Jacob stood at the edge of the expansive training grounds, his eyes slowly moving over the wide stretch of sun-hardened, yellow sand that served as its floor. Scattered across the area were racks of training weapons, some dull, some real, along with other assorted instruments and wooden dummies, all carefully arranged for routine drills and combat exercises.

On a regular day, the space would have been crowded with the Skydrid knights, each engaged in some punishing form of training meant to uphold the honour and strength of their name. But today, the arena was nearly empty, save for two figures moving in a steady rhythm of clash and step.

At the centre of the field, his older brother Alex was sparring with Arthur, their blades cutting the air with a restrained sort of intensity. It was obvious, even from a distance, that they were using real swords and not the blunted training versions, yet it was equally clear that Alex was limiting his strength by a wide margin, if he weren't, Jacob was certain Arthur wouldn't have lasted beyond the first exchange.

Still, Jacob observed with quiet interest, noting that if one set aside the differences in power, aura, and sheer combat experience, Arthur's technique wasn't as far behind as he might have expected.

Alex was better, of course, older by several years, trained by the best instructors money and nobility could offer, and raised with the expectation of one day leading. He moved like someone who had spent their entire life honing every inch of his body into a weapon.

Arthur, by contrast, was younger, less polished, and by his own account mostly self-taught, having developed his style through improvisation and necessity rather than formal schooling. And yet, despite that, he held his ground. He wasn't outclassed so much as outpaced.

He stood there silently, letting the scene play out in front of him while his thoughts wandered inward, looping again and again around the same point. His collapse in the banquet hall had not come from an injury, nor had it been the result of a blow.

It had been something internal, something avoidable, he had suffered from complete mana exhaustion. His body, drained of its energy reserves, had shut itself down, slipping into a protective hibernation that had only broken once his core had refilled.

Jacob knew exactly why it had happened, and the knowledge brought with it a sharp sting of shame and quiet frustration. The first reason was straightforward: he had never bothered to absorb mana into his core to build up a larger reserve.

Every mage knew that the only way to rise through the ranks was by drawing in mana from the atmosphere, steadily pushing it into the core until it reached a critical mass, at which point the core would shatter and reform, increasing both in capacity and purity. But Jacob hadn't even begun that process. He had only just gained access to mana, and instead of strengthening it, he had relied entirely on what little his body had to offer.

But even that, even his inexperience, couldn't fully explain why a single spell had brought him to the edge of collapse. The real reason, the one that twisted his pride into something bitter, was his physical condition.

He was unfit. He didn't have the stamina or strength required to support his own magic. It was a well-known fact that a mage's physical body had to match the intensity of their internal power. A stronger body made it easier to control mana, to circulate it through the limbs, to endure the pressure it placed on muscles and bones. His body, by contrast, had spent years idle, burdened by grief, guilt, and neglect.

That was why he was here.

He hadn't come to train under Alex or to ask Arthur for help. He hadn't come to chat or watch. He had come to sweat, to burn, to hurt, and to grow. Because there was no future, no path forward, unless he became stronger. Not just in theory, not just in his head. Strong in a way that would last. Strong enough to stand beside the people he cared about and protect them. Strong enough to face those he had once feared.

Jacob had always hated pain, even the simple kind, the sting of scraped knees or the dull ache of a tired body, but real, unrelenting pain and the agony he had felt at the banquet had been something else entirely, something sharp and consuming, far beyond anything he had previously endured.

It was the kind of pain that left a mark, not just on the body but on the mind, and he knew, with quiet certainty, that he never wanted to feel anything like it again. But how could he possibly avoid pain if he remained weak?

He had chosen the path of a scholar years ago, back when his reasoning had been simple, even childish, he had believed that scholars were safe, that by keeping his head down and burying himself in books, he could avoid the violence that defined the lives of knights and warriors.

But that belief had long since faded. His desire to become a scholar was no longer rooted in fear. He wanted it because he genuinely loved the pursuit of knowledge, the act of reading, the logic behind rune theory, the quiet thrill of discovery. The battlefield wasn't his world, and it likely never would be, but that didn't mean he could ignore it.

Because the truth was simple: if he lacked the strength to protect himself, if he couldn't fight, then pain, real pain, would eventually find him again.

And so, if he wanted to keep that pain at bay, he needed to become strong, not just in intellect, but in body and spirit. That meant devouring more books, studying more runes, searching for true magic that could reshape the very rules of the world, yes, but it also meant training, building a foundation that would allow his body to support the magic he was beginning to understand.

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As these thoughts settled in his mind, he continued watching Alex and Arthur spar. The match came to a natural end when Arthur, chest heaving and soaked in sweat, collapsed onto the sand, his sword falling beside him as he wiped his brow with a tired hand.

Alex, on the other hand, though clearly victorious, wasn't breathing hard. He looked calm, composed, and untouched by exertion, but even so, he sat down as well, letting his legs stretch out while he rested.

It was in that quiet moment between bouts that Jacob finally stepped forward. The sound of his footsteps made both of them turn toward him, and he didn't hesitate. His voice was soft, but steady. "Do you have room for one more?"

Arthur was on his feet in an instant, hurrying over with a mixture of surprise and joy in his expression. "Jacob! You're awake, how are you feeling? Are you sure you should be out of bed?"

