Just as he felt the suffocating pressure was about to wake him again, something changed. A wave of heat washed over him, radiating from nowhere and everywhere at once. His body remained frozen, but the sensation was undeniable. He could almost feel beads of sweat trailing down his skin, even though he was sure his physical body wasn’t really here. It was a strange, almost maddening contrast—trapped in a motionless void yet overwhelmed by sensations.
Then, in the middle of the crimson-hued void, an ashen white object appeared. At first, it was no larger than a marble, a faint speck against the overwhelming red. But it began to grow, expanding steadily until it was roughly the size of a van. Its surface was smooth and featureless, but it radiated an unnatural energy that made Ethan’s stomach churn. He wanted to look away, but his eyes refused to close. The oppressive heat intensified, and for a moment, he was certain something was about to emerge from the sphere.
Suddenly, he jolted awake with a gasp, his chest heaving as though he’d been holding his breath the entire time. His room was dark except for the faint glow of his table lamp, but he immediately noticed the dampness. His bedsheets were soaked with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to his skin. The air in the room felt heavy, and for a moment, he just sat there, trying to catch his breath and process what had just happened.
“What the hell was that?” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his damp hair. The feeling of dread still lingered, a shadow refusing to fade even though he was awake.
After a few moments, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, his movements sluggish. He flicked on the table lamp, the soft yellow light illuminating his desk and the clutter of notebooks, tools, and the now-functional smaller radio he’d fixed earlier. Ethan grabbed a fresh towel from a nearby chair and wiped his face and neck before sitting down at the desk.
Opening a plain black diary—one he’d been using to document his dreams and odd experiences since arriving in this world—he flipped to a fresh page. His handwriting was steady despite the slight tremble in his hands as he wrote:
Dream Log: Saturday night/Sunday early morning
The crimson hue returned as always. The weight and sense of being watched were the same, but this time there was heat. I felt like I was sweating, though I wasn’t sure if it was real. Then, the ashen white object appeared—spherical, featureless, and growing. It stopped at the size of a van. The energy it gave off felt... wrong. Unnatural. I thought something might happen, but I woke up before anything did.
He paused, tapping the pen against the desk as he considered what else to write. After a moment, he added:
Thoughts:
* The object is new. Could it be connected to prana as well?
* Why the heat this time? Is it related to the sphere? Need to monitor future dreams for changes.
Satisfied for the moment, Ethan closed the diary and leaned back in his chair. He stared at the ceiling for a while, the events of the dream replaying in his mind. Finally, exhaustion won out, and he crawled back into bed. This time, sleep came without interruptions.
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The next morning marked the official start of individualized training. Ethan stood in the training field, spear in hand, as Dren approached him. The man’s sharp eyes and confident demeanor radiated experience, and Ethan couldn’t help but feel a mix of nervousness and excitement.
“Ready to get to work?” Dren asked, spinning his own spear effortlessly in one hand. “We’ve got a lot to cover, and I’m not going easy on you.”
Ethan nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Good. First, let’s see your stance.”
The morning passed in a blur of drills and corrections. Dren was a tough but fair instructor, pointing out Ethan’s mistakes with a bluntness that stung but also motivated him to improve. By the time they finished, Ethan’s arms felt like jelly, and his shirt was drenched with sweat. Despite the exhaustion, he felt a small spark of pride. He was getting the hang of it—slowly but surely.
After a quick lunch, Ethan found himself with a rare block of free time in the afternoon. He decided to head back to his dorm to tinker with the smaller radio. It still wasn’t picking up signals as clearly as he’d like, and he was determined to improve its range.
As he worked, the familiar rhythm of soldering wires and adjusting components brought a sense of calm. He played some faint music on the larger radio, humming along absentmindedly as he focused on his task. Occasionally, he’d jot down notes in his notebook, brainstorming ways to boost the device’s performance.
By the time evening rolled around, it was time for archery training with Kael. The older man greeted Ethan with a nod, his no-nonsense attitude a stark contrast to Dren’s energetic demeanor.
“You’ve got potential,” Kael said as he handed Ethan a bow. “But potential means nothing if you don’t put in the work. Let’s see how much you remember from last week.”
Ethan spent the next couple of hours practicing his draw and aim under Kael’s watchful eye. The instructor offered precise, often critical feedback, but by the end of the session, Ethan could feel himself improving. His shots were more consistent, and his form felt less awkward.
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After the session, Ethan was heading back to his dorm when he ran into Elara. She was leaning against a railing near the training field, her usual confident smile in place.
“Hey, Ethan,” she called out. “How’s the training going?”
“Exhausting,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But I think I’m getting better.”
She nodded. “That’s good. You’ll need every bit of it when the recruit ranking exchange happens. Don’t let Zane show you up again.”
Ethan winced at the reminder of his spar with Zane but managed a grin. “Yeah, I’ll try not to.”
They talked for a while longer, the conversation flowing easily. Elara’s upbeat attitude was infectious, and Ethan found himself relaxing despite the long day.
