Evening settled over the village like a warm blanket, casting long golden shadows across the cobbled paths. Lanterns flickered to life as Michael and Torren walked side by side toward the elder's house. The earlier soak at the hot spring had done wonders for their aches, but a weight still hung in the air—the anticipation of what was to come.
As they reached the familiar wooden home, they found the elder already waiting outside. His crimson robes rustled slightly in the breeze, and he stood with hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable.
"Good," he said as they approached. "You're here. Come, let us talk."
They followed him back inside. The room was as they remembered—a simple table, soft cushions, and a faint smell of incense lingering in the air. They took their seats, and the elder did the same.
"You two have recovered well," he began, his voice calm. "That spring is a gift not only to the body, but to the spirit. Still, recovery is only part of what you need. To grow stronger, you must train beyond your current limits."
Michael leaned forward slightly. "You have something in mind."
"I do," the elder said, folding his hands. "But first, I want to be clear: this is not a lesson. It is a trial. A condition."
Torren frowned. "A condition for what?"
The elder's gaze hardened. "Until you succeed, you will not leave this village. Not unless it is for a sanctioned event, like the tournament. No errands, no trips. You will remain here."
Michael blinked. "Wait... you're restricting us?"
"Only until you can complete the task," the elder confirmed. "You may attempt it as many times as you wish. Once you succeed, the condition is lifted."
Torren crossed his arms. "Alright then. What do we have to do?"
The elder rose slowly. "Follow me."
They stepped back into the fading light and walked to the small training field just behind the elder's home. The moon was rising now, casting silver light over the open ground.
"The challenge is simple," the elder said, stopping at the center of the field. "I will stand here. You will attempt to move me. If either of you can make me take a single step—forward, backward, to the side—then the trial is passed."
Michael exchanged a glance with Torren. "That's it?"
The elder smiled slightly. "Yes. But I suggest you don't underestimate this old body."
He took his position, feet planted firmly, arms folded behind his back.
Torren rolled his shoulders. "Alright. Let's try this."
Michael stepped to one side, Torren to the other. They nodded to each other, then charged in simultaneously.
Their fists struck with force. Hot fists from Michael, a sweeping blow from Torren.
Nothing.
The elder didn't even flinch.
"Try again," he said calmly.
Over and over, they attacked. Fire, ground, brute strength, clever angles. Nothing worked. It was as if the air around him was thicker, heavier, impossible to break.
An hour passed. Then another.
Exhausted, the two collapsed onto the grass, panting.
The elder hadn't moved an inch.
He finally turned and looked down at them. "This is not about power. It is about balance. Awareness. Control. Think on that. We try again at dawn."
And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Michael and Torren lying beneath the stars, wondering what exactly they had just begun.