THE AETHERBORN

Thorne stood in the dimly lit warehouse, his pulse quickening in time with the storm outside. The rain hammered relentlessly on the roof, each thunderclap making the cold, damp air feel even heavier. But none of that registered. His entire focus was on the man standing a few feet away, cloaked in shadows and menace.

Sid's silhouette flickered in the dim light of the torches lining the walls, his black leather armor blending into the darkness. His hood obscured most of his face, but Thorne could feel his gaze, sharp as a blade, watching him. Scrutinizing him. The weight of those eyes made Thorne’s heart thud harder against his chest.

“Ready, boy?” Sid’s voice cut through the storm like the cold edge of a knife, devoid of warmth or concern.

Thorne nodded, his throat tight. Fear and determination warred within him. This was no ordinary session, and he knew it. Sid had promised that tonight would push him beyond anything he had faced before. And he wasn’t wrong.

Sid didn’t wait. He moved like lightning. One moment, he was standing still, and the next, his fist slammed into Thorne’s stomach. The air was knocked from Thorne’s lungs as he stumbled back, doubling over in pain. It felt like a hammer had struck his insides, his breath a ragged gasp.

“Too slow,” Sid snarled, circling him like a predator toying with its prey. “Move your feet.”

Thorne blinked back the pain, forcing his body to respond. The lessons Sid had drilled into him echoed in his mind, but his body wasn’t fast enough. Not fast enough to keep up with Sid’s blinding speed.

Another punch landed, this time on his jaw, snapping his head back. A sharp metallic taste filled his mouth. Blood. But there was no time to react before Sid followed up with a brutal kick to his side, sending him sprawling across the cold floor. Agony shot through him, his ribs screaming in protest.

“Get up.” Sid’s voice was a low growl. There was no sympathy in it, only a demand.

Thorne’s limbs shook as he pushed himself off the floor, every part of his body screaming at him to stay down. But he couldn’t. Showing weakness here would only make things worse. He raised his trembling arms, adopting the defensive stance Sid had taught him, trying to steady himself for the next onslaught.

Sid came at him again, each strike more punishing than the last. Thorne managed to block a few, but Sid’s strength was overwhelming. Every hit felt like it was tearing him apart, his muscles growing sluggish, his movements slower with each passing second.

“Pathetic,” Sid hissed, delivering a kick that caught Thorne in the ribs once more. The pain was blinding. "Do you think anyone will go easy on you because you’re just a boy? They’ll kill you without hesitation."

Rage flared inside Thorne. He gritted his teeth, his vision blurred from the pain, but still, he stood. He had to survive this. He had to get stronger. He couldn’t afford to fall here, not when so much was at stake.

Sid circled him like a hawk. “Watch your opponent. They always tell you where they’re going to strike. The eyes, the shoulders, the hips… they all tell a story. Learn to read it.”

Thorne focused through the haze of pain, trying to see the subtle cues in Sid’s movements. His chest heaved with effort, his limbs heavy, but he watched, forcing his mind to clear. He saw it—just the tiniest flicker in Sid’s gaze.

He ducked, and Sid’s punch whistled past his head. Thorne had dodged. But before he could savor the small victory, Sid’s knee slammed into his gut. The impact knocked the wind out of him, sending him crashing to the ground, doubled over and gasping.

“Better,” Sid said, his tone grudging. “But not good enough.”

The words stung. Thorne's mind raced, replaying the movements, the strikes. He had survived so far by thinking ahead, outsmarting his opponents, but this was different.

Sid’s cold voice echoed in his ears as he landed another blow. “Stop thinking. Use your instincts. React.”

Thorne’s body screamed in protest as he forced himself to stand again. He couldn’t give up. He couldn’t afford to be weak. He had to clear his mind and let his body take over. He had to become something more.

Thorne's mind raced as he tried to absorb Sid's advice. He remembered their previous training sessions, the games of cat and mouse where Sid would chase him, forcing him to evade and outsmart his pursuer. It had been like a game of catch, with Sid teaching him how to escape capture. But this was different. This was real combat, and Thorne was out of his depth.

Sid moved again, faster than before, and Thorne could barely keep up. But he saw the shift—the way Sid’s muscles tensed. He ducked just in time, avoiding the hook aimed at his head. Thorne lashed out with his own punch, but it was weak, unfocused. Sid caught his fist easily, twisting his arm until a jolt of pain shot through his shoulder. The agony made him bite down on a cry.

“Pathetic.” Sid shoved him away, disgust clear in his voice. “If you hesitate in a real fight, you die.”

Thorne staggered back, anger and frustration boiling inside him. His body throbbed with pain, but the worst of it came from his own weakness, his own failure. He couldn’t afford to be like this. Not when Bea was still out there. Not when he was the only one who could protect her.

Sid’s words cut deeper than any of his strikes. “Commit to your attacks. Hesitation is death.”

