They stepped through the gate—a perfect circle cut out of the air.

  Orestis went first. Eirene followed close behind, her attention already dissecting the glowing rim.

  The forest appeared around them. Trees everywhere, canopy filtering the morning light into uneven patches. Cool air that smelled of dirt and wet leaves instead of stone and incense.

  Orestis lifted a hand and closed the gate. The circle collapsed inward without ceremony. No shimmer, no residue. Just gone.

  The familiar weight of divine attention lingered a moment longer, then faded as it always did once he stopped drawing power. Eleuthera’s gaze—punctual, uninvited, and entirely predictable. She watched every time he drew from the divine reservoirs, and withdrew every time he stopped. Like clockwork. Like a cat watching a bird through glass.

  He’d mentally catalogued the feeling as part of the process at this point. Somewhere between draw power and shape spell, there was now endure cosmic surveillance. It had already stopped being unsettling and settled into the category of minor irritations he could do nothing about.

  At least she’s consistent. I can work with consistent.

  Eirene turned slowly, taking in the surroundings. “Where are we?”

  “The forest outside Orthessa. A short walk, under normal circumstances.”

  She looked at him, then back at the trees. “Why train here?”

  He adjusted the strap on his gloves. “Training outdoors is always better. Rooms are… accommodating.”

  She hummed softly. “That sounds suspiciously like a justification.”

  “It is also true.”

  “And?” she prompted.

  He paused. Just long enough to be noticeable. “Some of what we’ll be doing would place stress on the surroundings. Reinforcing a room to tolerate that is inefficient when relocation achieves the same result.”

  “Mm-hm.” She glanced at the uneven ground, at the roots and stones half-hidden beneath fallen leaves. “So instead, you brought us here.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because it’s objectively better.”

  He met her gaze. “Also yes.”

  She huffed a short laugh. “All right. What’s the other reason?”

  Orestis sighed, then gave up pretending there wasn’t one. “I may have added too many beneficial enchantments to the wards.”

  “There it is,” she declared, triumphant and clearly teasing. “So the room is too nice.”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “And that’s entirely your fault.”

  He exhaled through his nose. “Largely.”

  She laughed quietly. “You know we could have trained there if you hadn’t decided my room needed to feel like a luxury retreat.”

  “That is an uncharitable description. It is a carefully optimized recovery environment.”

  Her expression shifted, teasing giving way to something more thoughtful. “That it is.”

  He inclined his head. “Satisfied?”

  “Yes. Now that you’ve stopped pretending this was purely philosophical.”

  I liked it better when she wasn’t perceptive enough to catch me doing that.

  He moved a few paces away, selecting a stretch of relatively open ground where the earth was firm and even. “Stand here.”

  She did. He noticed her boots sinking slightly into the soil.

  Okay, maybe not firm enough. But reinforcing it now, after that entire conversation, would be admitting defeat.

  “The notes mention training under sustained load,” Eirene said as she took her position. “I assume that means a gravity spell?”

  Orestis made a face before he could stop himself.

  “That’s the obvious approach,” he said. It was also the one the Temple favoured.

  “And the wrong one?” she guessed.

  “Inelegant,” he corrected. “Effective in the short term.”

  She waited, clearly expecting him to continue.

  “The problem,” he went on, “is that increased gravitational pull concentrates strain along the spine and cardiovascular system. Over time, it accumulates damage. Particularly to the heart.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “That sounds bad.”

  “And unnecessary,” he said flatly.

  “So what’s your alternative?”

  He lifted a hand, palm open. “Pressure.”

  The air around her shifted. He layered the pressure spell first, then a second to monitor her body’s response.

  There was no visible distortion. No dramatic shift. But the effect was immediate—pressure settling over her evenly, compressing shoulders, chest, limbs. It did not drag her toward the ground so much as insist that occupying space required effort.

  She inhaled sharply, then forced her breathing to steady.

  “If you go deep enough under water,” Orestis said, watching the monitoring spell’s feedback, “you will feel something similar. The pressure is uniform. No single axis of strain.”

  Her breath came a little slower now, more deliberate. “It feels… dense.”

  “That is the point,” he said. “Move. Don’t rush.”

  She stepped forward. Her muscles protested—not with sharp pain, but with pervasive resistance, as though the air itself had thickened around her. She adjusted her stance, compensating automatically.

  “Good,” Orestis said. “Don’t fight it. Let it exist. Adapt.”

  She took another step. Then another. Sweat beaded at her temples faster than it should have. The monitoring spell registered the imbalance before she did—too much strain, just past the margin he wanted.

  He eased the pressure until the feedback smoothed out and her movements settled into something sustainable.

  “We have the right intensity now,” he declared.

  Eirene stopped and exhaled slowly. “This is unpleasant.”

  “A necessary inconvenience,” Orestis replied, then applied a lighter version to himself—enough to add resistance, and enough to demand engagement. But not enough to push his body toward thresholds he had no intention of crossing.

  The irony of deliberately training below capacity so that I remain properly finite.