Jacob gave a small shrug, his tone dry. "I've been resting for..." he paused, trying to calculate how long it had really been, before giving up and finishing with, "a while. Long enough."

Arthur still looked concerned, but before he could respond again, Alex's voice cut in from behind. "Then why are you here?"

Jacob turned toward his older brother, noting the faint spark of anticipation behind Alex's otherwise composed features, a look of barely concealed eagerness that didn't quite match his usual calm, noble bearing.

"I came to resume my training," Jacob said after a moment, speaking with quiet resolve. "Back then... you offered to train me. Every morning, three hours. I remember."

Alex rose to his feet slowly, dusting the sand off his clothes as he stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of Jacob. The playful energy vanished from his face, replaced by something far more serious, a sort of heavy, measured stillness that Jacob hadn't associated with Alex before.

"You want to resume your training?" he asked, voice low but steady. "Last I checked, you gave up."

"And I've come back," Jacob replied, his voice tinged with hesitation, unsure why Alex seemed to be acting so strangely cold, so unlike the older brother he remembered from their previous sessions.

"Oh, so that's how it is now?" Alex said, his tone quiet but laced with a cutting sharpness that made Jacob stiffen. "You think you can give up and come back whenever you like? And I'll just be standing here, ready to pick up where we left off?"

Jacob swallowed, his gaze slipping to the side. "I… I only just realized how foolish it was to stop," he murmured, clearly struggling to hold Alex's increasingly severe stare.

Alex took a step forward, his voice tightening even further. "Foolish?" he repeated, then let out a short, bitter laugh. "You mean your utter, idiotic, brainless, completely stupid kind of foolishness? What made you aware of it?"

Jacob's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the barrage of insults, but after a brief moment of shock he composed himself and answered with as much dignity as he could muster. "The attack at the banquet," he said, his voice firmer now. "I was too weak. I—"

"And?" Alex interrupted, not with malice, but with a sort of quiet insistence that made it clear he was looking for more than surface-level regret.

Jacob faltered, unsure of what more Alex expected from him, and the silence stretched awkwardly between them. Eventually, Alex shook his head and turned away.

"Jacob," he said, walking a few steps before speaking again, "even before Lucas, you never cared much for training. You didn't care that you were weak because you hated the idea of fighting. You were always gentle, thoughtful, but never interested in strength. I don't think one incident at a banquet changed that overnight. So I'm asking for something else. Something real. A deeper reason. Because without that, I can't help you. I won't."

The words landed with weight, and as Alex began to walk away, something in Jacob panicked, something that understood this moment mattered more than he could afford to admit.

"Pain!" he called out, the word sharp and desperate.

Alex turned back to face him slowly.

Jacob inhaled deeply, gripping the fabric at his sides with white knuckles, trying to keep the emotions from tumbling out too fast. "I felt pain," he said again, quieter now. "The kind of pain I didn't know was possible. It wasn't just physical, it was everywhere, in my bones, in my head, in my chest. And I hated it. I hated it more than I've ever hated anything."

He looked down, shame colouring his words. "I don't want to feel like that again. I don't want to be that helpless again. I want to be strong enough to stop others from hurting me. That's why I'm here."

Jacob finished speaking and looked up at Alex, uncertain of what kind of response he'd get, he had spoken honestly, perhaps more than he'd intended, and now he stood there with his heart laid bare, waiting for judgment.

For a moment, Alex said nothing, just stared at him with that unreadable expression he often wore, then, slowly, a smile began to stretch across his face, not mocking or condescending, just quietly amused.

"To avoid pain, huh…" Alex said, his voice warm with a kind of reluctant admiration. "That's a drive I haven't seen before. It's not brave, not noble, not born out of pride or honour… to be honest, it's pretty cowardly, shameless even."

Jacob's face flushed with embarrassment, his eyes flickering down in discomfort, but before the shame could settle too deeply, Alex stepped closer and gave him a firm nudge in the chest with his fist, a small gesture that somehow felt both grounding and approving.

"But you know what?" Alex continued, the smile still on his face, "Your reason might be cowardly and shameful, but it's yours. And because it's yours, and not borrowed or rehearsed, it's real. A man's resolve can't ever be shallow if it comes straight from the heart. You want to avoid pain, that's your peak, your fire, the thing that's going to push you forward, and that's more than enough. I'll help you chase it."

He turned, walked a few steps to the side, and picked up one of the swords lying on a rack, then faced Jacob again, holding the blade upright with a quiet seriousness in his eyes. "But Jacob," he said, his voice steady now, his tone shifting into something older, wiser, "you should understand something. No man, no matter how strong or clever, can truly escape pain. It's part of living. If you really want to reach a place where you'll never be hurt again… you'll have to become something more than human. You'll need to become a god."

Jacob listened to the words, nodding slowly, then let out a quiet, almost bitter chuckle. "A god, huh…" he murmured, before raising his gaze again. "You're wrong, though."

Alex tilted his head slightly, brow furrowing. "Wrong about what?"

Jacob's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile, the kind that carried both sadness and resolve. "You haven't read Akashic's Record, have you? The one where he talked about killing gods?"

Alex blinked, slightly thrown off by the shift in tone. "No, can't say I have."

Jacob nodded. "If you had, you'd know something important," he said softly. "Gods feel pain too. Just as much as mortals."

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