The news of the Warden's council and the growing disturbances in the Weave cast a pall over Tel'Syth. Kaelen became more focused, her training sessions with Alex taking on a new urgency. The idyllic interlude of quiet learning was over; the Unheavens, it seemed, was not a world that allowed for prolonged peace, especially for someone like him.
"The council will decide many things, sky-fallen," Kaelen said, her voice taut as they stood in their training grove. The air was heavy, the usual vibrant hum of the Weirdwood subdued, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. "What role the Silvanesti will play in the coming… unpleasantness. And what role you will play. Lyraen believes your unique abilities might be a key, but a key can open many doors, some of which lead to darker places."
"So, I need to be more than just a guy who can move pebbles with his mind or occasionally make plants glow brighter," Alex surmised, a grim understanding dawning. "I need to be able to fight. To defend myself. And maybe… defend others." The thought was a heavy one, but it also resonated with a part of him he hadn't realized was still there – the part that had chased storms not just for the thrill, but for the desire to witness, to understand, and perhaps, in some small way, to stand against overwhelming power.
Kaelen nodded, her amber eyes sharp. "Precisely. Your speed is a formidable weapon, if you can learn to wield it with skill and not just raw instinct. And your connection to the Weave, however nascent, might offer… other possibilities. But for now, we focus on the storm you know."
Thus began a new phase of his training, one that pushed him to his physical and mental limits. Kaelen, for all her grace and ethereal beauty, was a demanding taskmaster. She was a Warden of the Weirdwood, a warrior who had survived centuries in this perilous world, and she did not coddle him.
She began by teaching him the basics of Silvanesti combat, a fluid, acrobatic style that emphasized evasion, precision, and using the environment to one's advantage. It was a dance of feints and counters, of swift, targeted strikes designed to incapacitate rather than bludgeon. They used practice staves carved from resilient Ironwood, the impacts jarring Alex's bones despite Kaelen's controlled force.
His speed, initially, was more of a hindrance than a help. He would overshoot his targets, his movements too wide, too telegraphed. He'd try to use a burst of Speed Force to dodge an attack, only to find himself ten feet away, disoriented, while Kaelen patiently waited for him to recover.
"Your speed is a torrent, Alex Maxwell," she chided, her staff a blur as she disarmed him for the tenth time that morning. "You try to drown your opponent in it. But a true warrior uses their strength like a focused blade, not a club. Find the stillness within your storm. Learn to move not just fast, but efficiently."
He struggled, he sweated, he fell. But he also learned. He learned to anticipate Kaelen's movements, to read the subtle shifts in her stance, the flicker in her amber eyes. He began to integrate his speed more smoothly into the elven fighting style, using short, controlled bursts to enhance his dodges, to add power to his strikes, to create openings where none existed. The clumsy, flailing novice was slowly, painstakingly, being replaced by something… more.
His control over the Speed Force itself was also evolving. He could now sustain short periods of high-speed movement without the debilitating nausea, though it still left him drained. He practiced running through the dense undergrowth of the Weirdwood, Kaelen setting him impossible courses, forcing him to react, to adapt, to push his limits. He learned to perceive the world in that strange, slowed-time state with greater clarity, to make conscious decisions within those fleeting moments of altered perception.
One afternoon, during a particularly intense sparring session, Kaelen pressed him hard. Her staff was a whirlwind, her movements a blur of grace and deadly precision. Alex was on the defensive, using his speed to evade her attacks, but she was relentless, her blows always finding their mark, or forcing him into awkward, off-balance positions.
He was tired, frustrated, the familiar hum of the Speed Force building within him, threatening to erupt in an uncontrolled burst. Kaelen lunged, her staff aimed at his chest, a strike he knew he couldn't dodge in time using conventional movement.
Desperation flared. He didn't think. He just… reacted. He focused all his will, all his energy, not on moving away from the staff, but on… not being there when it arrived. He imagined himself intangible, a ghost, the staff passing harmlessly through him. He poured the Speed Force into that singular, impossible intent, a silent, desperate scream of will.
