Chapter 29: Chapter 28 - Eager to Show Off One morning, while it was still dark outside, Teclos woke up.
He lay there for a few seconds, staring at the faint outline of the ceiling, listening to the quiet of the house. He was like a half-dead zombie right now, barely alive and suppressing a groan.
Waking up was one thing—convincing his body to actually move was another. His muscles protested softly, remnants of yesterday’s training still lingering in dull aches along his shoulders and back.
With a slow exhale, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.
"Up you go," he muttered to himself. "No excuses."
Early spring clung to the world outside. It was still dark outside, but at least the lifeless and harsh dark of winter was gone. Snow had only recently thawed, leaving the ground damp and muddy. The air carried a strange in-between scent—cold and warmth mixed together, forming a fresh morning and a warm day.
Trees swayed gently beneath a quiet breeze, bare branches whispering secrets to one another. Birds still slept, tucked away in nests, unaware that dawn was already creeping closer.
It felt... almost sacred.
Teclos rose and stretched, joints popping softly, then moved through his morning routine. Washing his face in a basin near his bed. Yawning and stretching. By now it was automatic, waking up so early—so familiar it reminded him of his previous life, of mornings shaped by that noisy old clock he had since school days, obligation to work and a bland routine. Almost like having a job again, he mused faintly. Only the coffee was missing.
He crossed the room to where his gear rested neatly, always prepared the night before.
For his birthday, Talmir had given him a chest—solid oak reinforced with iron bands. Inside had been his first real armor: fitted leather, dark brown and well-oiled, reinforced at the chest and shoulders, flexible enough not to restrict movement but sturdy enough to take a blow. The belt that came with it was wide and practical, fitted with loops and small pouches, worn smooth in places from constant use.
He dressed carefully, buckling each strap with practiced hands.
The practice sword came next—a wooden blade, weighted properly, its grip wrapped in leather that had molded to his palm over countless hours of drills. Not a real weapon, but more than enough for sparring, for forms, for learning how to move and breathe in combat. He slid it into place, then checked his throwing daggers—also wooden, balanced well enough to punish poor technique but forgiving enough to train with daily.
Two years.
A little more than two years had passed since the ghoul incident already.
Teclos was fourteen now, standing on the edge of adolescence. Hormones still proved to be a restless problem beneath the surface, but his mind—older, tempered—could finally keep them mostly in check now. The emotional storms that once plagued him came less often now, and when they did, they passed quicker.
Now he could act like more of an adult again, without losing himself in his emotions like before.
His days had been filled with training, sparring, and learning now. Only coming home when there was time to eat.
He fought Talmir, Kosak, and Tolk almost daily. Of course, he lost every time—but losses felt different now. Against Tolk, he could last three full minutes before being overwhelmed. Three minutes that two years ago would have been unthinkable.
Knowing what he knew now—that Kolma’s hunters were far from normal—made that achievement feel even better. Holding his ground against one of them, even briefly, was something to be proud of.
Kosak and Talmir were still leagues above him. If they fought seriously, the bout ended in seconds. But they rarely did. They held back, corrected him, forced him to think rather than simply react.
And Teclos learned.
Herbs and mixtures. Tracking and hunting. How to read terrain. How to fight opponents stronger than himself. His body had filled out more, muscle forming where there had once been only lean youth. His reflexes sharpened. His mana control steadied.
And still—he never grew arrogant again.
He knew better now.
These hunters were strong, yes. But they were not the strongest beings in the world. Not even close. Talmir had told him as much—promised, even—that sometime after his coming-of-age ceremony, once he became a hunter, he would introduce Teclos to a monster that was... friendly toward humans.
That thought alone kept his curiosity burning.
But today wasn’t about monsters.
Today was different.
Today, he finally got to show Gillard and Ralph the results of his training.
The first time they would spar and train together.
Ralph had already made sure to complain—loudly—that it wasn’t fair Teclos got to spar with adults while leaving them "out of the picture."
A faint smile tugged at Teclos’s lips as he strapped on the last piece of his gear.
He picked up his practice sword and secured his throwing daggers, feeling their familiar weight settle against him.
"Alright," he murmured, standing tall.
Today, he’d finally shut Ralph up.
Teclos left his room quietly, closing the door behind him with silent care. The house was still asleep, wrapped in that fragile stillness that existed only before dawn fully claimed the sky.
He moved into the kitchen.
The kettle was filled, placed over the hearth, and coaxed to life. As the water began to heat, Teclos reached for the dried leaves Talmir favored—earthy, slightly bitter, with a calming aftertaste. He measured them carefully, dividing them between two cups. One for himself. One for his father.
Steam slowly curled upward, fogging the cool air. The faint scent of herbs spread through the room, calming and familiar.
Just as he poured the water and set the cups aside to steep, he heard footsteps.
Talmir entered the kitchen, already dressed for the day, hair still slightly disheveled from sleep. He paused when he saw Teclos standing there, hands wrapped loosely around his own cup.
A smile spread across his face.
"Morning," Talmir said, voice low but warm. He stretched once, joints popping audibly. "How is it that you’re always the first one up?"
He shook his head with a faint chuckle.
"You never oversleep. Not once. When I was your age, my mother had to drag me out of bed by the ear."
Teclos shrugged, lifting his cup and taking a small sip. The tea was hot and calming.
"I just am," he replied simply.
Internally, he smirked.
’You’re a few years too early to beat a factory worker at waking up,’ he thought.