  Eirene noticed immediately. “You’re holding back.”

  “Yes. My goal is improvement without escalation. Yours is different.”

  He neither needed nor wanted the extra centuries aura activation would grant. She, on the other hand, needed the reinforcement to her mana channels. She understood that, so despite gritting her teeth in annoyance, she did not argue.

  He allowed himself a look of mild satisfaction. She caught it and narrowed her eyes.

  “Alright. Follow my lead,” Orestis said and moved in front of her.

  He began moving through his usual routine. She hesitated only a moment before joining him.

  They went through controlled, deliberate movements that demanded stability rather than speed. Push-ups, holds, slow transitions that punished poor posture and rewarded precision. The method was sound—far superior to unweighted work. He could feel the strain distributed cleanly, effort applied without unnecessary stress.

  I should have designed this months ago. All that time doing standard bodyweight work. All that inefficiency.

  Orestis pushed the unhelpful and irritating thought aside and refocused. He kept a close eye on Eirene throughout.

  She was struggling. That much was obvious. She lacked the ingrained familiarity that came with physical training—especially work designed to force adaptation rather than maintain existing strength. And yet she gritted her teeth and kept going, never once asking him to stop.

  Stubborn. Good.

  By the time they stopped, Eirene’s limbs trembled faintly with exertion. Orestis rose smoothly, breathing a little harder than usual, but otherwise unstrained.

  Eirene remained where she was, sprawled on her back, staring up through the canopy.

  He released the pressure spell first. The weight vanished, leaving the forest feeling suddenly light and open. Then he cast the modified healing spell over her without comment.

  Through the monitoring spell, he watched the response: strained muscle fibres relaxed, micro-tears sealed before they could settle into soreness, and circulation stabilized.

  Eirene exhaled, long and slow. “Oh, that is such a relief,” she said, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “I hate that I have to keep doing this for months.”

  The Temple’s projections estimated three to six months for aura activation. Orestis suspected it would take her less time under this regimen—but suspicion was not certainty, and a single session was nowhere near enough to gather conclusive data.

  So he said nothing. Instead, he followed the healing with a cleansing spell. A brief, cool rush swept over her, lifting sweat, grime, and the clinging residue of leaves and soil as neatly as if they had never been there.

  Eirene froze, then looked down at herself. She ran a hand over her sleeve, then her hair, eyes widening slightly.

  “Oh,” she said. Then, more emphatically, “Oh!”

  Orestis watched the reaction with quiet satisfaction.

  She looked up at him, eyes bright despite the lingering exhaustion. “You’re teaching me that spell.”

  “Of course,” he said, releasing the monitoring weave and applying the same cleansing spell to himself.

  I can imagine how much she would have wanted this spell while spending weeks on the road.

  She smiled, then narrowed her eyes as something else occurred to her. “And the healing one?”

  “Yes,” he replied. Then, after a fraction of a pause, “But not now.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, stopped, and waited.

  “It’s only your body that has recovered,” he continued evenly. “Even if you don’t feel it, your mind is still fatigued. Healing requires attention. You don’t learn precision while exhausted.”

  She studied him, then nodded. “Later, then.”

  “Later,” he agreed.

  He opened a gate back to her room, drawing on divine power—and there it was again. Eleuthera’s attention, settling over him like a hand on his shoulder. Watching. Amused, probably.

  Yes, hello. I’m stealing from the gods again. How novel. You may stop staring at any time.

  The attention did not waver.

  Didn’t think so.

  The aperture formed soundlessly in the air, its edges glowing faintly. Before stepping through, Eirene bent down and picked up a fallen branch. She straightened, eyeing the gate, and extended the stick toward its rim.

  It met resistance with a sound like hitting hard rubber. She raised a brow.

  Most people asked questions. She poked it with a stick. Sensible, though.

  “That glow is padding,” Orestis said. “A safety mechanism built into the spell. The gateway is a literal tear in space; without that protective layer, the boundary would be sharp enough to shear through diamond.”

  Eirene absorbed that, then nodded, apparently satisfied. She tossed the branch aside and stepped through.

  She turned as the gate folded shut behind him. “Could I learn that spell?”

  He studied her for a moment and asked, “What Circle are you?”

  “Second,” she replied. “Bordering on the Third.”

  He nodded once. “It’s possible.”

  Her expression brightened—then sharpened as he continued.

  “But not with your mana. You would need to use divine power to cast it.”

  She tilted her head. “Why?”

  “Quality,” he replied. “At the Second Circle, mana isn’t dense enough to sustain a gate structure. You can shape it, but it won’t hold. The spell would collapse under its own weight.”

  She considered that. “And if I try to push it? Force the mana to keep its shape?”

  Academic interest, obviously. She’s not foolish enough to actually try.

  “If you’re lucky, you’ll only burst a few mana channels. It’s one of the most common ways mages cripple themselves—trying to forcefully cast spells above their capabilities.”

  Eirene nodded. “Let’s meet downstairs for breakfast. We’ll continue then.”

  Orestis agreed and went to his room to change.

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