I wake up staring at a woven roof encased in stone.

Rolling my head reveals a small but tidy room, with yellow and brown accents throughout. Yellow cloth diffuses the light streaming in from the tightly sealed window and is tied to swathes of brown cloth that covers the wall, perhaps for more insulation. And then there's a bookshelf that's anchored the cloth on the wall, with only a single book on it, large and leather-bound. Beside the book is a mug made from clay and as I turn back to the other side of the room, a long-carved dresser stands holding gowns of different color but a similar style that leaves ample room for the bossom and cinched in at the waist.

This is Wolf’s mother’s room.

I sit up immediately, slightly unsettled that he left me here. I feel like I unknowingly sullied something special in this room just with my presence. Is it alright that I'm here?

Certainly, it doesn't feel like it. I feel like I cheated my way here, and I don't deserve to be here.

The only reason Wolf agreed to take me in was because I lied to him and I'm still lying to him. I will need to continue to lie to him and everyone about who I really am.

I don't belong here, haven't belonged anywhere in a long time.

But I can't do this on my own. I need to use Wolf, as much as I don't want to.

Don't you want to? That voice silkily comments. Who do you intend to deceive with this false propriety? I can tell that you want to use that one very badly.

My face heats up and I put my hands on my cheeks. I'm getting used to the voice but I hate that it can see the deepest darkest desire.

Don't try to be the hero here, it continues. I didn't pick you for that. Heroes are useless to me.

What does that mean? I ask but then the voice goes silent.

Why did you pick me? I try again, but nothing else echoes in my head but my own thoughts.

More importantly, I need to leave this room as pristine as possible. His mother's room should remain untouched.

The minute I attempt to move my legs to the ground, I groan. Every single muscle in my body aches, badly.

I rise carefully and stiffly wobble out of the room, leaning against the wall, with my legs shaking. A tendon behind feels pinched. My shoulders are tight and my arms heavy as lead. Each step feels like it'll be my last one that will send me tumbling onto the floor.

But somehow I manage to make it out of the room, bracing myself against the wall. I'm careful not to touch anything despite my curiosity about the book on the shelf and the mug.

Wolf showed incredible trust by allowing me to stay in his mother's room. I won't invade her privacy anymore and sully her things by touching them.

“Wolf?" I call when I reach the common area, which is empty. A pot sits on the stove, with no fire underneath. Lifting the cover reveals meat and broth much like the one Wolf yesterday.

Despite the tempting scent, I hold back. I find myself not wanting to eat anymore after overindulgence yesterday. But searching through the cupboard shows that there's not much else to eat.

There's some flour and powders, and spices packed neatly into little pots. A thread of dust settles over the pot, as though they have not been touched for some time. Are these his mother's as well? Is that why he hasn't used them?

I drag the pot of flour closer, inspecting it. There doesn't seem to have any mold so it's certainly useable. Perhaps I can make bread from this.

“Snooping?” The voice comes from right behind me and I yelp. My soul attempts to jump out of my skin and my body follows. I bang my hand against the stove in the process.

Rubbing my scalp, I spin around to see Wolf standing a few feet away with a sack in his hand. He looks amused, as I lay my hand over my pounding heart.

“How do you do that?” I ask, annoyed and rubbing my head as I stand.

“Do what?”

"Move like that.” How does such a large and heavy-looking man move like wind? “Do you have some magic I’m unaware of?”

He shakes his head and places his sack on the floor. He nudges his chin to the cupboard.

Even without speaking, his question is clear.

“I was just looking at…” I start, then waffle. “The meat was too hard on my stomach yesterday and it slowed me down. I was thinking if we’re going to be training more, I need something lighter, like bread.”

“You want me to make bread?"

“Not necessarily. I can make the bread.” I've made it enough times with the bit of flour my mother left over. It's one of the few things one can make with cheap, single ingredients and so I'm a veritable expert at it. “Of course if the ingredients have some sentimental value for you...”

"They don't," he says. Then he lifts the sack off his shoulders. "I brought apples." He drops it to the floor and a couple of bright red apples roll out.

My mouth immediately waters.

Apples are extremely rare in the North. Well, most fruits are with the way our soil is prone to famine, but apples especially so. They are hard to grow and the yield is often not worth the expense. So we simply import them from the South, which is of course still too expensive for the common person to afford, much less someone like me.

“Where did you get those?” I try not to let the sheer hunger for it leak into my voice.

“The Dark Forest," he says, far too casually. “There’s an apple tree in there.”

“There is?” I ask, astounded.

“Lots of trees in there.”

“I thought the Dark Forest only had monsters.”

“That too,” he comments offhandedly. He picks up an apple that rolled onto the floor, wipes it on his tunic, and then bites into it.

He shut his eyes and nearly moans. It's the first time I‘ve seen true unadulterated pleasure on his face.

When I felt that sound deep inside, travel all the way down to...somewhere else.

Oh no. No no no no no. Don't even go there.

I pick up an apple to give my mouth something to do and bite into it too. I almost moan too. The taste is really divine, sweeter than apples from the city, almost bordering on too-sweet. Angel gobbles them up, going one after another until the heavy sack is halfway empty by the time I'm done with my one.