Thorne’s breathing was ragged, his heart pounding. But as he stood there, battered and bruised, something inside him hardened. He couldn’t fail. Not now. He had to push through the pain, through the fear. He had to survive this—he had no choice.

"Again," Sid commanded, his voice sharp and cold as steel.

Thorne barely had time to steady his breath before Sid lunged at him once more, fists flying in a whirlwind of blows. Focus, focus, focus, Thorne told himself, forcing his exhausted body to obey. His eyes locked on Sid’s, scanning for the slightest flicker of movement. There—it was subtle, but he saw the shift, the tightening in Sid’s muscles. Thorne ducked, weaving out of the way, barely avoiding the strikes.

In a rare moment of opportunity, he swung his fist toward Sid’s ribs, putting everything he had into the punch. His knuckles connected, but it was like hitting solid stone. Sid barely flinched, his expression unchanged. It was as if Thorne had hit a wall, and before he could recover, Sid retaliated. A rapid succession of strikes hammered into Thorne, each blow more brutal than the last. Pain exploded across his body, the air knocked from his lungs as he staggered back, gasping for breath.

"Good," Sid’s voice cut through the haze of pain, a faint hint of approval in it. "But you need to hit harder. Put your weight behind it, or it’s meaningless."

Thorne nodded, wiping the blood from his split lip, trying to ignore the throbbing in his side. His entire body screamed in protest, every muscle aching, every bruise throbbing with fresh pain. He was close to his limit—he could feel it—but quitting wasn’t an option. Not here. Not with Sid watching. Not when failure meant showing weakness, and showing weakness meant…

He couldn’t even let himself finish the thought.

Sid didn’t give him a moment to rest. He lunged again, and Thorne barely had time to react. His body moved on instinct, remembering the relentless drills Sid had put him through. He saw the subtle shift in Sid’s stance again—the slight dip in his shoulder—and Thorne reacted. He ducked under the punch, twisting his body, and drove his fist into Sid’s ribs with everything he had.

This time, Sid grunted, but before Thorne could take advantage, Sid’s knee slammed into his chest with bone-crushing force. Agony shot through him, his breath leaving him in a sharp wheeze as he was sent sprawling to the ground.

"Better," Sid said, standing over him, his voice cold and unforgiving. "But not good enough. You have to be relentless, boy. No mercy. No hesitation."

Thorne struggled to his feet, every part of him aching, his vision blurring at the edges from exhaustion. His legs felt like they were made of lead, his arms shaking as he raised them again. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to stop. Every fiber of his being screamed to quit, but something deeper—something more primal—kept him going. He had to prove himself, not just to Sid, but to himself. To bee better.

Sid's tone shifted, growing serious, his words carrying a weight that made Thorne pause. "Listen, boy," he began, his eyes narrowing. "I've faced all kinds of opponents. Magic users, warriors, assassins. Each one had tells. The way their fingers twitched when they were about to cast a spell, or the way their weight shifted when they were going to strike. You need to learn to see these things if you want to survive."

For a moment, Sid’s gaze drifted, as if recalling a distant memory. His voice softened, almost nostalgic. "There was a mage once, years ago, who could control the very earth beneath our feet. Every time he was about to cast, his eyes would narrow, and his fingers would curl, just so." Sid demonstrated, his fingers making a subtle movement that Thorne tried to burn into his memory. This wasn’t just training now—it was a lesson in survival.

"Then there was a swordsman," Sid continued, his voice taking on a darker edge. "Fastest man I’ve ever seen. But he had a tell, too. Just before he struck, his left shoulder would dip. Barely noticeable, but enough if you knew what to look for."

Thorne nodded, though the fog of exhaustion clouded his thoughts. The lessons made sense. But knowing them and applying them were two very different things. He tried to push the pain aside, to focus. But it wasn’t enough. Sid’s attacks came like a storm, each one sharper, faster, more punishing than the last.

Every strike was a lesson in brutality. Thorne’s body felt like it was being pulled apart, piece by piece. He dodged when he could, blocked when he had to, but Sid was relentless. There was no mercy, no respite. Every time Thorne thought he had an opening, Sid would counter with devastating precision, hammering the lesson home with his fists.

"Commit to your attacks," Sid growled, landing a punch to Thorne’s ribs that nearly knocked him off his feet. "Hesitation will get you killed. No mercy. No hesitation."

Thorne forced himself to concentrate, trying to see the tells Sid had mentioned. It was all a blur—the pain, the exhaustion—but he had to push through it. He had to keep going. He saw the slight shift in Sid’s weight, the tightening in his shoulders, and he managed to dodge the next punch. Thorne lashed out with a counterattack, but it was weak—half-hearted. Sid barely felt it.

Sid’s retaliation came swift and brutal, a knee driving into Thorne’s gut with such force that the air left his lungs in a ragged gasp. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, fighting to stay on his feet.

"Better," Sid said, though the praise was laced with condescension. "But not good enough. Keep pushing yourself. One day, maybe, you’ll be able to take me on."

