The days began to layer on one another with a consistency that felt earned rather than imposed.

  I woke early each morning because my body expected it. Hunger pulled me from sleep before the sun rose fully most days, sharp enough that lingering in bed was not an option. The sensation was not panic or weakness, but a clear signal that my body was ready to work and required fuel to do so. I learned quickly that ignoring that signal only made the rest of the morning harder than it needed to be.

  By the time I reached the mess hall, Myrda was already moving through her work, her pace steady, her attention exact. She worked as though the morning were a continuation rather than a beginning, hands moving without wasted motion as she prepared the first plates. When she saw me, her eyes flicked over my posture, my gait, the way I held myself after waking. She did not ask questions. She adjusted what she served.

  What I needed shifted slightly each day, and she accounted for it without being asked. Portions increased, then stabilized. Texture changed. Timing changed. I ate the first meal quickly because my body demanded it immediately. The second slowed me down enough that I could breathe properly again. By the third, the tremor that sometimes followed waking strain had faded, replaced by something solid and usable.

  Training followed food, and food followed training again soon after. My body responded better when effort and fuel arrived in a predictable order. Recovery shortened because nothing was being borrowed from tomorrow. Stiffness loosened more quickly when it was addressed instead of ignored. Movements that had required conscious correction at the start of the week began to hold their shape longer before slipping.

  My regimen stayed the same in structure and grew only in depth.

  Stretching came first. Each joint had its range tested and eased open deliberately, never rushed, never abbreviated. I paid attention to resistance and release, because those details told me how well I had recovered from the day before and how much strain I could safely apply next. Some mornings required more patience than others. I learned to respect that difference rather than fight it.

  I included a small amount of balance work, though it had never been the limiting factor for me. It came easily, almost instinctive, and required little attention compared to the rest of the regimen. I kept it brief, enough to maintain awareness and carry that stability into the other movements, but no more than that. Balance was already there. Strength was what needed to catch up.

  Push-ups came next.

  I began with five. By the end of the week, I could complete six with consistency. That increase represented more than the number suggested. Each repetition demanded less correction than the last. My elbows tracked closer to my sides without conscious effort. My shoulders stabilized earlier in the movement instead of lagging behind it. The tension that had once gathered immediately in my arms distributed more evenly through my core, where it belonged.

  Sit-ups followed. Early in the week, my core fatigued quickly, and I had to slow the movement to keep it controlled. As the days passed, the same number required less effort. My breathing stayed steadier, and the strain remained contained instead of creeping into my neck or shoulders.

  Squats came after that. Depth improved gradually. My knees tracked more naturally, and my weight settled evenly through my feet rather than drifting forward. Each repetition reinforced balance I already possessed, allowing strength to develop without compromising form.

  I ended each session with running, scaled carefully to what my body could support. The distance was short, measured in laps around the yard. Early runs left my breathing uneven and my stride uncertain. Within days, the same distance felt manageable. When my breathing shifted from controlled to strained, I walked until it steadied, then ran once more before stopping.

  They were still the movements of a child. They were no longer uncertain. Each day added clarity to what my body was learning to support, and that clarity stayed with me when I stood back up.

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  The hunger never vanished. It changed character instead. It arrived on schedule, receded when answered, and no longer threatened to overwhelm me without warning. Myrda adjusted meals accordingly. Three breakfasts became routine, followed by a midday snack. I ate a banana in the afternoon, then at least two dinners, and sometimes a small meal close to midnight, depending on how my body felt that night. The quantity never felt excessive once my training settled into place.

  Winnie trained with me whenever our schedules aligned. She treated effort as something to be tested rather than endured and approached each task with the expectation that improvement would follow repetition. On days when quest postings suited our level, we took them together along with Meka. The work was straightforward and chosen for reliability rather than challenge. Escort routes that required attention. Retrieval jobs that demanded patience. Small clearances that tested coordination more than strength.

  None of the work felt wasted. Each task reinforced habits that would matter later, habits that did not announce themselves while they were forming.

  I did not see Rowan again after the day we met. At first, I watched for her whenever Iron-ranked adventurers passed through the hall, half expecting her to appear without warning. Eventually, I understood that not all of them remained in the same place. Other guild halls existed deeper into the Iron Zone, places we were not permitted to enter. Iron-ranked adventurers moved between them as their work required. The world continued moving regardless of whether I crossed paths with the same people again.

  The class shifted as the days accumulated. Conversations turned more often toward everyone’s Copper advancement. Training sessions lengthened as people tested their limits. Recovery strategies became topics of discussion rather than afterthoughts. Small injuries were addressed early instead of ignored. Everyone improved along the path laid out for them, even when that improvement looked different from one person to the next.

  Each day added something tangible. Strength accumulated slowly, but it accumulated. Control sharpened. Recovery improved. Nothing stalled. The changes arrived because the conditions for change were being met, day after day, without exception.

  Meka began meditating each day, starting carefully and without forcing herself, but she still chose to follow the regimen with Greta and the rest of the class each morning. The combination suited her. Movement helped her understand how effort settled into her body. Stillness gave her space to feel her mana more clearly. Seeing her commit to both made Greta visibly pleased, and it made me glad as well.

  When I checked her practice, I corrected small inefficiencies in how she guided her mana and reminded her to keep the circulation steady rather than forceful. The adjustments were minor, but they mattered. She absorbed them quickly and returned to her routine without complaint, content to balance stillness with movement alongside the rest of the class.

  The days continued after that, each one reinforcing what the last had built. Training, food, rest, and learning formed a structure that supported steady progress. Nothing dramatic marked the passage of time. The evidence existed in capacity, in control, and in how little effort it took to maintain what had once required constant attention.

  When Greta began speaking openly about Copper, it did not feel like a sudden change. It felt like the next step in a process that was already underway. The class talked about getting their cores, about how it would change them, about what would stay the same. I listened, took note, and adjusted my plans accordingly.

  She explained that the class would be graduating from Tin to Copper, and that we would be moving into the Copper Zone. Everyone else would receive their Copper Cores, and I would be given a free day. Possibly two. Greta said most people were unable to do much on the second day, as the transition from having no core to a Copper Core placed far more strain on the body than my own advancement to Tin ever had.

  I planned to use that time well.

  I decided to make presents for everyone. By then, every member of the martial class had received a training weapon through one quest or another. Some were simple but serviceable. Others were more intriguing, but all of them were functional. Even Meka had her own staff. I planned to upgrade the circuits in some of the weapons and craft new ones for others, tailoring the work to what each of them actually used.

  They had already brought me their allotted mana potions, as we discussed earlier. I explained that I would focus on enchanting while they recovered from their core implantations, when heavy training would be impractical. Pooling their allotments left me with more than enough to complete the work for the class and still have supplies left for my own projects.

  I knew where I stood, and I was excited to see them all grow.

  But today I would get to see my father, and I was rather excited to share what I had learned and what I had been doing, and to hear his stories.