The world dissolved into a vibrating, almost painful intensity. The familiar scent of ozone was overwhelming. He felt his body… shimmer, become less solid, the very atoms of his being vibrating at an impossible frequency. Kaelen's staff, instead of connecting with his chest with a solid thud, passed through him, the sensation a bizarre, tingling coldness, like plunging his hand into electrified mist.
He stumbled back, his heart hammering, his mind reeling from the sheer impossibility of what had just happened. He looked down at his hands. They were solid again. He was solid. But for a fraction of a second… he hadn't been.
Kaelen stood frozen, her staff still extended, her amber eyes wide with an astonishment that dwarfed any reaction she'd had before. The bioluminescent patterns on her skin pulsed erratically, like a flickering flame.
*"Sky-fallen…" *she breathed, her mental voice a stunned whisper. "What… what was that?"
Alex stared at her, then at his own hands, a dawning, incredulous understanding beginning to form in his mind. He remembered. Suddenly, vividly. Not a memory from his life as Alex Maxwell, photographer. But from before. From… the stories.
He remembered sitting on his couch, late at night, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, watching a flickering screen. Men in brightly colored costumes, moving at impossible speeds. One of them, the hero, vibrating his molecules so fast he could pass through solid objects. Phasing.
And another, a darker figure, a reverse of the hero, his suit yellow and black, his eyes burning with red light, capable of the same impossible feats, his movements a terrifying symphony of speed and malice.
The Flash. The Reverse Flash.
He had watched them. Obsessively. He'd analyzed their movements, their powers, the pseudo-science explanations the shows offered. He'd even, in the privacy of his own apartment, tried to mimic their stances, their super-speed sprints, a nerdy, secret fantasy he'd never admitted to anyone. He'd read the comics, devoured the lore. He knew their moves. He knew what they could do.
And now… now that power, that impossible, fictional power, was his.
The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. He wasn't just some random guy who'd been struck by lightning and gained super-speed. He was… he was living out a comic book. A very dark, very real comic book.
"I… I think I just phased," he said, his voice hoarse, the words tasting alien and familiar at the same time. He looked at Kaelen, a wild, almost manic light in his eyes. "Like in the stories. From my world. They could vibrate their bodies… pass through walls."
Kaelen stared at him, her elven mind clearly struggling to process this new, even more bizarre layer to his already inexplicable existence. "Stories? From your world? You… you knew of this power before?"
"Not knew I had it," Alex clarified, his mind racing, connecting dots he hadn't even realized existed. "But I knew the concept. I've seen it. I've… I've studied it." He remembered the Reverse Flash's vibrating hand, a deadly weapon. He remembered the Flash creating speed mirages, running on water, even time traveling, though that last one seemed terrifyingly out of reach. A whole library of potential abilities, a whole new dimension to his power, had just unlocked itself in his mind.
He looked at the tree Kaelen had been using as a training marker. He focused, not on avoiding it, but on passing through it. He summoned the Speed Force, but this time, he didn't just push. He vibrated. He tried to feel his molecules loosening, his form becoming less… definite.
The intense, tingling sensation returned, stronger this time, more controlled. The world shimmered. He took a step.
And walked right through the solid trunk of the Ironwood tree, emerging on the other side, the sensation a dizzying, exhilarating rush of displaced air and tingling energy.
He turned, a wide, incredulous grin splitting his face. Kaelen was staring at him, her mouth slightly agape, her usually composed features a mask of utter disbelief. The proud, ancient Warden of the Weirdwood looked, for the first time since he'd met her, completely and utterly flabbergasted.
"Holy shit," Alex breathed, the very human expletive feeling wonderfully, cathartically appropriate. "I can phase."
The implications were staggering. This wasn't just about moving fast anymore. This was about rewriting the rules of reality. The storm within him hadn't just been given a focus; it had been given a whole new arsenal. And as the twin moons of the Unheavens began their ascent, casting long, eerie shadows through the Weirdwood, Alex Maxwell, the sky-fallen speedster from Earth, felt a surge of power, of potential, that was both terrifying and undeniably thrilling. He had a lot to learn. And the Unheavens, it seemed, had a lot to learn about him.