Thorne wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t breathe. His mind raced as he processed everything Sid had said, every brutal lesson carved into his body. Sid had given him the keys to survival, but using them would take more than just knowing what to look for. It would take strength—real strength.

Thorne nodded, his entire body trembling with exhaustion. He could feel the bruises blooming under his skin, the sting of cuts and scrapes biting into him with each gust of cold air. But despite the agony, there was a fire inside him—a determination that refused to be extinguished. He would endure this pain. He would survive it. He had to.

Sid stepped back, granting him a brief moment to catch his breath. Thorne was barely upright when a notification flashed in his vision:

Congratulations!

You Have Unlocked a New Skill: Unarmed Combat.

For a heartbeat, pride and relief surged through Thorne, giving him a flicker of hope. He had done it—he had endured the brutal training, and it had made him stronger. But there was no time to revel in his success. No time to celebrate.

Sid attacked again.

Thorne’s stamina points were in the red, warning him that his reserves were almost gone. Desperation clawed at him as he fought to block and dodge Sid’s relentless strikes. His movements were sluggish, his limbs heavy as lead, and every inch of his body screamed in protest.

"Sid, my stamina... it's gone!" Thorne managed to gasp between ragged breaths, hoping for mercy, even just a few moments to recover.

Sid’s scoff cut through the storm. The cruel smirk on his lips was almost worse than the pain. "Your stamina is low, boy? You think your enemies will care about that?" His fists flew at Thorne like a hammer, punctuating his disdain. "Do you think they’ll stop because you need a break?"

Each punch and kick was a brutal reminder that the world outside had no mercy for weakness. Neither did Sid.

"Once," Sid began, his tone casual, almost conversational as if they weren’t locked in a savage, one-sided fight. "I infiltrated a fortress to steal a valuable map. Got caught. Fought wave after wave of guards, and do you think I had the luxury of asking for a rest? You think I told them to stop because I was running low on stamina, boy?"

Thorne’s vision blurred. Pain pounded through his body like a drumbeat, and his mind was foggy, but through the haze, he clung to Sid’s words. Desperation gave him clarity. He had to adapt, had to learn from Sid’s lessons. He began focusing on Sid's eyes, looking for the tells Sid had spoken about earlier. Thorne needed to read him, to predict his movements before they came.

But Sid was a master. Every time Thorne thought he had figured out the next attack, Sid would shift his stance, change his angle, strike from a direction Thorne hadn’t anticipated. Always one step ahead.

"You need to read your opponent," Sid growled, his fist slamming into Thorne’s ribs again. The pain made Thorne gasp, his breath stolen from his lungs. "But remember this, boy—they’ll be reading you, too. You can’t rely on just one thing. You have to be unpredictable."

Thorne barely deflected a punch, only to catch a right hook to his face that sent him crashing to the ground. His lip split open, blood mixing with the dirt as he collapsed into a heap.

"You’re stupid. Stupid and soft," Sid spat, punctuating each word with a vicious kick to Thorne's ribs. Each blow made Thorne curl tighter into himself, his arms wrapped protectively around his battered body as he trembled. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, the pain overwhelming every other sensation.

Sid stood over him, looking down with cold disdain. "Get up," he commanded, but Thorne couldn’t. His body had reached its limit. He lay there, broken, unable to move as blood dripped from his wounds and tears mingled with the sweat and dirt on his face.

With a final kick to Thorne’s side, Sid turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing ominously in the cavernous, empty warehouse. "I’ll be waiting for you at the same time tomorrow," he said coldly before disappearing into the shadows.

Thorne lay there, tears of frustration mixing with the blood on his cheeks. The pain was unbearable, but worse than that was the crushing weight of his own inadequacy. How far he still had to go. The thought of facing Sid again made his stomach churn, but he knew there was no other way.

He couldn’t afford to be weak. Not in a world this dangerous. Not with so much at stake.

With a groan that sounded more like a wounded animal, Thorne forced himself to sit up, leaning against the damp, cold wall. His body was shattered—ribs aching, face swollen, limbs trembling—but his spirit, though bruised, refused to break. He couldn’t afford to break.

Suddenly, a series of notifications appeared in his vision:

Skill Level Up: Thick Skin!

Skill Level Up: Thick Skin!

Skill Level Up: Unarmed Combat!

Skill Level Up: Resilience!

Despite the pain, a flicker of hope ignited inside him. He had leveled up—gained strength. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. A sign that all the suffering wasn’t for nothing. He would keep pushing, keep fighting. For his sister, for himself. He had to.

Slowly, painfully, Thorne pushed himself to his feet, every step sending a fresh wave of agony through his battered body. The warehouse was silent now, the storm still raging outside, thunder rumbling in the distance. He stumbled toward the exit, each step a struggle.

But he was still moving. He was still standing.

And no matter what came next, Thorne vowed to himself that he would survive. He would get stronger.