Morgan woke up, exactly four hours and thirty minutes later. He knew this because Sophia informed him that he had slept longer than he needed to for an entire night’s rest. Grumbling to himself and shaking hay from his hair, Morgan jumped down from the mow and into the yard of the barn. There was a small wooden bench on which he ate one of the remaining ration packs. The rations, water, and an ‘excessive’ amount of sleep had done wonders for his mood and his body. He was still dangerously emaciated, but he felt stronger and wasn’t shaking anymore.

  Morgan thought,

  Sophia paused for a few seconds, then continued.

  Morgan said, a touch of melancholy tinging his words.

  The trip back took 26 minutes. As he ran, the rations he had eaten were quickly metabolized and went to work immediately repairing his muscles and giving him the feeling of being all-powerful again. Arriving at the Academy, he had expected to find it empty. Seeing smoke from the chimney and some movement on the walls, he had a huge surge of joy. This was immediately followed by disappointment in himself for being happy that they were still here, even though they should have been long gone.

  The Academy walls were reinforced and looked more imposing than before. There were palisades and a few new towers in the corners. The top windows had been boarded up, and there was a lookout tree fort-looking structure on the roof. Failing to keep the grin off his face, he had taken two steps forward when a scent hit his nose that caused him to stop in his tracks. It was Johansen’s scent. He had smelled it and catalogued it in his memory the day they came to negotiate with the white flag.

  Morgan had stopped in the middle of the street. He came to his senses and dove behind a rusted, beat-up sedan. He took the time to really look at the Academy. It wasn’t the same. The guards that he could see were not wearing the “uniform” that Katherine had specified, and they were not people he recognized.

  Sophia told him.

  Sophia sounded upset.

  Morgan tried to apologize.

  A purple arrow appeared in Morgan’s vision. It led to a narrow alley about 15 feet away. The shop to one side was a ruin, the other was an interior decorations, lights, and mirrors store. “Sophia’s last instructions were given in a commanding tone that almost made Morgan snort. Morgan waited, and waited. His mouth felt dry and sticky as he breathed. What was taking so long?

  Finally, Sophia said, Morgan tensed his legs, bunching them under him as he got into a sprinters start stance. Morgan shot forward, gracefully diving into the alleyway and rolling along his shoulders back into a perfect running stride. In thirty seconds, he was blocks away, patting the dust off his clothes.

  Morgan said to Sophia.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Morgan listened attentively, nodding in agreement.

  That decided, Morgan jogged for a few minutes and arrived at the train station. Sadly, or thankfully, it was empty. There were some dark splotches of dried blood and battle damage. Apparently, the bandits did not want the survivors to leave without a fight. Or, it was the kiosk that the bandits wanted. There were some wrecked and broken train cars and haphazard piles of supplies lying around, but all the cars that Mara had been working on were not in the yard.

  Morgan decided he could collect some of the wood in his pouch to use as firewood or something when he was traveling after them. He had just gotten to the first pile of railroad beams. They were stacked oddly, like they had been thrown out of a tall car and landed almost upright. Looking closer, his breath caught in his throat. Nailed to the end of one beam was a foot-long strip of tattered purple ribbon.

  Morgan rushed forward, fearing this was a monument or marker for Mara. He reached up to pull the ribbon off the beam. His fear turned into a laugh. The entire pile was hollow. Lifting the beam with the ribbon revealed a small space stuffed with a bag of something. Morgan pulled the burlap bag out of the hidden stash. The scent of lavender hit his nose. He held the bag to his face, wiping away the tears he didn’t know he was crying.

  Mara had definitely been the one to put this here. She expected him to be here. Even after they left, she thought he might be alive. In the bag were five ration packs, two canteens, a note written on wrinkled paper, and a weird black leather and metal folding thing that was about twice the length of Morgan’s arm. He popped the rations and canteens into his pouch and unfolded the note. It was written in pencil, and the first paragraph showed signs of being written and erased a few times. In Mara’s neat and precise handwriting, the short note read.

  Morgan, I hope you find this note and these few supplies. I would have left more, but that is as much as I could fit in this hasty stash and still fit the present I made for you. I had hoped to give this to you … a couple of the words were smudged, and he couldn’t read them. It is a glider. Annabelle and I made it to thank you. It should fit, and when you leap and extend the wings, it should help you get more out of it than just falling. I didn’t intend them to be a way for you to follow us faster, but we waited an extra day, and now we are leaving. I expect you to find this and catch up to us. Please do. I will be waiting for you. Mara.

  Morgan was openly weeping now. He didn’t even try to wipe away the tears.

  After he was able to pull himself together, Morgan unfolded the glider. It was sleek and opened noiselessly. There was an impossibly light pale metal frame that would need to be strapped around his waist and chest. The wings were folded black leather attached to metal pieces that extended to his waist. After putting it on and strapping everything down, he jumped up and down a few times, getting used to the weight. It was surprisingly light. At his waist, on each side, was a handle. He grabbed them and pushed them outward, expecting the wings to pop out arm’s length on each side. To his surprise, the glider expanded to almost three times its size as the wing mechanisms unfolded. On each side of his body was six feet of glider wing. The wings folded back with a pull of the handle and noiselessly folded back into themselves and collapsed into the pack on his back.

  It was incredible, and it would make following the train much faster. He couldn’t have asked for a better gift. He unstrapped it and put it into his pouch. He didn’t want it to get damaged in his raid tonight. Summoning the broken fang, he practiced with it in preparation for tonight. It was larger than his other weapons had been, but was lighter, and other than the handle being very thick and much longer than a normal sword hilt, the weapon was similar enough to a sword that he didn’t need to adjust his forms much.

  Morgan asked, a lightness to his voice that brought half a smile to his face. He was more hopeful now than he had been in days.

  He sat down cross-legged, with the weapon across his lap. “

  The world faded, and Morgan found himself in a sandy desert. Sophia stood before him, weilding a copy of Broken Fang. She indicated a spot next to her and assumed the guard stance. “This

  “Can we practice against real opponents?” Morgan asked as he performed the forms as she instructed.

  “It is possible to fight any opponent you have already seen fighting. The more information you are able to gain about their fighting style and techniques, the more accurate the model I can create.”

  An orc appeared in the distance, wearing leather armor and holding a large axe.

  “Would you like to specify, or have me choose?” Sophia said, stopping her instruction of stances.

  “Give me random numbers of opponents, of difficulties that would be challenging. I want to get better as fast as possible.”

  “Very well.”

  Morgan died a lot. A lot. Hundreds, no thousands of times. But he learned weak spots and strategies for fighting his foes that he would not have known otherwise. When Sophia finally ended the VISTA training, Morgan was ready for a rest. His mind felt like it was on fire, but he was confident that tonight was going to be his last night ever in Maple Creek. After 22 years, he was finally going to get out of this city.