I flicked.
Boots hit stone, barely. I shifted my weight forward to avoid toppling off, then flicked again before I had time to think about it.
"Back!"
I reappeared on the moss-slick rock near the tree's edge.
"Left!"
The shimmer pulled me forward, pressure in my chest like a breath held too long.
"Middle!"
I landed dead center on the largest slab. Still upright. Still breathing.
Plor clicked her tongue from somewhere behind me.
"Took you long enough. I was about to start carving a tombstone."
"Yeah?" I called out. "Want me to carve yours first?"
She snorted. "Please. I'd like to see you try holding a chisel."
I didn't bother with a comeback. I was too busy not falling over. The stones were spread wider today, some at waist height, some slick with dew, all of them just large enough to plant a boot on.
Two weeks ago, I would've eaten dirt by the third jump.
Now… I wasn't perfect, but I could move.
It's been quite a while since I first got here now, that's pretty weird to think about…
I wiped the sweat from my brow and straightened up. My breath came easy now. The shimmer didn't fight me as much. I didn't need to clutch at it with a prayer, I could reach, grab, and go.
Still, I didn't expect what came next.
Plor reached into her jacket and pulled something round from under her coat, an old battered ball. It had a soft leather patched along the seams, it looked it'd been stitched together by someone drunk and blindfolded. She bounced it once off the stone near her boot, then caught it lazily.
I narrowed my eyes.
"…Don't tell me you want to play catch."
"Bingo," she said, grinning like a fox. "Except if you miss, the ball wins."
She gave it a light toss in the air and caught it again, charging it with her Point, the ball was being crushed by her force on both sides.
"New drill," she said. "I chuck it. You catch it. Simple."
"Simple," I echoed, deadpan. "Right."
She stepped back and lifted her arm like a pitcher warming up.
"Teleport to it. Don't wait, don't overthink, just get there."
"How fast are we talking?"
"I'll start gentle. Try not to embarrass yourself."
The ball looks like it's going to implode from the pressure on it, that's gentle?
She didn't give a countdown, just launched it.
The ball arced high and to the right. I flicked, aiming for where I thought it would drop. I reappeared a second too late, hand outstretched as it hit the ground a meter away.
"Wow," Plor said, mock impressed. "You almost scared it."
I scowled, already lining up again.
"Go to where it is, Kael. Not where it might be five seconds from now."
"I thought I was."
"Well, stop thinking. That's clearly not helping."
She launched another.
This time it curved left. I flicked too early and watched it sail past behind me.
"Closer," she called, "but no dice."
I clenched my fists.
Not the same as jumping to a spot. The target moved. That meant I couldn't just picture a location, I had to catch it mid-air.
The ball flew back to her, she threw again.
I flicked, almost caught it.
Again.
Miss.
Again.
Skimmed my fingertips.
I gritted my teeth. My legs ached, breath shallow, but I couldn't stop now.
I pictured the ball, not its path, not its future, just where it was right now. Like time froze with it floating still in the air, I reached for the shimmer.
Flick.
My hand closed around it. The force of landing jolted up my legs, but I was upright. Ball in hand.
Plor gave a whooping cheer. "There it is! You caught something that wasn't a beating!"
I exhaled and gave a small, crooked smile.
"Didn't think you had jokes."
"Oh, they're buried deep. I can burry you deep as well if you want."
She gestured for the ball. I tossed it back. She charged it again, faster this time, with that faint hum of polar force in her palm.
"Let's see if you're a one-hit wonder."
She threw it again, feinting right before switching left.
I barely caught the shimmer in time, but I landed close. Caught the edge of it with both hands before tumbling into the grass.
"Ouch," she called. "Minus points for form, but I'll allow it."
"Generous."
She laughed and spun the ball in her palm.
"You're finally fun to train. I was starting to think I'd adopted a very sarcastic tree stump."
I stood, brushed off mud, and flicked the ball back at her. She caught it without blinking.
"You ready for the next round?" she asked.
I cracked my neck. "Why start being scared now?"
"Good!" she said, stepping back. "Now we make it interesting."
She bounced the ball once, twisted her wrist and launched it with no warning.
Flick.
Caught.
Plor's eyes lit up.
I landed firm, ball in hand, the snap still ringing in my ears.