He stares at the sack longingly, then decidedly shakes his head, tying up the mouth and putting it to the side.

“You’re standing today,” he remarks. "That's more than I expected."

"Does that mean, you're going to take it easy on me today?"

"The opposite." He almost smiles but it's almost scary.

“I’ll make bread tonight,” he says. “For now, we train.”

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The second day’s training is no less grueling than the first. Wolf assigns me a circuit that has me running and then jumping and then running again until my heart feels like it's going to explode out of my chest. And then when I'm nearly exhausted, he finally says, "Alright. Let's get to the real training."

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"Real training?" I squeak, as sweat rolls down my neck to my back. I can barely breathe. What on earth have we been doing this whole time if not training?

He doesn't answer me. Instead, he straightens from his spot, leaning on the wall, and approaches me.

"Let’s try attacking me," he says.

I don't hesitate. I channeled all my frustration into a side kick, ignoring my screaming muscles and summoning up any strength I had left. In one swift move, I bend to the side, find my balance and let my feet fly to his face.

But it doesn't work out like I hope it will. Wolf dodges the attack, quicker and smoother than the Mountain did. He easily avoids the next one too. Unlike the Mountain, he doesn't even fall for my feigned moves or my schemes. Even when I execute some complex Mazai techniques, a double twist kick, followed by a piroutted relay, he appears bored. And when I finally land a hit to his hip, it doesn't phase him. He tutts shaking his head, right before he sighs in disappointment.

"This isn't going to work," he says. "You are extremely weak."

I glare at him. My pride stings but I can't refute what he's saying. It’s the truth.

And he doesn't stop there.

"You need to save your energy. All that dancing around you do is nice, but it can be a wasted effort. Sometimes stillness is the true key to unpredictability. Remain perfectly still and get one strike in. Just one. Rather than wasting energy on several subpar moves, perfect the one. Make sure it hits your target. Make sure they go down. And with that, you end the fight before it even begins." He analyzes me then says, "At your current level, that might be the only way for you to survive these trials."

Perfecting a single strike...that goes against everything Savannah taught me. Mazai was more similar to Prince Caster's fighting style, a technique that used a combination of successive rapid light moves to bring down their opponent, combining offense and defense seamlessly.

And now Wolf is saying that the only way for me to survive these trials is to go against everything I was taught, and perfect one single move that can bring down my opponent. Where do I even begin with that?

Well...that doesn't sound encouraging.

I'm digesting his words, and then he suddenly barks, "More laps. Let's go."

Much later, as I lie on the living room floor, unable to move much of my body, Wolf finally goes to bake. I turn again and watch him, admiring his shoulders and their smooth movement, the way his body under his tunic nicely curves down to his waist and then flares back out to powerful thighs.

He's such a nicely built man.

I knew you wanted him.

Shut up.

Although watching Wolf cook is enjoyable, the results of his efforts are less than appetizing.

At the dining table, I pick up the puck he places in front of me, along with the bowl of meat soup, and analyze it. It's far too brown and charred to be edible, the round orb having no give on it at all. As I try to push it with my fingers, it slips out of my hand, landing with a hard thud against the table

“This is bread,” I say, a question more than a statement.

Wolf's lips tighten and his nose turns up with a touch of defensiveness. "It's fine. Just eat”

I smile. Well, at least I found the one thing he's terrible at. Baking.

The smile dies when I bite into the bread.

Just as I thought. Inedible.

I dip it into my soup to soften it and that makes it marginally better.

But luckily, I manage to choke it down with the soup. Then I munch on one of two apples that Wolf served with the dinner, to he charred taste on my tongue. Eventually, the sweetness of the apple becomes far too overwhelming, so I put it down halfway finished. Wolf picks it back up and devours it without question.

“Is that why you go into the Dark Forest?” I ask, curious and suddenly eager to break the silence. “To get apples?”

He glances up at me. Holding my gaze, he lifts his bowl to his lips and drinks all the broth and meats. Once he's done, he brings the bowl down dropping it on the table. He smacks his lips and belches loudly. Then he rises and walks out of the house closing the door behind him all without answering my question.

I sigh. “Amazing talk.”

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The next few days are more of the same. Torture followed by soup and stone he calls bread. Hardly much conversation, except for occasionally mocking my skills, and laughing at the way I flop over tired at the end of a session.

But somehow my body begins to adapt to it and I'm not as tired. Perhaps it's the massage Wolf gives me after every session, the one I sometimes think about for much longer than I should.

Or maybe it's the brief reprieve he gives me at the end of each day.

Sometimes, we lie outside in the grass for long enough for the sun to go down. Sometimes we lie in silence and other times, we talk.

"Do you do that to annoy me?" I ask him on such a night. "When you ignore me and walk off in the middle of a conversation?"

He waits a beat before he answers. "I wasn't aware you approached me for my conversational skills."

"I didn't but it's rude to just ignore people."

"Ah, but apart from that, I am the perfect gentleman."

"That's another thing you do. Evading the question with sarcasm."

