I

Tyr lay nestled in his bed, an itchy wool blanket draped over him, providing warmth despite its rough texture. His gaze locked onto the wooden rafters above, tracing the distinct grains and knots in the wood. His face remained expressionless, but his mind was restless, fixated on the day's training.

What if I can’t control my soul?

He pulled his hand from beneath the blanket, raising it above his face, staring intently at his palm.

What if I hurt Agnar again?

A somber expression overtook him as his thoughts darkened.

What if I lose control again, and…

His mind grew heavy with guilt. I don’t want this power. He covered his face with his hand, emotions rising within him. What am I supposed to do?

Tears seeped from beneath his hand, rolling down his cheeks. What am I supposed to do? He repeated the thought over and over, consumed by guilt. After a few moments, his emotions settled, and another question surfaced.

Raina, what would you do?

An image of Raina appeared in his mind—her black hair, her bright, playful smile. Her unwavering strength seeped into his thoughts, bringing a small comfort. Then, as if responding to him, her voice echoed in his mind, light and teasing.

Believe in yourself, just like I do in you.

Tyr let out a quiet chuckle. That’s exactly what she’d say. With a soft whisper, he murmured, “I will believe in me. Thanks, Raina.” Closing his eyes, he let sleep take him once more.

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II

A loud, frantic cawing shattered the silence, jolting Tyr awake. He sprang from bed, hands slamming over his ears to muffle the piercing noise.

“What in the world is that horrid noise?!” he groaned, his voice thick with sleep.

Still disoriented, he stumbled out of his room and was met with an unexpected sight—a majestic bird flapping about, its feathers shimmering in the dim morning light. White plumage covered most of its body, contrasting with the black, luxurious tail feathers that fanned out behind it. A striking red wattle dangled beneath its bright, shiny beak as it squawked loudly.

Tyr blinked in confusion.

“A… chicken?” he muttered, irritation lacing his voice.

The bird cawed again, completely unfazed by his presence. With an exasperated sigh, Tyr waved his arms, shooing it toward the open doorway—where the door should have been. The bird flapped its wings and soared outside, disappearing into the early morning light.

Something fluttered to the ground.

A rolled-up piece of parchment had fallen from beneath the bird’s wing, landing gently on the floor. Tyr frowned, staring at it for a moment before picking it up. It was tightly bound with a neat twine bow.

“What is this?” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Why would a chicken have this?”

Scratching the back of his head, he untied the twine, letting it drift to the floor. Slowly, the parchment unraveled in his hands, revealing a message written in pristine, flowing handwriting. Every letter was crisp, every stroke deliberate.

It’s time for training.

Tyr groaned, rolling his eyes. “He couldn’t have just woken me up himself? That old man is such a pain.”

His gaze drifted further down the parchment, where additional words were scrawled.

Also, please be kind to Runa.

Tyr furrowed his brow. “Runa? Who the hell is Runa?”

With a sigh, he tossed the parchment onto the table and began dressing for the day. As he fastened his tunic, his eyes flickered toward the missing door. He really needs to fix that, he thought with mild annoyance.

Stepping outside, the brisk morning air bit at his skin, fully rousing him. The sun had barely begun its ascent, casting soft golden hues across the sky. Tyr let out a long, exaggerated yawn as he trudged toward the edge of town.

“Why do I have to get up so early?” he mumbled to himself.

As he neared the front gate, a familiar figure stood on duty—Rickard, the town’s gatekeeper. Tyr raised a hand in a half-hearted wave as another yawn escaped him.

“Good morning, Rickard.”

Rickard gave him an affirmative nod, his voice warm and friendly. “Mornin’. How are you?”

Tyr rubbed his eyes, stifling another yawn. “Tired.”

Rickard chuckled. “Yeah, I can see that. Anyway, Agnar wanted me to tell you he’s waiting for you. Said if you’re not there by the time the sun’s fully up, you don’t get food.”

Tyr groaned loudly, his exhaustion momentarily replaced by panic. His eyes darted to the horizon, where the sun was nearly breaking free from the land.

