him to use his knees and elbows at close range, to control an opponent’s head, and to recognize when strength would fail.
Lee learned quickly.
He also failed constantly.
His punches became faster, but Milo slipped past them.
His takedowns improved, but Milo reversed them.
Every time Lee believed he had mastered a movement, Milo exposed something he had missed.
Still, progress came.
During one exchange, Milo reached for Lee’s shoulder.
Lee trapped the wrist, stepped past him, and turned his hips.
This time, he did not attempt to overpower the wrestler.
He changed the angle, attacked Milo’s balance, and pulled at the exact moment the larger man shifted his weight.
Milo stumbled.
Only one step.
But he stumbled.
Lee released him and backed away.
“I got you.”
“You disturbed my balance.”
“That counts.”
“It does not.”
Hermes raised one hand.
“I shall permit it to count.”
Milo looked displeased.
Lee grinned.
The grin lasted until Milo swept both of his legs and dropped him onto his back.
“Celebration creates openings,” Milo said.
Lee stared up at him.
“I’m starting to notice a pattern.”
When Milo finally stepped away, Lee remained standing in the center of the arena.
His shirt was torn, his arms were bruised, and every breath made his ribs ache.
Despite the pain, his stance remained balanced.
Milo gave him a short nod.
“You learn quickly.”
Lee tried not to smile too much.
“You noticed.”
“You remain careless, impatient, and too confident in abilities you have not earned.”
The smile disappeared.
“But you learn quickly,” Milo repeated.
A bright shimmer surrounded the wrestler.
His body faded until only a faint outline remained, then vanished completely.
Lee turned toward Hermes.
“That’s it?”
“For today.”
Lee looked at the unmoving sun.
“It’s still today?”
“In the Void, such measurements are largely meaningless.”
Before Lee could ask another question, the arena gates opened again.
Heavy footsteps shook the sand.
A warrior entered wearing bronze armor from shoulders to shins.
He carried a spear in one hand and an enormous shield in the other.
A sword hung at his waist.
He was nearly as large as Milo, though the armor made him appear even broader.
Unlike Milo, he did not look amused.
Hermes gestured toward him.
“Ajax the Great.
Bulwark of the Achaeans.
Champion of the Greeks and one of the mightiest warriors of the Trojan War.”
Ajax stopped in front of Lee.
His gaze moved over the bruises and torn clothing.
“This is what Milo prepared?”
“He has improved,” Hermes said.
Ajax grunted.
“Then he must have been useless before.”
Lee exhaled slowly.
“Do all ancient warriors act like this?”
“The pleasant ones died young,” Hermes replied.
Ajax drove the base of his spear into the sand.
Light surrounded Lee.
His clothing changed into a leather training cuirass with bracers covering his forearms.
A round shield appeared on his left arm, and a short sword settled into his right hand.
The sudden weight pulled his shoulder down.
Lee nearly dropped both.
Ajax watched him struggle.
“Too heavy?”
“No.”
It was a lie.
Lee adjusted the shield strap and lifted his sword.
The weapon felt awkward.
His father had taught him to fight with sticks and training knives, but a real sword carried weight differently.
The blade wanted to keep moving once he swung it.
Ajax drew his own sword.
“Attack.”
Lee looked at Hermes.
Hermes stepped farther away.
“That usually means he wishes you to attack.”
Lee raised his shield and moved forward.
He swung toward Ajax’s shoulder.
Ajax blocked the strike and slammed his shield into Lee’s chest.
Lee flew backward.
He landed hard enough to bounce.
For several seconds, he could not breathe.
Ajax remained where he had been.
“You attacked the armor.”
Lee rolled onto one elbow.
“I noticed.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“It looked like the safest target.”
Ajax’s expression hardened.
“Weapons are not made to be safe.”
Lee stood and raised the shield again.
He attacked lower this time, aiming at Ajax’s exposed thigh.
Ajax turned the blade aside, struck Lee’s sword from his hand, and placed the edge of his own weapon against Lee’s throat.
Three movements.
Lee had barely seen any of them.
“Dead,” Ajax said.
He lowered the sword.
Lee retrieved his weapon.
They started again.
Ajax corrected everything.
Lee held the shield too low.
His sword traveled too far before each strike.