The days that followed were a relentless cycle of combat training and prana channeling sessions. The dorm grounds buzzed with activity as recruits pushed themselves to their limits, their focus sharpened by the promise of the upcoming recruit ranking exchange. Every morning, Ethan found himself back on the training field, spear in hand, with Dren standing across from him.
“You’re improving,” Dren admitted one day, after Ethan managed to parry a particularly tricky feint. Sweat dripped down Ethan’s brow, his arms trembling from exertion, but the rare compliment brought a small smile to his face.
“Thanks,” he said, catching his breath. “But I still have a long way to go.”
Dren nodded, his expression serious. “True. But at least you’re starting to move like a fighter instead of a farmer with a stick.”
The comment earned a laugh from Zane, who was practicing nearby. “Careful, Ethan. Dren might actually start liking you if you keep this up.”
Ethan shot Zane a mock glare before returning to his drills. The banter between teammates lightened the otherwise grueling sessions, and it wasn’t uncommon for the recruits to tease and encourage each other as they trained.
By the afternoon, the focus shifted to prana channeling. Himmel led these sessions, guiding the recruits through increasingly complex exercises designed to refine their control and endurance. Ethan struggled at first, his body resisting the unfamiliar flow of energy, but with each passing day, he felt the process becoming a little more natural.
“Focus on your breathing,” Himmel reminded him during one session. “Prana flows best when you’re calm. If you let your emotions get the better of you, it’ll spiral out of control.”
Ethan nodded, closing his eyes as he concentrated. The warm, tingling sensation of prana coursing through his body was both exhilarating and exhausting, but he knew it was essential to master it if he wanted to stand a chance in the ranking exchange.
Evenings brought archery training with Kael, who had a markedly different teaching style compared to Dren. Where Dren’s approach was disciplined and straightforward, Kael was more laid-back, encouraging Ethan to experiment and find his own rhythm with the bow.
“Archery isn’t just about hitting the target,” Kael explained one evening, adjusting Ethan’s stance. “It’s about patience and precision. Let the bow become an extension of yourself.”
Ethan appreciated Kael’s guidance, though his initial attempts were less than stellar. His arrows often flew wide of the mark, and his arms ached from drawing the bowstring repeatedly. Still, with each session, he felt himself improving, the movements becoming less forced and more instinctive.
The evenings often brought duels and sparring matches, both formal and informal. One evening, Ethan found himself squaring off against Dren in a practice duel. The crowd of recruits that had gathered to watch cheered and jeered, their excitement palpable.
“Don’t hold back,” Dren said, spinning his spear with a practiced ease that made Ethan’s grip feel clumsy by comparison. “I want to see what you’ve learned.”
Ethan took a deep breath, steadying his stance. The first exchange was over in seconds, with Dren disarming him effortlessly. But instead of frustration, Ethan felt determination.
“Again,” he said, picking up his spear.
Dren’s grin was almost predatory. “That’s the spirit.”
The second round lasted longer. Ethan managed to anticipate Dren’s movements, dodging and countering with a speed that surprised even himself. Though he ultimately lost, the experience was invaluable, and the applause from his teammates felt like a victory in its own right.
Outside of training, the dorm grounds were a hub of gossip and camaraderie. Rumors spread like wildfire, from tales of Himmel’s supposed exploits to whispers about the mysterious origins of some recruits. One particularly persistent rumor involved a recruit who had allegedly defeated a rank-two soldier in a sparring match. Ethan couldn’t help but chuckle at some of the more outlandish stories.
“Did you hear the one about Himmel wrestling a bear with his bare hands?” Zane asked one evening, lounging on a bench outside the dorms.
Iris rolled her eyes. “That’s nothing. Someone told me he once climbed a mountain just to punch an eagle out of the sky.”
Ethan smirked, shaking his head. “Pretty sure Himmel starts these rumors himself.”
The laughter and lighthearted moments were a welcome reprieve from the intensity of training. Despite the grueling schedule, there was a growing sense of camaraderie among the recruits. They weren’t just teammates anymore; they were starting to feel like a family.
As the week went on, Ethan began to notice subtle improvements in his teammates. Iris’s agility and precision with the short sword were becoming razor-sharp, while Zane’s brute strength with the hammer was tempered by an increasing awareness of technique. Even Yara, who often masked her progress with playful banter, was growing more confident in her abilities.
One afternoon, Ethan found himself sparring with Yin Xue. Her movements were graceful and deliberate, each strike and parry executed with an almost effortless elegance. Ethan struggled to keep up, his own movements feeling clumsy by comparison.
“You’re hesitating,” Yin Xue said, her tone calm but firm. “Commit to your attacks, or you’ll always be at a disadvantage.”
Ethan nodded, adjusting his grip on the spear. Their sparring continued, and though he still couldn’t land a hit on her, he felt himself learning with every exchange.
By the end of the week, exhaustion hung heavy over the recruits, but so did a sense of accomplishment. They had survived their first week of intensive training, and while there was still a long way to go, the progress they’d made was undeniable.
As Ethan lay in bed that night, his muscles aching and his mind racing with everything he’d learned, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement.