The days settled into a grueling cadence, each one carved from discipline and repetition. They woke at first light, ate quickly, and trained until sweat soaked through their shirts. Lunch was short and followed by more drills and sparring.

  In the evenings, they shared dinner and stories.

  Somewhere in that routine, the cave shifted. The cold stone felt less like a shelter against the world and more like a home.

  Barrett once joked to Maku that, were it not for the lack of protein powder, this would be a vacation for him. Maku disagreed, but only slightly. The two were in their element.

  —

  Morning arrived silver and cold. Mist curled low around the treeline outside Barrett’s barricade. The air tasted like wet stone and pine sap. Steam rose from Barrett’s breath as he and Maku squared off in the clearing after breakfast.

  Barrett stood barefoot in the dirt, machete loose in his hand. Maku faced him with his spear, sweat already sliding down his temple even though the day was barely awake. Grimm perched on a boulder like a tiny judge, occasionally chirping disapproval.

  Barrett’s voice cut through the air. “You lean too hard on that right side. Center your weight!”

  Maku shifted, adjusting. “Like this?”

  “Good, good, get loose. You’re stiff as a damn fence post.”

  “I’m trying!” Maku muttered, shifting awkwardly. “It’s kinda hard to ‘relax’ when you’re also trying not to die.”

  “Don’t cross those legs! Come on!” Barrett barked.

  “Dude, chill out, you’re even more annoying than usual!”

  “You a victim now?”

  “Don’t be a jerk.” Maku jabbed back, eyes narrowing. “Where’d you even learn all this? Some strip-mall McDojo with toddlers?”

  Barrett grunted. “I wish. That’d be easier than what I got.” He stepped forward and jabbed Maku’s shoulder with the flat of his blade. “Now square up. A mild breeze could knock you over right now.”

  Maku glared but obeyed. His stance dropped, more stable this time.

  Barrett lunged.

  At the last second, he feinted right, then blurred left, bringing his blade down with enough force to rattle teeth. Maku barely got his spear up in time.

  “What is your problem?” Maku snapped.

  Barrett didn’t answer. He attacked again — sharper, faster.

  Maku hopped back, panting. “Oh, I see what this is.”

  Barrett’s jaw tightened. He swung again.

  “If you’re this pissed,” Maku said between dodges, “you could just go get your team back instead of training yourself into a mental breakdown!”

  Something in Barrett snapped. A switch was thrown.

  [Blood Rush Activated]

  He surged forward, a flurry of attacks, easily a hundred blows in seconds. Maku dodged, rolled, stumbled—

  Then leapt aside and cracked Barrett across the skull with the butt of his spear.

  Stars burst behind Barrett’s eyes.

  They fought for hours, trading insults, corrections, and bruises until both of them moved on instinct alone. Every muscle burned. Their lungs felt scraped raw. Even Grimm had stopped chirping and simply watched in exhausted disbelief.

  Finally, Barrett collapsed against a tree, sliding down the bark. Maku trudged over and dropped beside him, letting his head loll back.

  “Look,” Maku said, still catching his breath, “you’re one of those guys who buries emotion under protein powder and deadlifts.”

  Barrett blinked at him, caught off guard.

  “My thing was video games,” Maku shrugged. “Different coping mechanisms, same avoidance.”

  Barrett grunted. That was…uncomfortably accurate.

  Maku nudged him. “So when are we going to rescue your team?”

  Barrett’s eyes shot open.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Maku said quickly. “I’m only going so I can farm levels off your enemies.”

  Barrett let out a short laugh, the first real one in days.

  “We need to get stronger first.”

  “Seriously?” Maku raised a brow. “Pretty sure we could wipe the floor with those guys now.”

  Barrett shook his head. “We could, if they didn’t already have gems.”

  Maku froze. “…gems?”

  Barrett sighed. “How much time you got?”

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Maku glanced around. “My schedule’s tight, but I think I can listen for a minute.”

  —

  The next day Maku took over training.

  “You’re a crazy fighter but you suck at mana control and it’s hurting your ability to use skills.”

  “The hell you going on about?” Barrett rasped.

  Maku jumped back and started throwing lighting spears at Barrett. Barrett rolled away last minute, but they kept coming.

  “Liberty and freedom, what the hell?” he rolled out the way last minute as five more lightning spears struck the ground he was on.

  Maku kept laughing and throwing more and more. “Who’s on the backfoot now, ya big brute?”

  Barrett kept rolling, diving, jumping, throwing his body whatever which way to get out of the way of the lightning spears.

  “You bastard, make your point already!” Barrett screamed as he jumped behind a tree.

  Maku laughed, “Oh, now that’s a new low even for you.” He stopped firing. “Hiding behind little Grimm?”

  “I didn’t even know he was on this tree!” Barrett rasped.

  “Liar!”

  “Is there a point to this?” Barrett shot back.

  “I’m getting to it.” Maku stopped laughing and then, more seriously, “What did you notice about that?”

  Barrett thought for a bit, “Well, for one thing, I can’t believe how many times you shot that skill off.”

  “Ding ding ding!” Maku cheered.

  “Try not to trigger [Blood Rush] until just before impact,” he said, holding up a glowing hand. “If you waste it early, you burn through stamina.”

  “It takes me time to focus!” Barrett complained, wiping sweat from his forehead.

