Waking up dead on my feet was becoming a habit, one I should probably try to break. After three full days, I had still not gotten a good night's sleep, despite my best efforts. Training to find and control mana took up hours a day, and any spare time I spent reading, studying, and taking out more books. Eating became an inconvenience, and sleeping a waste of eight hours. I still did both to keep my body and mind working, but not without protest.

Thankfully, my blistering pace was not without some benefits. Already, I could find my core in a few seconds and control mana without much trouble, as long as I remained still. The moment I moved, it slipped from my grasp, but that next step would come in time.

"A Study on Aether" had proved invaluable, at least after sifting through personal rants and outdated grammar. Rather than a formal textbook, it was a bound collection of journals, research, and autobiographies from a dozen mages dating back to Ferris's founding. Each contributor was an Aether mage like me, though none ever became anything particularly awe-inspiring. That did not stop me from digging further into each of their lives, hoping to find anything useful.

What I found was undoubtedly fascinating, including methods to improve mana vessel durability, bolster raw power and speed my growth rate. Unfortunately, most were beyond my means, either requiring a fortune or were simply outside my reach. At least four used natural resources under the strict control of a particular family. Still, I diligently copied down everything possible into notebooks and had already filled two with my findings.

During my digging, one mage, in particular, drew my eye. The man, named Cortos, lived roughly eight hundred years ago, shortly before the Academy's founding by my reckoning. His section in "A Study on Aether" focused heavily on combative applications, which already made him stand out. Every other Aether mage seemed more focused on scholarly interests, after all.

But what drew my eye was how little information I could find on him. Cortos' era was not the most well-documented, but even accounting for that, details on his life were sparse at best. I found an approximate birth date, mentions of training under other noteworthy mages of the time, and accounts of his presence in several major battles. But then, around forty years after his birth, he vanished; No mention of his death, no children, no spouse, no anything. It was as if he dropped off the face of the continent.

I was always fond of mysteries, or more accurately, solving them. And this was a mystery that drew my attention, if only out of necessity. I was short on time and would prefer to base my skills on another Aether mage, the only other that seemed to focus on combat. If nothing else, it was better than fumbling around blindly.

On the fourth morning, a thunderous knock echoed from my door, interrupting me halfway through a particularly dull book on alchemic supplementation for mages. It was not often I was caught entirely off guard, but this was one such situation. I was expecting guests but not for a few weeks at least.

When I opened the door, the man standing outside was not one I recognized. The Esttons employed several sizeable men, but none nearly as massive as this one. He stood at almost seven feet tall, every inch of it covered in muscle. His clothing was simple, a short-sleeved shirt, pants, and scratched boots, all in muted browns. Pale white-silver scars crisscrossed his exposed skin, and that was more noteworthy than anything else.

Mages fought at a distance as a rule. Between healing spells, potions, and defensive spells, scars were rare. He was either not a mage or fought in enough battles to accumulate this impressive collection even with magic.

His face was scarred as well, though not quite as extensively, with faint marks cutting through his eyebrows and across his nose. His red-brown hair was short, and a thick beard hid his lower face, with pale-blue eyes cooly staring at me, and his jaw set rigid.

"Vayne?" he asked with a voice that rumbled deep in his chest.

Fantastic. He knew my name. I hesitated for a moment, slowly responding, "Yes? Forgive me, my lord, but-"

"No, my lords. Let's go." he cut me off, turning and gesturing down the hallway.

I had no idea how to respond to that and stood there, eyebrows furrowed as I stared at this strange man. A second later, pale eyes met mine as arms crossed over his chest. If he meant me harm, he was about as non-subtle as possible. Still, that did not mean I should wander off with a stranger and make myself too easy a target.

"I must apologize, but I have no idea who you are or what you mean, sir," I said, squaring my shoulders and meeting his eyes.

One eyebrow shot up, and teeth briefly flashed before he replied, "Bit of a spine, eh? Good. Jules-sorry, 'Master Julian,' called in a favor, which is why I'm here. I can explain more, but I'd rather do it on the way."

So, that strange but helpful master was interfering in my life? Why? There were a few possibilities, the likeliest being that he wanted to get on my good side before using me to get to the Esttons. Could I turn this to my advantage?

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After a few seconds, I nodded, saying, "I understand, sir. Please, lead the way." I stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind me, and he gave me a single nod before walking away.

Despite his claims, the giant man mainly stayed silent as we made our way downstairs. When I asked him where we were headed, he said the training facilities but said little else besides that.

After everything else, the main training room should not have surprised me. The fact that it did was in and of itself a surprise, though not much of one.

Vibrant green grass stretched out across a mile's worth of space. At one side, I spotted packed dirt separated by lines into even squares. Towards the other end, a series of strange objects, including hills, towering waterfalls, swirling whirlwinds, and even a hovering fireball, sat.