His feet followed his weapon instead of supporting it.
He watched Ajax’s blade instead of the warrior’s body.
Each mistake ended the same way.
A shield against his chest.
A sword at his throat.
A spear point against his stomach.
“Dead.”
Again.
“Dead.”
Again.
“Dead.”
Lee’s frustration returned.
He charged behind his shield, hoping to use his enhanced strength and speed before Ajax could react.
The warrior stepped aside.
Lee rushed past him, lost his footing, and crashed face-first into the sand.
Ajax struck the back of his armor with the flat of his sword.
“Dead.”
Lee rolled over and threw his shield aside.
“This isn’t working.”
“No,” Ajax said.
“You are not working.”
“I’m trying.”
“You are rushing.”
“I’m faster than I was before.”
“Then you make mistakes more quickly.”
Lee clenched his jaw.
Ajax stepped closer.
“A warrior who trusts strength alone becomes predictable.
One who trusts speed becomes reckless.
Your gifts will betray you if you use them to hide your weakness.”
The words stung because Lee knew they were true.
Mimicry showed him what Ajax was doing.
The power allowed Lee to recognize the warrior’s movements, but he kept trying to skip the effort needed to make them his own.
Lee picked up the shield.
“Again.”
Ajax raised his sword.
This time, Lee did not charge.
He advanced carefully, keeping the shield between them.
When Ajax moved, Lee watched his shoulders instead of the blade.
Ajax struck high.
Lee lifted the shield and absorbed the impact.
Pain traveled through his arm, but he stayed balanced.
The second strike came from the side.
Lee turned with it.
The sword scraped across the shield’s rim rather than knocking him backward.
Lee stepped inside and drove his shoulder into Ajax’s chest.
The larger warrior barely moved, but Lee followed with a short strike toward the gap beneath his arm.
Ajax caught the blade against his shield.
Then he struck Lee across the helmet.
Lee dropped to one knee.
The arena spun.
“Dead,” Ajax said.
Lee looked up at him.
Ajax extended one hand.
“But less quickly.”
Lee accepted it.
Training blurred together after that.
Hours became days.
Days became weeks.
Milo returned, and Lee began combining unarmed techniques with weapons.
He learned to strike with the shield’s edge, trap an opponent’s arm, and use throws when a fight became too close for swords.
The Void created opponents for him.
At first, they came one at a time—faceless Greek soldiers carrying wooden swords and spears.
Later, they attacked in pairs.
Then groups.
Lee failed.
He was surrounded, disarmed, knocked down, and struck more times than he could count.
Each defeat forced him to notice another weakness.
He learned to keep moving.
He learned not to turn his back toward open ground.
He learned to watch shoulders and hips instead of weapons.
He learned to use the shield to create openings instead of merely stopping attacks.
He learned that retreating one step could place an opponent exactly where he wanted him.
And he learned that the most dangerous enemy was often the one he could not see.
Mimicry accelerated everything.
It did not replace training.
Ajax made certain of that.
Whenever Lee copied a movement and attempted it without understanding why it worked, Ajax punished him for it.
Whenever he relied on his increased strength instead of positioning, Milo put him on the ground.
Whenever Lee used speed to cover poor footwork, Ajax made him start again without it.
Eventually, Lee stopped thinking of Mimicry as a shortcut.
It was a blueprint.
Training turned the blueprint into something he could actually use.
The fights became harder.
Three opponents.
Five.
Different weapons.
Different terrain.
Sometimes Lee had his sword and shield.
Sometimes he had neither.
Sometimes the Void gave him only a wooden staff and expected him to survive long enough to figure out what to do with it.
He learned to adapt.
During one battle, Lee blocked a spear thrust with his shield and failed to notice the second warrior approaching from his right.
A blade cut deeply across his upper arm.
Lee cried out.
Blood ran beneath the leather armor.
He nearly dropped his sword, but the attacker raised his weapon again.
Lee stepped forward instead of retreating.
He struck the warrior with his shield, disrupted his balance, and finished the fight with a downward slash.
The opponents vanished.
Lee pressed one hand against the wound.
“That was real.”
Hermes approached him.
“The pain was real.”
“I thought this was training.”
“Pain is part of training.”
“That thing almost cut my arm off.”
