The days bled into weeks, and the weeks into months. Under Adima's watchful gaze, Areion's life transformed into a disciplined rhythm of meditation, rigorous learning. The open chamber within the palace grounds became his personal training arena, the familiar hill and ancient tree silent witnesses to his burgeoning abilities.
Adima entered the chamber on a usual sun-drenched morning, observing Areion deep in meditation. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his small hands resting in the familiar mudra. A mischievous glint sparked in her eyes. She picked up a smooth, grey pebble from the path and, with a flick of her wrist, sent it hurtling towards him.
Areion, struggling to fully command his limbs, reacted a fraction too late. The pebble struck him squarely on the cheek, a light sting accompanying the surprise. He blinked open his bright, inquisitive eyes, a bewildered expression on his face as he rubbed the spot.
Adima chuckled, a warm, melodic sound that held a note of amusement. "These tricks still work on you, annoying kid…" she said, a playful smile gracing her lips.
"It would if my stupid hands would just listen to me!" he muttered under his breath, more to himself than her. Then, looking up, he asked, "So why did you come, Granny?"
She folded her arms across her chest, her expression suddenly serious, though a lingering twinkle remained in her eyes. "Test."
Areion released a soft sigh, the playful mood dissipating. He rose to his feet, his movements deliberate and somewhat stiff, his gaze meeting Adima's steady one. She gave him a subtle signal with her index finger – a silent invitation. He responded, attempting to dash towards her, but his young legs felt heavy, his sprint more of a determined jog. He threw a slow punch aimed at her side.
Adima moved with effortless grace, diverting his sluggish attack with a fluid motion of her arm. Areion pressed his assault, his young limbs moving with focused intent but lacking their previous swiftness, a series of somewhat telegraphed jabs and strikes. Yet obviously, Adima seemed to anticipate his every move with ease, naturally dodging and diverting his attacks with a display of her honed martial arts, her movements economical and precise.
"Come on," she said, her voice calm but laced with a hint of challenge, "you have to do better than that, kiddo."
[No matter how much I push him, he continues to surprise me with his determination. He struggles so much with his own body sometimes, it's almost endearing. I never thought he could even grasp beyond basic principles with such… resistance from his own limbs. Yet here he is, still trying.]
A confident smirk touched Areion's lips, though it didn't quite reach his frustrated eyes. He hopped backwards twice, the movements a little clunky, creating some distance between them. He closed his eyes, drawing upon the nascent paranh within him. Within moments, a faint, uneven glow flickered around his right fist. He opened his eyes, the familiar white now tinged with a hesitant energy, and looked at Adima with a newfound intensity. She maintained unwavering eye contact, a pleased expression flickering across her features as she settled into a combat stance, her body coiled and ready.
[He's actually managing to channel more paranh. Despite his… physical limitations at times, his focus is remarkable. But, It's going to take more than just energy if he can't coordinate himself properly.]
The exchange intensified, though "intensified" was a relative term. Areion launched another series of attacks, his glowing fists moving with more power but still lacking fluidity. Yet, it seemed as though he was punching air in slow motion, Adima effortlessly evading every strike, her movements almost imperceptible in comparison. Her smirks widened with each near miss, a silent commentary on his lack of speed. Areion, frustration beginning to simmer beneath his focus, hopped backwards again, his landing a little off-balance. This time, his approach was different. He dashed towards her with a feigned punch to the face, missing deliberately but with a noticeable lack of finesse. As Adima's gaze flickered downwards, anticipating another clumsy attack, she noticed the subtle constraint – several blades of grass, manipulated by use of shaktih, had wrapped themselves clumsily around her ankles, barely hindering her movement.
Her gaze snapped back to Areion, who was now charging a significant amount of paranh into his other hand, the energy coalescing into a more substantial, though still somewhat shaky, glow. He swung the charged fist towards her, a determined roar escaping his lips at high pitch, the movement is telegraphed.
As his punch was about to connect, Adima vanished from his sight with a soft whoosh. A sudden pressure constricted his throat, a strong palm gripping him with a force that stole his breath. He clawed at the hand, struggling to break free, his movements jerky and ineffective, but its hold was unyielding.
"Surrender, kiddo," Adima's voice, now close to his ear, held a note of gentle authority.
"Ahhh, fine, I give up…" Areion gasped, his tone laced with frustration and a hint of breathlessness. "No need to choke me."
Adima released him, and he stumbled backwards, clutching his throat, a deep frown creasing his brow. He sank onto the soft grass beside her, his grumpy expression evident. "It's been months," he grumbled, "and I still feel like my body is moving through honey. I can't land a single proper hit on you."
She chuckled softly, ruffling his hair. "Don't lose hope just yet. You've made progress, Arya, even if it doesn't always feel like it. Your control over your shaktih is growing stronger, and you almost managed to trip me with the grass today. That was… surprisingly resourceful, considering your current coordination. You need more practice, yes, but also a deeper understanding of how to truly connect your will with your essence. While I still had a significant advantage, that little trick with the grass shows you're thinking. And here is a secret to Shaktih act like the way you need to have not what you like to do. Remember acceptance is key."
[He is also a very sweet child, even when he's sulking. Whatever you are planning, Ojaswini, his spirit is strong. Perhaps you will succeed despite the… challenges.]
She stood up, her gaze thoughtful. "Continue your practice, Arya. Focus on making your body obey your commands. I have other matters to attend to." And with that, she left him alone in the tranquil chamber.
Hours later, after a period of focused meditation, Areion found himself practicing his punches against the trunk of the ancient tree. He channeled his paranh, focusing his intent with gritted teeth, and delivered a sharp blow, his movements still not as fast as he wished but carrying a noticeable force. His fist connected with a solid thud, and to his surprise, it became partially lodged within the wood. He tugged, pulling his hand back with a grunt, his muscles straining slightly. A dark, jagged hole now marred the tree's surface. He peered inside, but the interior was swallowed by an impenetrable blackness.
Intrigued, he picked up a small pebble, his fingers fumbling slightly before securing it, and dropped it into the hole. He waited, his ears straining for any sound. After a few seconds, a series of faint bumping sounds echoed from within, as if the pebble was bouncing against unseen surfaces. The sounds continued, fading into the distance, with no clear indication of the bottom. It was like dropping a stone into an endless well, the echoes suggesting a vast, hollow space within the seemingly solid tree. A sense of wonder mixed with a touch of unease settled over Areion. What secrets did this ancient tree hold?