Quade stepped into the center of the clearing and rolled his shoulders before drawing a slow breath. The determination in his eyes grew.
"I'm ready, Master Hound."
Hound gave a small nod and motioned toward his hand. "One finger. Focus on control, not power. We start small."
Quade looked down at his right hand and extended his index finger. For a moment, nothing happened. Then black-purple energy began gathering around the tip, swirling like a tiny galaxy trapped in place. The sight was beautiful in the same way a storm over the ocean could be beautiful.
Quade tried to shape the power into something small and precise, carefully narrowing the swirling black-purple energy gathering at his fingertip. For a brief moment it seemed stable, but then the energy twitched violently and erupted out of control, causing his entire hand to vanish into a cloud of galaxy-like darkness.
Quade grunted as the limb dissolved into darkness filled with distant stars, leaving only a glowing purple outline hanging where flesh should have been.
Sweat immediately beaded across his forehead, yet he remained standing.
Hound watched the boy closely.
Several minutes later, bone, muscle, and skin slowly reformed from the void.
The moment his fingers returned, he tried again.
The next attempt cost him two fingers.
The one after that consumed half his forearm.
Another shot blew apart everything from the elbow down.
Each failure was different.
Each success lasted only moments before the power slipped beyond his control again.
Still, Quade continued.
His breathing grew ragged while sweat soaked his clothes, but every time a missing limb returned, he immediately prepared for another attempt.
"For them," he whispered to himself.
His gaze briefly drifted before he focused on his goal again. 'I have to make this work.'
Hound watched every second with intense focus, mentally noting patterns: how the power flared when Quade got emotional, how the cost increased with the strength of the output, how the reformation took longer after bigger sacrifices. He said little, only offering quiet corrections. "Breathe. Narrow the focus. Don't force it."
Quade ignored him.
The next attempt cost him a leg.
"Focus," the master demanded now.
Another blast replaced two fingers with swirling galaxies.
"Breathe, Quade." The corrections remained calm.
Patient yet relentless.
Hours passed.
By late afternoon, Quade had lost his right arm twice, a leg once, and more fingers than anyone felt comfortable counting.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Every sacrifice eventually returned, but each recovery left him looking a little paler and a little more exhausted than before.
Lorenzo and Zyon watched in stunned silence, their own training forgotten. The determination in Quade's eyes was humbling.
Neither knew what to say.
Eventually, the sun dipped lower in the sky, bathing the clearing in warm orange light.
Only then did Hound finally step forward. "Enough."
Quade's shoulders sagged.
Whether from disappointment or relief, nobody could tell.
"You're pushing too hard," the master said.
The boy opened his mouth to protest.
Hound raised a hand. "But your resolve is incredible."
For the first time all day, Quade smiled. "Thank you, Master."
As the group gathered their gear, Hound motioned for everyone to come closer.
"Before we continue, I want to discuss something with you. We are now close to the Grand Pass. I'd like for us to stay at this spot for another week. These past days have shown me that while we're strong individually, we're not yet working well together as a team. That needs to change. From tomorrow onward, we'll train with more focus on teamwork and synergy. We need to learn how to fight together, not just side by side."
Zyon and Lorenzo exchanged a glance but nodded without argument.
Quade also gave a small, determined nod.
Hound continued, "We'll use this time well. After a week, we'll move forward with a stronger foundation."
The week passed quickly.
Every morning began with meditation beneath the rising sun.
Every afternoon brought sparring sessions, formation training, and experiments with their powers. Every evening ended with discussions beside the river as they reviewed mistakes and searched for ways to improve.
Slowly, things changed.
Zyon learned when to step forward and when to support.
Lorenzo became better at creating openings for the others.
Quade started trusting the group enough to stop carrying every burden himself.
And Hound watched all of it happen.
As the sun began to set on the seventh day, painting the sky in deep oranges and bits of purple, Hound stood silently at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed.
His gaze moved between the exhausted group and the river where their catamaran gently rocked against the bank.
He was weighing their options. Start sailing at night or rest and leave in the morning.
Eventually, his gaze settled on Quade.
The boy sat in the grass breathing heavily, exhausted after another day of fighting with and against Cosmic Debt.
Even now, however, determination still burned behind his eyes.
"We camp here one more night and leave tomorrow morning," Hound finally announced, his deep voice carrying across the clearing.
Quade lifted his head, clearly exhausted but listening.
Hound continued, "Quade has pushed himself harder than any of us these days. He deserves a proper night's rest on solid ground."
He turned toward the scarred boy. "Besides… I want to read something to you from that old notebook your grandfather left behind. We can go through it together by the fire."
Quade's tired eyes widened slightly. For a moment, the usual guarded expression on his face softened. He gave a small, almost shy nod. "I'd… like that," he said quietly.
By the time darkness settled across the jungle, a small fire crackled at the center of their camp.
The old journal rested in Hound's lap while the others gathered around him.
Carefully opening it, he turned several fragile pages before stopping.
The master's eyebrows rose. "This isn't really a normal journal."
Quade frowned. "What do you mean?"
Hound turned the book slightly. "It's more like a warrior's field log. This Simmons Warrior recorded his hunts with the precision of true warriors, strengths, weaknesses, lessons learned. Sharp, practical notes."
"Level 3 Ironhide Boar," Hound read aloud. "Hide resistant to most blades. Bring hammers next time."
Lorenzo nodded. "Smart."
Hound then turned the page. "Level 4 Flameviper. Strike its neck from behind or above. Cost us Kael. Never fight them near dry grass again."
As Hound continued turning pages, a pattern quickly emerged. Every entry was filled with observations, mistakes, and practical lessons earned through experience rather than theory.
The accumulated experience of a warrior who had spent decades surviving battles most people never would.
The fire crackled softly as Hound continued reading.
Then his voice changed.
The group noticed immediately.
Slowly, he turned another page. "This one's different."
Silence settled around the fire.
Hound began reading.
"We were attacked at night. Not Ethereals. Night Void assassins, they called themselves. Five of them. This caused an immediate reaction from Zyon and the group.
"We fought like lions, but their darkness swallowed us like nothing. I lost three brothers today. I barely escaped with my life, carrying my youngest brother on my back. Running from battle… it is a disgrace for a Simmons warrior.
But I could not let him die.
Not him."
The words felt heavier than anything Quade had heard before.