It came in bruises. In scraped knuckles and stiff joints. In the kind of soreness that clung to his ribs when he breathed too deeply. Some mornings, it felt like he hadn’t slept at all. His muscles ached. His back complained. But he got up anyway.
Every day in the training yard brought the same rhythm: drills, footwork, sparring, channeling practice, and meditation. The routine was designed to break weaker wills. But Jai found something comforting in the repetition. Each day began the same, and each day, he ended just a little better.
Some of it was discipline. Some of it was the instructors hammering out his flaws like a smith shaping metal.
But some of it came from within.
At first, it was subtle — the way his body moved more naturally, how his stance corrected itself before the instructors could yell. His reflexes sharpened without him realizing. He dodged a blow without knowing why. He caught the hilt of a wooden blade knocked loose during a sparring match, not with precision but with instinct.
It wasn’t just training.
The Great Tiger’s presence stirred inside him, faint but steady. Not in roars or visions — not like the bond’s awakening — but in the quiet strength that guided his movements. A growing sense that his body wasn’t entirely his anymore. Or rather, it was more his than it had ever been.
He began to feel his strength — how much he could lift, how fast he could run, how balanced he was even on uneven terrain. Tasks that had once required grit now felt smoother, fluid. Not easy, but earned.
When they ran obstacle drills, Jai no longer came in middle-of-the-pack. He began finishing toward the front. During combat training, he learned to deflect rather than absorb. He let his instincts lead, and when he did, his strikes came faster, sharper — as if Sheeren guided his hands.
Talan noticed first.
“You’re quicker,” he muttered after one of their spars, rubbing a bruised forearm. “Not stronger. Just… like you know what I’m gonna do before I do it.”
Jai only nodded. He didn’t have the words for it either.
It wasn’t all sparring. Each week included long hours in the channeling yard, where students were tasked with connecting to their bonded beasts — with or without fully invoking their presence. For some, it came naturally. Others struggled for even a flicker.
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Jai fell somewhere in between.
He could feel Sheeren. The tiger was always there, just out of reach — watching, breathing with him. But control was harder. Whenever he reached too far, the power overwhelmed him. His thoughts scattered. His limbs went numb. Once, he nearly collapsed.
So he stopped forcing it.
He began sitting alone in the evenings, cross-legged on the cool earth, palms open and eyes shut. Not channeling. Just listening. Waiting. Feeling. Calling the tiger not with strength, but with stillness.
The breakthrough didn’t come in a flash of glory. It came quietly.
Three weeks into the routine, while others practiced their flourishes and summoned partial bonds, Jai sat alone at the edge of the yard. He reached inward — and this time, Sheeren didn’t retreat.
Power flowed.
Not in a blaze, but in a hum beneath his skin. His muscles coiled, spine straightening, breath deepening. For the first time, he held the bond open — not for a second or two, but for nearly a full minute. The tiger's strength wrapped around him, not consuming but steady, coiled like potential energy waiting to explode.
His vision sharpened. His heart slowed. The world narrowed to a single point of stillness, and he held there — not trembling, not overwhelmed.
When it faded, his limbs felt heavy, his chest hollow — but he was grinning.
The next day, his stance felt different. More grounded. His movements more precise. He fought like someone whose body knew what it was capable of — and it showed.
Instructor Veyna, who rarely offered praise, lingered behind after his match against a higher-ranked noble student. Jai had lost, but barely — and he hadn’t been knocked down once.
“Your control is improving,” she said, not looking at him directly. “Don’t stop.”
It was the closest thing to a compliment she ever gave.
The change didn’t go unnoticed. Word had spread — not just about his performance in the entrance exam, but about the way he carried himself in training. Focused. Relentless. Quiet.
More and more commoner students began seeking him out.
Some asked about his technique. Others watched him from a distance during drills, mimicking his movements. A few joined his corner of the yard in silent solidarity, drawn not by words but by example.
He didn’t speak much, but he started nodding when they did. Accepting small shared moments — a water flask passed his way, a pat on the shoulder after sparring, a bench shared in silence.
They didn’t know his past. Not the blood he carried or the truth of his bond.
But they saw what he was becoming — and that was enough.
At week’s end, everything changed.
The academy bells rang longer than usual. A deep, reverberating tone that echoed through the training halls and dining chambers.
Notices went up by midday:
“First-Year Training Expedition – Four Days Hence. Attendance Mandatory. Pack Light.”
Whispers spread like fire.
“Where are they sending us?”
“I heard it’s the deadwood forest.”
“No, the southern ridgeline. They make you survive on your own.”
“Someone said we’ll be fighting for real.”
Jai read the parchment once, folded it neatly, and slid it into his belt. His heart beat faster than he liked.
He didn’t feel ready. Not completely.
But he wasn’t the boy who had walked into the capital unsure of his footing. He moved with strength now. With quiet confidence. The Great Tiger hadn’t given him everything — not yet — but it had begun.
And whatever the expedition brought… he would face it head-on.