Plor gave a mock bow. "Sir Kael, of the Muddy Shirt, champion of reflexes."
"You know you're the only one enjoying this, right?"
"Yup! You're still in the learning phase, I'm in the watch-you-struggle phase."
I tossed the ball back at her a little harder. She caught it clean, no effort at all.
She spun it in her hand again, then stepped closer.
"All right, try not to die. Speed round."
I blinked. "Speed what?"
"You heard me."
The ball zipped out from her hand before I finished groaning. A blur of motion.
Flick.
Caught.
Barely. My knee bent awkward under the landing.
Before I could stand straight, the ball flew out of my hand and back to Plor.
Whip. Another shot. No arc this time. A low line drive.
Flick.
I caught it in the crook of my elbow.
"You're thinking less," Plor called, backing up again. "Which is finally working in your favor."
The third one came from behind me.
Flick.
I turned mid-landing, fingers brushing leather. Missed by a hair.
"Too slow."
Fourth came high, fourth came fast.
Flick. Caught it with both hands, landing rough, stumbling back two steps.
"Better."
By the sixth I wasn't thinking at all, just moving, reacting, letting instinct take over.
The shimmer was no longer a thing I reached for, it was there the moment I needed it. Like muscle. Like breath.
I caught the eighth throw one-handed, spinning slightly to soften the landing.
Plor gave a low whistle.
"Okay, that was almost cool."
I dropped the ball at her feet and bent over, hands on knees.
Sweat blurred my vision, breath sawed in and out. Not from physical effort, not really. My body could take more. But that inner strain, the place where my Point lived, it pulsed hot and thin.
Like I was pulling something taut every time. Each flick scraped me raw inside.
"Want to rest?" she asked.
"No."
She tossed the ball casually into the air, caught it behind her back.
"Liar."
I stood up straighter. "One more."
Her smile widened. "Now you're speaking my language."
This time she didn't call out. She didn't exactly throw it either, it just shot out at of her hands, without sound, without tell.
I reacted before the shimmer even gathered. Flicking mid-blink, my hand reached forward and closed around it mid-air. The catch threw my body back, as if the ball didn't care it had been caught, it just wanted to keep moving.
The moment froze. Grass brushing my ankles. Ball firm in my palm. The echo of the shimmer still humming in my chest.
I stood, walked it back to her. Tossed it underhand.
"Done showing off?" she said, catching it with a lazy snatch.
"I think I like this practice." I said, nodding toward the ball.
"You like an exercise? Are you possessed?"
I shook my head, breath finally evening out.
"At least it makes sense. There's something to catch. A goal."
Plor gave me a curious look, then threw the ball behind her like it meant nothing.
"You're getting faster," she said. "Cleaner. Your will's starting to match your body."
I rubbed the back of my neck.
"It still burns, though. Inside."
She nodded, stretching her arms behind her back.
"Good. That means you're using it properly."
"And when does it stop hurting?"
Her grin turned crooked.
"Let me know when it does."
She walked past me and clapped a hand on my shoulder.
"You did good."
I blinked.
"That almost sounded like praise."
"Yeah, almost. Still have a long way to go."
She grabbed the canteen off a nearby rock and chucked it at me without looking. I caught it midair, flicking in place just to show off.
She raised a brow, impressed.
"Look at you, getting cocky."
"I learned from the best."
She froze, then laughed, full and loud, the kind that echoed off trees and made birds scatter.
"I'm starting to regret teaching you."
"I've been regretting it since day one."
She just grinned and punched my arm lightly.
"Shut up and drink."
I did. The water tasted like metal and river mud, but I didn't care. I let the bottle hang in my hand, eyes watching her as she leaned back on a crooked tree and stretched again.
Her energy was different today. Still loud, still sharp, but lighter somehow. Less like a drill sergeant, more like a crazy aunt.
Or maybe I was just starting to see her properly.
She tilted her head toward me.
"Tomorrow, we're doing long range work. Think you're ready?"
"Can't wait." I muttered.
She beamed.
"That's the spirit."
Then she threw a stick at me.
Flick.
It hit the ground behind me.
"Nice reaction," she said, walking off. "You might actually survive this."
I stood there a second, heart still pounding, a crooked smile on my face.
Maybe.