  “Then practice until it doesn’t,” Maku said flatly.

  They went back and forth until the sun climbed high and both collapsed by the fire pit for lunch.

  —

  After lunch, Barrett took a micro-nap to clear his head. When he jolted awake, the cave felt too quiet. He stood, stretched, and realized Maku was gone.

  Barrett climbed out of the base and headed toward their usual clearing. There, in the pale afternoon light, he spotted Maku running through the stances he’d been taught. His balance was better now—still stiff, still rough around the edges, but better.

  Something warm flickered in Barrett’s chest.

  A single tear slipped down before he could stop it.

  Just two guys on a quest, training in the woods.

  Pure. Honest. The kind of thing he never thought he’d get.

  He didn’t need praise or hugs. The fact that Maku took his advice seriously was worth more than anything else the man could say.

  Barrett wiped the tear quickly and cleared his throat.

  Why am I so damn emotional?

  Maku spun, startled, then waved.

  “How do I look?”

  “Damn good,” Barrett said. “Damn good.”

  A wide, boyish grin broke across Maku’s face.

  “Any tips?” he asked.

  Barrett nodded. “Yeah. Pick a spirit animal and pretend you're it.”

  Maku blinked. “Are you messing with me?”

  “Dead serious. What animal do you resonate with?”

  “A tiger!” Maku said immediately.

  “Great. You’re a tiger. Fight like one.”

  Maku hesitated, then tried again. This time, something shifted. His hips loosened, his weight settled, his movements flowed.

  Barrett watched, impressed.

  “That’s right, hunt like a tiger!” he yelled.

  Grimm chirped at his side.

  “Damn right,” Barrett murmured. “I better not get left behind.”

  He gave Maku a small wave and turned to head off into the trees.

  —

  Barrett wandered until he found a quiet patch of forest with a crooked little tree standing alone, just sturdy enough to take a beating.

  “Alright, Grimm,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Here goes nothing.”

  He sprinted at the tree full speed, waited until the last possible heartbeat—

  —and triggered [Blood Rush].

  The surge of power hit too late. His swing veered wild, momentum launching him off-course. He hit the ground shoulder-first and rolled through the dirt.

  “Damnitt!”

  He got up, dusted himself off, and tried again.

  This time he activated it too early—wasting mana, the power peaking before he even struck.

  For the next hour, it was the same story. Too early. Too late. Or even when he hit the timing dead-on, the sudden burst of strength threw his form out of alignment, jerking his swing sideways like a misfired engine.

  He preferred activating the skill well before attacking, letting his body adjust, letting the power settle, but Maku was right. If he wanted to squeeze everything out of [Blood Rush], he needed precise timing.

  Barrett snarled in frustration and punched the tree.

  The bark cracked. His knuckles split open. Pain shot up his arm.

  “Idiot!” he hissed, clutching his bleeding hand.

  His healing was better here, but not instant. Not nearly.

  He slumped down at the base of the tree, chest heaving. Grimm fluttered over and settled into his lap like a warm, feathery stone. The little bird chirped once softly. Normally, there was a patience in Grimm that helped relax him.

  But Barrett wasn’t really there anymore.

  His eyes unfocused, staring past the trees, past the suns, past this world and time.

  He was somewhere else entirely.

  —20 Years Ago—

  A ten-year-old boy sprinted down the street, lungs burning, legs pumping as fast as they could go. Home was close. Just one more block. If he made it to the door, he’d be safe.

  Behind him, four older boys thundered after him. They were bigger, stronger, meaner, but not faster. Not today.

  The house came into view, and Barrett’s heart soared.

  The front door was open.

  His mom must’ve just stepped out. There would be no fumbling with keys, no delay.

  He was going to make it.

  “Slow down, Boob! We just wanna talk!” one of the boys jeered.

  “What’s the matter?” the biggest yelled. “You were real chatty when you were talkin’ to my girl.”

  Barrett ignored them, eyes fixed on the doorway. He saw his mother standing there now, framed by the light inside.

  Relief burst out of him.

  “Mom!”

  She’d save him. She always did. She was the only person in the world he trusted.

  But as he got closer, something shifted. Her expression wasn’t worried. Or angry.

  It was…hard.

  Closed.

  “Mom?” he said again, breath hitching.

  He reached the top of the driveway—

  —and she shut the door.

  He heard the lock click.

  Barrett crashed against the wood, knocking frantically.

  “Mom! Mom?? Open up!”

  Panic squeezed his chest.

  He turned—

  The boys had slowed to a walk, catching their breath, grinning.

  He looked back at the window.

  His mother stood there, watching him with an unreadable face.

  Then she raised one hand and made a small gesture. A tiny push.

  Barrett’s stomach dropped.

  “What the hell…?”

  One of the boys laughed. “Damn. That’s rough. Even your mom won’t help you.”

  They approached, shadows stretching long.

  Tears blurred his vision. His throat tightened. He had never felt so alone.

  “Come here, Boob,” the leader said. “We’ll make it quick.”

  Barrett straightened, voice shaking but stubborn.

  “My name’s Barrett.”

  —

  He blinked away the memory, breath unsteady. Grimm chirped softly, head tilted in concern.

  Barrett rubbed his face, got to his feet, and gripped his machete hard enough for the knuckles to pale despite the pain from earlier.

  “C’mon,” he muttered. “Let’s get back to work.”