A week had passed since Kael – as the fallen god now had to call himself – had begun his training with Elmsworth. A week filled with sweat, pain, and a deep, gnawing humiliation that flared up anew with every menial task assigned to him. The smell of damp earth, pine needles, and the ever-present wood smoke from the hut was the scent of his new prison.

  Slowly, he got the hang of the household chores. He learned how to stoke the fire properly so it wouldn't go out overnight, scrubbed the wooden floor of the hut with a coarse brush until it almost shone, and, under Elmsworth's brief instructions, even managed to prepare edible, albeit simple, stews. But each of these activities was a stab to his immense pride. While his hands chopped wood – the axe felt heavy and clumsy, so different from the power with which he once shaped continents – or sorted herbs whose earthy smell repelled him, resentment simmered within him. Aeliria, he thought again and again, while laboriously hauling heavy buckets of water from the rushing waterfall, whose spray hit his face coldly, you will pay for this humiliation. I will teach this world what it means to make a god a water carrier!. But outwardly, he showed none of it. His innate pride forbade him from showing weakness or incompetence. If he was forced to do these jobs, then he would do them perfectly. No lowly human should be able to say he was incapable of anything.

  The physical training was brutal. Elmsworth pushed him to his limits and far beyond. Running through rough terrain, where once a sudden, heavy downpour surprised him, turning the forest floor into mud and making every step difficult. Climbing the steep, wet rocks behind the hut, where every grip hurt and the height evoked an unfamiliar fear in him. Swimming in the ice-cold pool of the waterfall, the water biting like a thousand needles on his skin. Endless exercises with a heavy wooden staff – every evening Kael sank exhausted onto his cot, every muscle aching, his body screaming for rest. Once, after a particularly strenuous morning training session under the hot midday sun, he had simply collapsed, the world turning black before his eyes. He only came to when Elmsworth splashed cool water on his face, the smell of moss and stone bringing him back.

  The most astonishing thing about it was Elmsworth himself. The old man looked frail, but his body was toughened like tanned leather. He demonstrated every exercise with seemingly effortless ease, his movements fluid and precise. He could outrun Kael, climbed the wet rocks nimbler than a squirrel, and parried Kael's clumsy attacks with the staff with a mocking smile and a speed that sometimes seemed unnatural to Kael for a man of his age. His age wasn't apparent; he radiated a vitality that simultaneously frustrated and reluctantly impressed Kael.

  But despite the physical torment and mental humiliation, there was progress, especially with magic. Elmsworth's approach was different from Kael's previous attempts. He taught him not only to listen inward but also to feel the streams of magic around him – in the whisper of the wind in the leaves, in the incessant pulsing of the water, in the slow, steady growth of the plants beneath his feet. He showed him breathing techniques that helped focus the mind and calm the inner "noise" of this mortal body – the pounding, the breathing, the thousand little distractions. And it worked. After just one week, Kael felt a significant difference. Meditation came easier, the connection to his essence, his "inner fire," was clearer, like a beam of light in murky water. He could now not only create a small flame but ignite a proper, small campfire with sheer willpower, even though it still cost him a lot of concentration and left him trembling afterward. And he began to feel the wind – not just as a physical breeze on the skin, but as a fine network of energy. Once, during an exercise, he focused on a single feather that Elmsworth dropped. Kael closed his eyes, felt the light draft, reached for it with his will, and gently guided it under the feather. A strange tingling ran through him as he felt the energy obey. He opened his eyes and saw the feather dance in the air for a few breathless seconds before gently sailing to the ground.

  Elmsworth had raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You learn quickly, Kael," he had said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Very quickly. What's particularly astonishing is how you seem to sense different elements – fire, wind... Most people have a natural inclination towards one element and struggle with others". He had looked intently at Kael. "I've explained the basics to you: magic in this world doesn't need complicated formulas or rituals like those taught in the great academies. It springs from the will, the imagination, the connection to the world and one's own inner core. Your mind seems particularly receptive to it". Kael had only nodded, but inwardly he triumphed. Of course, my mind is receptive to it, he thought arrogantly. It's the mind of a god! This primitive magic is just a faint echo of what I once commanded. Yet he also knew that this rapid progress was his only hope. He had to continue down this path, learn, adapt, become stronger – in body and mind. The humiliations were bitter, but the taste of growing power was sweeter.

  The next day began in darkness, with a rough nudge to Kael's shoulder. "Wake up, boy! The birds are already singing, and the wood won't chop itself". Elmsworth's voice was rough as always in the early morning. The scent of damp earth and wet leaves drifted through the open window. Kael suppressed a growl and swung his legs off the cot. Every muscle protested. He silently freshened up at the ice-cold waterfall – the water seemed colder every morning, making his skin tingle – and then reached for the axe. The rhythmic thwack... thwack... thwack soon filled the morning silence as he split log after log. Slave labor, hissed inside him, but he worked quickly and efficiently. Afterward, he lit the fires and stirred the oatmeal, the bland smell of which he already detested. They ate in silence, only the crackling of the fire and the distant rush of the waterfall could be heard.

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  "Finished?" Elmsworth asked as Kael swallowed the last spoonful of porridge. "Good. Then out with you. That tree over there". He pointed to the old oak with the thick, overhanging branch. "Pull-ups. Twenty times". Kael stared at the branch. Twenty? Yesterday it had been fifteen. "Master, my arms... they feel like lead". "No excuses!" Elmsworth cut him off, his blue eyes flashing. "The body only adapts to what you force it to do. Remember why you're here! Go now!". Teeth clenched, Kael went to the tree. For my revenge, he repeated his inner mantra and began to pull himself up. The muscles burned, the rough bark scraped his hands. After ten repetitions, his arms trembled uncontrollably. "Keep going!" Elmsworth called from below. "Think of your goal, boy! Of the injustice! What are you doing this for?". The thought of Aeliria, of his lost power, gave him a new surge of anger, which he converted into strength. He managed the twenty repetitions, then dropped, panting. Push-ups in the damp grass followed. "Lower!" commanded Elmsworth. "Your back isn't straight! Hold the tension!". Again and again, he pushed Kael, corrected, demanded more.

  After that, the run through the forest. "Faster, Kael! Your feet are too heavy! Be light as the wind you're trying to feel! Do you hear the woodpecker over there? Be faster than its tapping!". At the waterfall, Kael almost gratefully plunged into the icy water. "Don't splash!" Elmsworth shouted from the bank. "Powerful strokes! Use the current, don't fight against it! Feel the water, the cold, let it strengthen you, not weaken you! Challenge it!". Kael swam until his limbs were numb, but he felt his endurance growing.

  At noon, after gathering herbs ("No, not those! The ones with the serrated leaves and the slight silver sheen on the underside, boy! