Chapter 12: Affinity
The spear cut the air with increasing clarity.
Its weight was familiar now, no longer a foreign object in his hands, but an extension of himself, like a limb rediscovered. His bare feet dragged against the dusty backyard soil, kicking up small clouds with each turn, jab, and sudden shift in stance.
Arah’s breathing came in steady bursts. His movements, which had been clumsy and uneven, now flowed with a certain brutal elegance. The spear spun, reversed, thrust, and arced again through the space. There was no opponent, he was simply practicing, and yet... he fought as if death stood just a step away.
Three days. He had been doing this for three days.
He could feel it. His coordination, precision, and control were getting better and better.
His arms no longer trembled from strain. His balance, that had been compromised by a body he hadn’t fully adjusted to, had become firm and centered. There were still some awkward movements here and there, but with each swing they were slowly disappearing, as he fed into instinct.
With each step, and with each swing,
he could not help but smile as another layer of himself returned.
Then... he stopped.
He lowered his spear. Sweat shimmered down his skin, sliding over collarbones and trickling into the folds of his worn robe that he had decided would be his training garments. Arah dropped to the ground with a quiet grunt, crossing his legs as he inhaled slowly, then exhaled even slower. Not to meditate, at least not completely, but to rest. He let the strain ease, and the fire in his muscles cool. He closed his eyes. The rhythm of his breath and heartbeat slowed.
And then, he heard it.