“Almost.”
Lee pulled his hand away.
The gash was already closing.
Torn muscle drew together beneath his skin as the bleeding slowed.
Within seconds, only a thin red line remained.
Lee stared.
“I healed.”
“Yes.”
“That fast?”
“The Aether circulating through your body provides the energy your body uses to repair damage.”
Lee flexed his arm.
The pain had faded, though his skin remained tender.
Hermes touched two fingers to Lee’s chest.
A faint blue light appeared beneath the surface.
“Your body can contain and circulate only so much Aether effectively.
Reinforcing yourself, healing wounds, and using supernatural abilities all consume that available energy.”
“How do I know how much I have?”
“You will learn to feel it.”
“And if I use too much?”
“You become tired.
Slower.
Weaker.
Eventually your body will have insufficient Aether available to maintain the advantages you have begun taking for granted.”
Lee looked at the thin line where the wound had been.
“And healing?”
“Requires Aether as well.
If you suffer a severe wound after exhausting yourself, you may die before your body can repair the damage.”
That possibility felt more real now.
Hermes gestured toward the arena.
“The Elysian Void contains vast amounts of Aether.
While you remain here, your body is constantly exposed to it.
The Realm replenishes what you expend and accelerates your recovery.
You will not need food, water, or sleep unless you choose them.”
Lee looked at him.
“So I can heal from anything in here?”
“Do not confuse rapid healing with immortality.”
Lee looked toward the weapons scattered across the sand.
“Can I die here?”
Hermes held his gaze.
“Yes.”
The answer cooled Lee’s excitement.
“If your body suffers destruction beyond the Void’s ability to restore it, you will die.
If your soul is damaged, the consequences may be worse.”
Lee swallowed.
“You could’ve mentioned that earlier.”
“You had enough fear already.”
Ajax approached from behind Hermes.
“Fear is useful.”
Milo joined him.
“If controlled,” he added.
Hermes smiled.
“You see?
Your education is progressing.”
Lee stared at the three of them.
“You’re all insane.”
“Perhaps,” Hermes said.
“But you are becoming stronger.”
Lee stood alone at the center of the arena.
Five warriors surrounded him.
One carried a spear.
Two held swords and shields.
The remaining pair were unarmed.
Lee breathed slowly.
Six weeks ago, he would have attacked the closest one.
He no longer thought that way.
The spear fighter stood farthest away, using the others as cover.
The shield warriors were positioned to trap Lee between them.
The unarmed fighters waited slightly behind the first line.
They weren’t waiting for an opening.
They were waiting for Lee to create one for them.
Lee shifted toward the edge of the formation.
The first shield warrior advanced.
Lee met the sword with his own shield and stepped sideways rather than backward.
He caught the man’s wrist, turned his hips, and threw him into one of the unarmed fighters.
The spear thrust came next.
Lee saw the shoulder move before the weapon followed.
He angled his shield.
The point slid past him.
Lee trapped the spear beneath his arm, pulled the wielder forward, and struck him across the face with the shield’s rim.
The second swordsman rushed him.
Lee released the spear and ducked beneath the attack.
He drove one shoulder into the man’s chest, hooked his leg, and sent him into the sand.
Movement behind him.
Lee didn’t turn.
He stepped forward.
Hands missed the back of his armor.
Then he turned.
The remaining unarmed fighter had overextended.
Lee lowered his weight, caught the arm, turned, and used Milo’s throw.
The man flew over his shoulder.
Lee heard movement to his left.
The first shield warrior had recovered.
Their swords collided.
Lee blocked high.
The warrior shifted.
Lee saw the opening.
He didn’t rush it.
One step.
Shield first.
The warrior’s sword was forced outward.
Lee struck low, changed angles, and brought his blade back up.
It stopped against the warrior’s throat.
The opponents vanished into golden dust.
Silence settled over the arena.
Milo nodded.
Ajax crossed his arms.
Hermes smiled.
Lee lowered the sword.
“How long did that take?”
“Thirty-seven seconds,” Ajax said.
Lee frowned.
“Is that good?”
“No.”
Milo looked toward Ajax.
“It was acceptable.”
“Acceptable is not good.”
“It’s better than dead,” Lee said.
Ajax considered that.