“crap, I gotta go!”

Rickard laughed as he watched Tyr take off, sprinting through the golden fields of wheat, racing against the rising sun.

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Tyr ran through the golden waves of wheat, the cold tips brushing against his skin, sending small chills through him. His breath came in quick, shallow bursts as he pushed himself forward, racing toward the training grounds where Agnar was waiting. As the distance closed, Tyr caught sight of the old man, his mouth moving, his body animated as if locked in conversation—but there was no one else there.

Tyr frowned. Who is he talking to?

Finally reaching the clearing, he slowed to a stop, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Agnar turned to face him, irritation evident in his expression.

"About time you showed up," he said gruffly. "We've been waiting."

Tyr wiped the sweat from his brow, still panting. "What do you mean we? I don’t see anyone else here."

A sudden blur of movement caught his eye. From behind Agnar emerged the same bird that had so rudely woken him that morning. Before Tyr could react, the bird lunged at him, wings flapping wildly as it pecked at him with malicious intent.

"What the—?! Get this damn chicken off me!" Tyr yelped, flailing his arms in a desperate attempt to fend off the attack. "Ow, ow, stop it! Old man, do something!"

Agnar merely stood back, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smirk. His chuckle deepened into a hearty laugh before he finally spoke.

"That’s quite enough, Runa," he commanded.

The bird let out one last squawk before hopping back, ruffling its feathers in annoyance.

Tyr pointed an accusatory finger at it, eyes wide. "Wait… that chicken is Runa?!"

Runa snapped her beak shut, tilting her head to glare at him with piercing, almost human-like disdain.

Agnar sighed. "I’d advise against calling her ‘a chicken’—she hates it."

Tyr just stood there, dumbfounded, as Runa propped her wings at her sides in clear annoyance, letting out an indignant squawk.

Agnar smirked. "She wants you to apologize."

Tyr’s confusion only deepened. "Wait… you can understand her?"

"Of course," Agnar replied matter-of-factly, offering no further explanation.

Tyr groaned, rubbing his temples. "Fine… I’m sorry."

Runa squawked again, unimpressed.

Agnar chuckled. "She doesn’t believe you."

Tyr sighed in defeat, dropping to one knee. "Alright, alright—I’m really sorry for calling you a chicken."

Runa fluffed her feathers and sat on the ground with a satisfied squawk.

Agnar nodded. "She accepts your apology. Now that you two have been properly introduced, it’s time to begin your training."

Tyr gave him a skeptical look. "Wait… she's my trainer? You expect me to learn from a—" He quickly stopped himself as Runa’s glare sharpened. "—from Runa?"

Agnar simply shrugged. "I have business to attend to today. Besides, when it comes to manipulating soul energy, I’d argue she’s a better teacher than I am."

Tyr folded his arms, unimpressed. "Yeah, I doubt that."

Agnar smirked. "Then watch."

With practiced grace, Runa strutted to the edge of the dirt clearing, plucked a single blade of wheat from the ground, and carefully placed it before her. A soft squawk escaped her beak as a radiant glow enveloped the wheat. The colors shimmered and pulsed—hues shifting from blue to gold to green. Before Tyr’s eyes, the single blade of wheat expanded, multiplying into a flourishing bushel within moments.

Tyr’s jaw dropped. "That’s… that's insane. How is that even possible?"

Agnar chuckled. "Even I can’t do that."

Tyr stared at Runa with newfound respect. "That was amazing! Can I do that?"

Runa gave a short, dismissive squawk and shook her head.

Agnar grinned. "She says no."

Tyr pouted, crossing his arms. Before he could protest, Agnar turned on his heel. "I must take my leave. Good luck. And just so you know, Runa is a harder teacher than I am." With a final chuckle, he strolled back toward town, leaving Tyr alone with his new, feathery instructor.

Tyr sighed. "Great. This is gonna be fun."

Tyr and Runa locked eyes in an unspoken challenge, neither willing to break their silent contest. Eventually, Tyr sighed and looked away as Runa let out a resolute squawk.

