The training room was quiet, save for the heavy sounds of wood clashing and feet stomping on the wooden floor. The dojo was a bit filled today since everyone had probably calmed from the war.

Leo stood in the center of the floor, his feet shoulder-width apart. For the first time in a week, he didn’t feel like the world was trying to slide out from under him. He didn’t fight the tilt of the ship. When the floor dipped to the left, he let his knees bend, shifting his weight naturally, his center of gravity staying low and locked.

Taren stood five feet away, his wooden blade held in a relaxed but lethal guard. He looked tired. The week of constant sparring had taken a toll on him, too, but his eyes were sharp.

"Again," Taren said.

Taren moved first. He didn’t use any flashy footwork. He simply stepped forward and unleashed a heavy overhead strike. Normally, Leo would have panicked, his stomach turning as he scrambled to get his sword up in time to block the sheer force of Taren’s blow.

But this time, Leo didn’t block.

As the wooden blade descended, Leo stepped inside the arc of the swing. He moved his lead foot just six inches to the right, letting Taren’s blade whistle past his shoulder. The wind from the strike ruffled Leo’s hair, but he didn’t flinch. He used the momentum of his dodge to bring his own wooden sword up in a sharp, upward jab directed at Taren’s ribs.

Taren’s eyes widened. He had to abandon his follow-through, twisting his torso violently to avoid the poke. He managed to slap Leo’s blade aside with his forearm, but the balance of the fight had shifted.

"You’re actually watching my feet," Taren noted, his voice strained as he reset his stance.

"I got tired of looking at the ceiling every time you tripped me," Leo replied. His voice was flat, devoid of the irritation that usually colored his words. He was sweating, his tunic clinging to his back, but he didn’t feel sick. He felt... calibrated.

They went at it again. This time, the exchange lasted longer. Taren was a master of the basics, the foundational martial arts of the Xuan Royal family. He fought with a relentless, crushing pressure, every strike designed to wear down his opponent’s stamina and resolve. Leo, however, was starting to fight like a needle.

Every time Taren swung, Leo was there with a tiny, efficient movement. He wasn’t swinging back with broad strokes only, as he was also searching for gaps in Taren’s moves. He poked at Taren’s wrists, tapped at his lead knee, and forced Taren to constantly reset his grip.

Leo’s sword caught Taren’s shoulder. It wasn’t a hard hit, but it was a hit nonetheless.

"Attack better, Leo," Taren said, his breathing getting heavier. "Stop thinking about the system or the rank. Just feel the wood. The wood is your hand. The hand is your will."

Leo nodded. He closed his eyes for a split second, feeling the vibration of the ship through the soles of his boots. He could feel the engine vibrating deep in the bowels of the vessel, the way the waves slapped against the obsidian-wood hull, and the way Taren’s weight was currently shifted more toward his right heel.

Taren lunged with a thrust. Leo didn’t move his sword to parry. Instead, he simply twisted his hips, letting the point of Taren’s blade pass through the empty air where his stomach had been a second ago. As Taren overextended, Leo didn’t strike blindly. He stepped behind Taren and placed the flat of his blade against the back of Taren’s neck.

They both froze.

"Dead," Leo whispered.

Taren let out a long, slow breath and lowered his sword. He looked relieved. He wiped a thick layer of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and turned around, offering a small, tired smile.

"I’ll give you that one," Taren said. "Your timing is finally catching up to your reflexes. You’re not fighting like a kid with a tantrum anymore. You’re fighting like a man who knows exactly how much space he occupies."

Leo lowered his weapon, his arms shaking from the exertion. The adrenaline was beginning to fade, and the familiar ache in his muscles was setting in, but the nausea was nowhere to be found. He felt solid. For the first time since he had stepped onto this floating coffin, he felt great.

"I still can’t beat you in a straight strength contest," Leo admitted, leaning on his sword. "You’re still way faster on the reset."

"That comes with years, Leo. You can’t cheat time," Taren said, walking over to a wooden bench and picking up a water skin. He took a long swig and tossed it to Leo.

"But you’ve got the hang of the movement. You’ve learned how to turn your weakness into a pivot point. That’s more important than how many push-ups you can do."

Leo caught the water skin and drank greedily. The water was lukewarm and tasted slightly of the leather container, but it was the best thing he had tasted in a week. He wiped his mouth and looked around the dojo hall. It was now empty, as the other trainees had left before Max even applied, the shadows stretching long across the mats as the afternoon sun dipped lower.

He walked over to the small, circular window on the starboard side of the room. He had looked through this window every day for a week, and every day he had seen the same mocking blue horizon. He didn’t expect anything different.

He wiped the salt grime from the glass with his sleeve and squinted.

The blue was gone.

In its place was a massive, jagged coastline of grey stone and dark, iron-colored earth. It looked like the back of a sleeping titan, rising out of the foam of the ocean. Further inland, he could see the faint, shimmering outlines of white spires, tall, elegant buildings that looked like they were carved from ivory.

They were surrounded by a haze of artificial light, even in the daylight, marking the presence of massive Aura-powered shields and machinery.

"Taren," Leo said, his voice barely a whisper.

Taren was busy putting the training swords back on the rack, but he stopped at the tone of Leo’s voice. He walked over, his boots thudding softly on the mats, and looked over Leo’s shoulder.

The two of them stood there in silence for a long time, watching the dark line of the mainland grow larger with every passing minute. Thousands of other ships, the remnants of the Awakening City’s fleet, were fanning out, heading toward various stone docks and gated harbors that lined the coast.

"Eldoria," Taren breathed. "We actually made it."

"...Leo stood there, his hands still trembling slightly, not from the fight but from the sight of the spires. The Seek was a nightmare of shadows, but this was reality, and it was just as overwhelming..."