“Barely.”
Lee smiled.
The sword and shield dissolved from his hands.
His armor faded, replaced by the clothes he had worn when he entered the Void.
Lee looked toward the unchanged sky.
“How long have I been here?”
“By your perception?” Hermes asked.
“Nearly six weeks.”
Lee stared at him.
“And outside?”
“No meaningful time has passed.”
Lee looked at Hermes.
“None?”
“For practical purposes, you will return to the moment you left.”
Lee looked toward Buster.
The bulldog remained asleep in the shade.
Six weeks.
Lee had spent more than a month being thrown, struck, cut, chased, surrounded, and criticized by ancient warriors.
Buster hadn’t even finished his nap.
Lee shook his head.
“That is seriously weird.”
“You will become accustomed to it,” Hermes said.
“I’m not sure I want to.”
“That has rarely prevented you from doing something.”
Lee glanced at him.
Then he looked toward Milo and Ajax.
For six weeks, they had shown him how much he didn’t know.
But they had also changed him.
He could feel it.
Not only in his body.
He noticed things differently.
Where people stood.
How they moved.
Where an attack might come from.
How much distance separated him from an opponent.
Where he could move if someone blocked his retreat.
His first instinct was no longer simply to hit harder.
Ajax stepped closer.
“You are thinking.”
Lee smiled.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
Milo ignored them both.
“You have learned enough to begin.”
Lee’s smile faded.
“Begin?”
“You have fought opponents created for training,” Milo said.
“They behave according to rules.”
Ajax nodded.
“A real enemy will not.”
Hermes stepped beside them.
“Remember that.”
Lee looked at him.
“All this and I’m still not ready?”
“Ready is not a condition you achieve once and retain forever.”
“That sounds like something you made up.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
Lee shook his head.
Then he looked toward the arena one last time.
“I should go back.”
Hermes tilted his head.
“You are eager to leave?”
“My friends might be trying to reach me.
My parents could call.
The news might have answers.”
“And if danger waits outside?”
Lee looked at Milo.
Then Ajax.
Then the arena where he had spent six weeks learning how often one mistake could kill him.
“Then I’m more prepared than I was.”
“Prepared is a generous word,” Ajax said.
Lee ignored him.
“How do I leave?”
“The same way you entered,” Hermes said.
“Focus on where you wish to be.
The Void responds to will and memory.”
Lee pictured his kitchen.
The generator humming behind the garage.
The dark window overlooking the crater.
Nothing happened.
He opened his eyes.
Hermes raised one eyebrow.
“I’m trying.”
“You are thinking about the location.
You are not choosing it.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Will is not a request, Lee.”
Lee closed his eyes again.
He imagined the kitchen more clearly.
The worn wooden floor beneath his shoes.
Buster’s water bowl beside the pantry.
The smell of smoke drifting through the broken night.
Home.
He chose it.
The arena disappeared.
Cold air struck his face.
Lee opened his eyes.
He stood in his kitchen.
Blue light still poured through the window.
The emergency generator continued humming outside.
The clock above the stove had not moved.
Lee stared at it.
Six weeks.
Not even a second.
Buster appeared beside him in a flash of golden light.
The dog looked around, trotted to his food bowl, and began eating as though nothing unusual had happened.
Lee touched his arm where the spear had cut him.
No wound remained.
But he remembered the pain.
Hermes’ voice entered his thoughts.
Do not mistake training for victory.
You have learned how to move, how to fight, and how to survive opponents meant to teach you.
Lee looked toward the glowing crater beyond the window.
What you’re about to face will not be trying to teach you.
A low growl came from behind him.
Lee turned.
Buster had stopped eating.
The dog stared toward the back door, his body rigid and his teeth exposed.
Something moved beyond the blue mist.
Not a person.
The shape crawled along the edge of the crater, low to the ground, dragging several long limbs behind it.
Lee’s heartbeat quickened.
His body wanted to tense.
Six weeks of training stopped him.
He breathed.
Watched.
Measured the distance.
Hermes spoke again.
Your first lesson is over.
The creature lifted its head.
Two violet eyes opened in the darkness.
Lee’s hand slowly closed into a fist.
Hermes’ final words entered his mind.
Now we discover what you retained.
Let me know if you like it.