All of this was well and good but did not draw my attention nearly as much as the ceiling. We were underground, but rather than a darkened roof with floating lights, it appeared as a swirl of multi-colored lights, with greens, blues, reds, and yellows the most common.

The mystery man who looked to wrestle wild animals in his free time gave me no chance to acclimate, turning with another frown. His eyes crossed my frame, shaking his head with the same look as before.

"They grow them small out east, I guess. Were your parents also tiny? Don't answer that. Anyways, my name's Sigmund. Sig if you are feeling friendly or lazy. 'Bastard' works too if it helps you feel better. No doubt you'll be thinking it plenty, so no point pretending otherwise." he said, grabbing my hand and grinding the bones inside to a fine powder.

When I got the appendage back, I rubbed it with a frown, responding, "I-thank you, sir, but it is only proper to address you with your family name and title if poss-"

"My first name works fine, kid. You won't have heard of my family, and titles don't mean much when training. As I said, I'm here to help an old friend. He asked if I could turn his scrawny protege into something respectable, and lucky for him, I had some free time."

Protege? That was news to me. I slowly nodded, asking, "Sir, if I may-"

"No time for questions. Julian said you would, to quote him, 'Fall over from harsh words and a glare' which might be underselling it. I doubt you've run a mile in your life; No time like the present to change that. Follow me and don't fall behind." he said, turning and jogging away as if that explained everything. I paused for a moment before shrugging and following.

The man was physically trained and knew what he was doing. A master warrior slew me in my original future, which was motivation enough to hone my body. That, and it was embarrassing heaving for breath every time I climbed the stairs to my quarters.

All too soon, I realized how horrible a mistake I had made. Sig did not set a breakneck pace, but within minutes, my breath came ragged, and sweat gathered along my face. We crossed the distance to the bizarre objects at one end, but rather than stop, we made a loop around them before continuing the way we came.

Once, I made the mistake of stopping, hands on my knees as I gasped to catch my breath. It was all of ten seconds before a massive shadow fell over me, Sig leaning with a fierce glare on his face. I did not see the wooden switch in his hands until it lashed against my arm with a hard 'thwap.'

"Ow! Why are you-stop it!" I shouted as he hit me on my other arm. My manners briefly failed me as I glared, and for a second, an almost sadistic grin broke over his face.

After he hit me a third time, I started jogging again, ignoring my protesting muscles as best I could. Rather than let me run unbothered, he kept by my side, striking me again whenever my pace slowed too much for his taste.

When he finally allowed us to stop a half-hour later, I fell to the ground. My royal blue shirt was now closer to navy, heavy with sweat. My legs had never hurt this badly, and I had fallen more times than I could count as my legs gave out from under me.

Again, a shadow covered me, and the damned demon of a man said, "Not done yet, kid."

If running was unpleasant, the calisthenics that followed was outright torture. Would it be too much to request push-ups be outlawed when I saved Ferris? Some of the moves Sig taught me looked familiar, used by the Duke's guards for their training, but most was a strange assemblage of movements and stances I had never seen.

By the time we finished with the strange lunges, jumps, twists, and movements, every muscle in my body ached and burned. Sig's training had required not just strength but balance and flexibility as well. I was too miserable to make too many observations, but even my exhausted mind noticed that much. It was hard not to when I toppled over onto the ground more times than I could count.

After the most prolonged two hours of my life, I laid flat on the grass, eyes too heavy to open. Sweat and grime covered every inch of my body, I felt dozens of bruises on my limbs, and moving was near-impossible. Sig looked like he had gone for a pleasant walk outside, by comparison.

He nudged my ribs with one boot, and I opened my eyes to catch his grin.

"You don't quit easily, I guess," he remarked with a chuckle. If it did not require energy, I might comment that he did not give me that option. Every time I had slowed, he whacked me with that damned stick of his until I started moving again.

Still, curiosity remained the bane of my existence, and I sat up, asking, "What was the point of all of those? Running I get, but..."

"Building up everything, kid. Endurance is great, but you want everything balanced; Strength, agility, flexibility, and all that. The same concept as with magic, if you think about it."

I nodded, falling back onto the ground as my breath gradually returned to normal. I heard another chuckle as he continued, "You're pretty far behind, but we can probably change that over the next few months. I do love a challenge. Come back here tomorrow night, right after sunset, and we can do this again. Make sure to eat and get plenty of sleep. Your body needs both to recover and grow, and you've got plenty of that to do."

I pushed up to my feet as he turned to leave, throwing over one shoulder, "And stretch before bed, unless you love being too sore to move. Night!"

With those final instructions and a laugh, Sig walked off, whistling merrily along the way. I wondered if it was poor form to make rude gestures to his back before settling on caution. It took me almost twice as long as usual to half-limp my way back to my room.

As I sat in my bath washing the accumulated sweat from my body, his instructions resonated with me. He planned to have us do these sorts of workouts every day? I almost wanted to resign myself to my fate now and avoid doing those in the future. If nothing else, I doubted the afterlife had muscle soreness.