"I'm not sure what you want me to do," Tyr admitted, uncertain.

Runa sat in front of him, her plump body radiating a mesmerizing aura, shifting through a spectrum of colors. The sight reminded Tyr of the training from the day before, and he instinctively fell into the stance Agnar had shown him. Runa hopped forward and, with a graceful flutter, landed lightly atop his head. Her weight was barely noticeable, her feathers soft against his hair.

Tyr took a deep breath, steadying himself. He slowed his inhales and exhales, matching them to the rhythm of his heartbeat. As he focused, his awareness shifted inward, searching for the pulse of his soul hesitantly—

A sharp jab struck his forehead.

"Ow! What was that for?" Tyr winced, grabbing at the sore spot.

Runa let out a commanding squawk.

Tyr groaned. "I know, I messed up."

Runa gave a firm nod, satisfied with his acknowledgment, and Tyr returned to his breathing. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

Thump, thump.

The familiar darkness began creeping at the edges of his mind.

Thump, thump, thump.

A sharper peck jolted him back, the sudden pain snapping him out of his trance. "Ow! Again?!"

Runa shook her head in disapproval, squawking firmly. Tyr shot her a glare. "I’m trying, okay?"

In response, Runa’s glow intensified, a silent warning. Then she squawked again, more patient this time.

Tyr exhaled heavily. "Alright, fine. I'll try again."

He closed his eyes, realigning his breath and heartbeat. The darkness slithered back, but something held it at bay—an invisible force pushing against its advance. Is this Runa’s doing? he wondered.

The rhythm within him grew stronger, clearer, until at last, he felt it—his soul’s pulse in perfect harmony with his breath and heartbeat.

A faint blue aura flickered around him, unstable and jagged at the edges. Runa tapped his forehead gently with her feathers, urging him to open his eyes. Tyr looked down at his hands, watching the blue glow dance across his skin.

"Whoa! Look at this!" Excitement surged through him. "I'm glowing! Is this my soul energy?"

His excitement shattered his concentration. The aura vanished instantly.

Another round of rapid jabs met his forehead.

"Ow, ow, ow! Alright, alright, I get it!" He winced, rubbing the now sore and slightly bruised spot. "I lost focus."

Runa hopped down, grabbed a single blade of wheat, and placed it before him.

"You want me to use my soul energy on this?" Tyr asked.

Runa nodded, then leaped back onto his head, settling in comfortably and ruffling his hair.

This time, she remained silent, letting Tyr guide himself. He steadied his breath, focused on the rhythm, and reached inward.

Thump, thump.

The darkness returned, but Tyr remained calm, letting the white glow within him push it away. His soul pulsed brightly, and as he opened his eyes, he directed his energy into the wheat.

The golden stalk darkened.

In an instant, it withered into nothing.

A sharp jab to the forehead followed.

"Ow! Dammit!"

He tried again, this time pushing more energy into the wheat. A sudden surge caused it to shatter, scattering into dust.

Peck! Another jab.

For hours, he repeated the process—too much, too little, never just right. His frustration mounted, but he pressed on. The sun climbed high into the sky, and exhaustion gnawed at him. Yet Runa didn’t let up. By the time the sun began to set, his forehead was red, throbbing, and even dotted with dried blood from the relentless pecking.

Runa squawked humorously, clearly amused by his battered state, before pointing a wing back toward town.

Defeat weighed on him as he got to his feet. He stared out at the endless fields of wheat, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why is this so hard? What am I doing wrong?"

He frowned but didn’t argue. He simply turned and trudged back toward town, Runa walking beside him in quiet companionship.

When they reached home, Tyr went straight to his room and collapsed onto his bed. Runa, meanwhile, settled onto the couch in front of the unlit fireplace. With a flick of her tail feathers, a burst of fire sprang to life, casting flickering shadows across the room. She nestled into the cushions, letting out a quiet sigh.

Then, in a voice soft and clear, spoken in perfect human speech, she muttered to herself, "What have you gotten yourself into this time Agnar."