The scent hit me in my sleep—thick, smoky, rich with fat. It curled through the hallway like a promise. As if carried by the aroma, my body followed it out of bed. My stomach growled—loud and unashamed.
Plor crouched beside a rusted firebox out on the porch, flipping strips of something dark over a wire grill with a battered slab of metal that might've once been part of a satellite dish. Grease popped in the pan, spitting tiny sparks that hissed against the damp wood.
She glanced over her shoulder.
"Look who's alive. Just in time to eat something that tried to kill me."
I stepped outside. The warmth hit first—real warmth. Sunlight poured across the clearing now, sharp and whole. The fog had finally lifted, peeled away like gauze from a wound. For the first time since I'd arrived, I saw the forest in full.
And it was… strange.
Not alive the way it had felt before. The trees were still, quiet, their broad leaves glistening under the sun. Moss shimmered in patches but didn't stretch. The shadows were clean. Real. No illusion of movement behind them. Even the wind felt gentler—less like breath, more like weather.
"I thought the mist never cleared," I said.
Plor jabbed the meat again. "Stayed longer than usual. I don't think it was natural. Probably some creature that can control it—reminds me of the fog near the ruins."
"Ruins?"
She shrugged. "Yeah. Whole crumbling city. Leftovers from before. Those clothes won't last much longer, so we'll have to scavenge some decent fabric there."
I looked down. She wasn't wrong. My shirt and pants were torn, stained, barely hanging on.
I look homeless. Actually, wait—I am homeless.
She grabbed two dented plates and dropped a few glistening strips of meat onto each. One she handed to me.
"Hope you're not picky."
I wasn't. Not at all.
It was tough, slightly gamey, but spiced with something sharp and earthy that cut through the grease. I devoured it before I could think about what it used to be. It filled the hollow behind my ribs like it was made for it.
Plor sat on the railing, one leg dangling, gnawing on her portion like it was nothing.
"So," she said around a mouthful, "any teleporting today?"
"No."
She raised a brow. "Good. But if you vanish mid-bite, I'll be real pissed."
I managed a smile.
"You said we'd start training today."
"I did."
She leaned back and stared at the sky, braid slipping over her shoulder. For the first time, I noticed tiny dull metal beads threaded through it.
"Let me guess," I said. "Now we punch trees until something explodes."
Plor snorted.
"Please. If I wanted things to explode, I'd give you a stick of plasma and wish you good luck."
"That's a real thing?"
"God, no. But it sounds cool."
She hopped down from the railing.
"We start slow. And stupid. Because right now, that's what you are—slow and stupid in the ways that count."
I winced. "Thanks."
"Everyone starts there. Come on."
We walked the worn path that looped around the stilt house, boots squelching through damp earth. The marsh had transformed. Sunlight scattered across pools of water and tree roots. Ferns uncurled.
Even the birds had changed—no longer eerie caws, but bright, sharp chirps like tiny knives.
We stopped in a patch of cleared ground—smooth dirt ringed by logs and stone markers.
"This is yours now," she said. "You eat here. Breathe here. Die here."
She pointed at the dirt.
"You're going to learn how to not use your Point. Not by thinking. Not by forcing. Just by sitting."
I blinked. "You're serious?"
She sat cross-legged.
"Dead serious."
I didn't move.
"Look," she said, voice softening.
"You think your Point is something you command. That's why it keeps kicking you out of your own skin. But it's not a trick. It's not a tool. It's part of you. You've never met it before. So now we introduce you."
She motioned for me to sit. I did, slowly.
"Close your eyes. Breathe."
I inhaled.
"Slower."
I obeyed.
"Don't drift. Don't imagine. Just stay."
The sun pressed against my eyelids. My back ached. My legs already cramped.
"Loss of control happens when your will cracks," she said. "You panic. You slip. Your body finds the nearest exit, and your Point follows orders without asking questions."
I tried to stay still. But everything buzzed. Leaves rustled, insects hummed, my heartbeat thudded in my ears.
"You feel like you're about to move, don't you?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Don't."
A branch snapped nearby. I flinched.
Plor didn't move. "That's the test. You want to run. But your will has to stay."
Heat surged through my limbs. My chest tightened. The shimmer. The pull.
I fought it.
I stayed.
The sensation passed.
My shoulders relaxed. My breath deepened.
Plor made a small noise of approval. "Not bad."
I opened my eyes. The clearing was quiet. Still.
She stood. "Again."
By midday, the place had changed. Golden light striped the ground. The swamp shimmered beyond the clearing, water shifting gently in the breeze.
Plor didn't explain the next part. No metaphors. No "will funnels." Just movement—real, deliberate, punishing movement.
"Hold this," she said, tossing a sack into my arms.
It hit like a brick wall—dense with metal and stone, and something that clunked unnaturally when I shifted.
"Seventy kilos. Walk to that stump and back. Don't drop it."
I adjusted, braced my core, and moved. My arms burned immediately, but I locked my breathing and kept going. Each step bit into the ground.
Halfway through the second circuit, she called out.
"You ever train before?"
"No."
"Huh."
I dropped the sack at her feet, sweat pouring down my face, arms trembling.
"No break," she said. "Now the smaller ones. Two at once."
I obeyed.
Pushups, squats, loaded carries, sandbags, metal pipes. Every time I thought I'd collapse, my body just… didn't. It kept going.
After a while, she tilted her head.
"You aren't normal."
I looked up.
"Huh?"
"It's like your muscles fire more efficiently. They function better. That's not typical."
"Is that… bad?"
"All humans are strong these days. That's just how it is. But you—" she circled me, eyes narrowed "—you're a step beyond. Tall. Lean. And whatever's in your body just works better."
I stood straighter, chest still heaving.
"So what does that mean?"
"It means I can go harder on you."
She tossed me a weighted disk lined with dull spikes. I caught it, flinching as it bit into my arms.
"We'll push. You've got more to give than you think."
And she was right. Under the pain, beneath the fatigue, something inside me burned steady. I'd survived days in the swamp—starving, lost, hunted. I shouldn't have lived.
But I did.
We shifted to balance drills—logs, poles, platforms. She knocked me over every time I lost focus.
"Again!"
I scrambled up. Slipped. Fell.
"Again!"
Just one slap…
Finally, as the sun dipped low and my limbs shook with effort, she let me collapse onto mossy ground.
"Good enough for now," she said, tossing me a flask.
The water was cold and clean. I drank like I'd never had water before.
Plor crouched beside me. Her tone changed.
"You know," she said, "there are people whose Points let them do anything. Fly, control weather, manipulate elements, bend steel, control minds."
"I know."
"And most of them shouldn't have that power."
I looked at her. Her expression was clear. Steady.
"That's why I want Points gone. Not because they're unnatural. Because they make people think they matter more. They don't."
"Isn't that… extreme?"
"No," she said. Not harshly. Just plainly.
"It's honest. You ever see a teenager rip a tree in half without meaning to? Or someone too angry to think, with a Point that answers rage faster than reason?"
I stayed quiet.
"Everyone has a Point," she said. "But not everyone should."
"And stripping them away makes things better?"
"It makes things equal. People scream about fairness—well, start by taking away the weapons."
She stood and stretched.
"You've got potential, Kael. Dangerous potential."
"That a compliment?"
"A warning."
She smiled. Not unkindly.
"We go again tomorrow. And the day after. Until you can teleport without fear."
I nodded.
She offered her hand. I took it. She pulled me up like it was nothing.
We walked back to the house. The sun turned gold behind us. Shadows stretched long across the marsh.