"You would know about evading questions." He gives me a sidelong look that makes me suspect he knows more than he's letting on, but then he looks back up at the sky. "I don't like to talk much."

"To me?"

"To anyone. It's tiring and annoying. Too many words, too many expressions, people's scent changes when they lie... And then they get scared when I respond. I have to make sure I don't show too much teeth, or say the wrong thing. Too many rules. I'd rather not talk."

"Oh." I think of the many times in the future, that our rag-tag group of misfits would huddle around the campfire and Wolf would simply be off in the corner on his own. I thought, at the time, that it was simply Wolf being his normal broody self, but now I wonder if this is the reason.

He just doesn't like to talk. Maybe he has some anxiety about talking and saying the wrong thing.

Just like I do sometimes.

It's hard to think of a man like Wolf having anxiety about anything, but I doubt he would lie about something like that.

Also, his likelihood to leave his home for hours at a time when we're not training. Is it because I'm here?

Does he find company to overstimulating and that's why he seeks solitary existence?

"Do you want me to leave?"

He shakes his head without hesitation, which somewhat unknots my belly.

"But you want me to shut up more often?"

That one makes him pause.

"You can talk," he says. "Just don't expect me to respond all the time."

I nod. "Okay.'" I can do that. To be honest, I enjoy Wolf's calm silence and I'm even getting used to his non-answers. Caster was a chatterbox, always having one story for me or another, or going on about the problems in his life. About how much his dad expected from him and how he felt unable to live up to those expectations. I don't know why he confided in me so much, even though I was a veritable stranger, but I was happy about it at the time. I thought it proved we were soulmates, because he was so comfortable talking to me even though we'd only known each other for a few weeks.

But much as I loved him, sometimes all that chattering left me drained at the end of the day.

With Wolf, we've spent nearly the whole day together, but it still feel energized and strangely comfortable.

"It's getting dark," I announce and try to get to my feet.

Wolf suddenly reaches out, grabs my ankle, and tugs me down to the ground. I drop back down on my ass, and blink at him, stunned.

The move is so random that for some strange reason, a burst of laughter flies out of me. Perhaps it was because my feet are ticklish. Perhaps it's also the twinkle in his eyes that did it.

But suddenly I'm in a very playful mood.

I fight against his hold and he pulls me closer. I leap up but he drags me down rolling me on top of him with a mischeivous smile.

The smile dies the minute we realize the predicament we've gotten ourselves into.

And how close we are.

We stare into each other’s eyes and my throat tightens. I can hear my own heart pounding in my chest Before I can move though, Wolf leans up and licks the corner of my lips.

It's nothing just a touch but it had me gasping and tearing away from him.

It wasn’t a kiss I tell myself as my mind scrambles. Not really, not from Wolf. Perhaps I had a little bit of apple on my lip and he wanted to lick it off. You know how obsessed he is with apples. Or perhaps he only did it to teach me a lesson.

But that was not how it looked to me.

And Wolf sits up, leaning back on his arms, looking similarly shocked. He didn't expect that either. Ten seconds tick by, while we're at an impasse and I count each of them.

I don't know what to do so I stand and run away, heading straight for Wolf's mother's bedroom and throwing myself on her mattress.

I fall asleep on his mother's bed dreaming about the not-kiss.

----------------------------------------

We don't discuss it. I don't bring it up and neither does he. We return to training and half conversation silences.

I eventually go into town to collect my stipend and deliver it to my mother's doorstep. I slip it in through the windows, not yet ready to face her again. I may never be ready.

Don't be pathetic. The voice says. Any weakness will be death of you.

I don't respond to it. The voice sometimes says cryptic things like that, but he never explains when I ask so I've learned not to bother.

When I get back to Wolf's cottage, I come outside ready to train but Wolf stops me.

“We won’t train today,” Wolf says. “The trial is in two days so you'll need to rest. "

I nod in agreement thanking whatever deity gave him this idea. "Do you know what the trial is going to be?"

“I suppose it’s going to be a battle of some sort.”

"I think so too." Usually, the second trial is a battle of wits as well as strength. They put two teams against each other, who try to take out as many members of the opposing team as possible using any means possible. In the past, the second trial typically turns into a blood bath, and with the sadistic Brute on the team, it's probably going to get there even faster.

He's a major reason I have to train so hard. I will likely never be the warrior that Wolf or Caster or even Savannah are. I simply don't have it in me. But it's fine because my skills are far more useful elsewhere.

I just need enough to stay alive so I can get us out of this time loop.

“Tomorrow is the day," I say more to myself than Wolf. Despite everything apprehension laces in me. I didn't observe the second trial in my past life, as that was only reserved for the important families in Accacia, but I heard stories of it after. In the markets, they whispered about how strategically the Prince moved. And how vicious Brute had been when he tore someone clean in half with a sword.

The same Brute who probably hates the fact that I succeeded in the first trial and will be looking for a way to take me out.

I could die there.

“You won't die,” Wolf says as though he can read my mind.

"I won't?"

He shakes his head.

But he doesn't expound on how exactly he knows this.