The axes did not rest easily.

  Afi learned that within the first hour.

  She trained alone on the upper terraces where the stone was scarred from decades of flame practice and no one would interrupt her. The morning air was still cool, thin wisps of mist clinging to the mountain’s spine, but sweat gathered quickly along her back as she moved.

  The weight was wrong.

  Not in mass. Not in balance.

  In expectation.

  Each axe pulled differently despite being identical in form. When she held them loosely, they felt inert, no heavier than forged steel. The moment she committed to a strike, however, the burden revealed itself. The resistance traveled not through her arms, but through her core, down into her stance and up into her shoulders, demanding alignment she could not fake.

  Afi adjusted.

  She widened her footing, bent her knees slightly, and rolled her shoulders back. She swung again, slower this time, guiding the motion with her hips rather than her arms.

  The axes responded.

  Not by becoming lighter, but by becoming honest.

  She exhaled sharply and continued.

  The first sequence was simple. A forward step. A cross cut. A return guard. A mirrored follow through. Movements she had practiced countless times with weighted poles and hunting tools.

  With the axes, each motion felt amplified. Not stronger, but clearer. Mistakes rang through her body immediately. When her balance was off, the axes dragged. When her intent wavered, they resisted. When her breath faltered, the weight seemed to double.

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  Afi gritted her teeth and kept moving.

  She did not summon flame.

  She did not force Inner Energy.

  She trained as she had when she was younger, before strength came easily. When every movement had to be correct because she could not rely on power to save her.

  Minutes stretched into hours.

  Ashen watched from the edge of the terrace, head resting on his paws, eyes tracking every swing. Occasionally he rose, pacing the perimeter, sniffing the air before settling again. He did not interfere. He sensed this was not a hunt, not a fight, but something quieter and more dangerous.

  Afi slowed at last, chest rising and falling steadily.

  She lowered the axes and rested their heads against the stone, hands still wrapped around the hafts.

  Her arms trembled faintly.

  Not from exhaustion alone.

  From restraint.

  She could feel it now. The way her flame pressed subtly against her ribs, eager but contained. The axes did not want more power. They wanted less waste.

  Afi closed her eyes.

  Breath in.

  Breath out.

  She centered herself, letting Inner Energy circulate without directing it, letting the flame remain where it was, deep and quiet. She lifted the axes again.

  This time, she moved without thinking.

  Her body found the rhythm on its own. Step. Turn. Cut. Recover. The axes no longer resisted. They no longer dragged. They followed.

  For a brief moment, everything aligned.

  Then she overextended.

  The correction was immediate and unforgiving. The weight shifted, torque pulling at her shoulder, nearly wrenching the axe from her grip. Afi staggered one step, boots scraping stone, before regaining her balance.

  She stopped.

  Her breath came faster now.

  So that’s how it is, she thought.

  No mercy.

  No indulgence.

  Only truth.

  Afi straightened and planted the axes again, hands resting atop the hafts as she stared out over the mountain range. Smoke rose faintly from the settlement below, life continuing as if nothing had changed.

  But it had.

  She could feel it in the way her body responded. In the way her mind no longer raced ahead of her movement. In the way the axes demanded presence rather than aggression.

  This was not about dominating opponents.

  It was about surviving herself.

  Afi released the axes and sat down on the stone, legs crossed, hands resting on her knees. She closed her eyes and let the strain settle, letting her body remember what it had learned rather than forcing more from it.

  Ashen padded over and sat beside her, his flank pressed lightly against her leg. She rested her hand on his head without opening her eyes.

  “Not today,” she murmured.

  The cub rumbled softly, as if in agreement.

  Far below, the selection drew closer.

  And above it all, the mountain watched, silent and patient, as Afi Novona learned how much weight she was truly willing to carry.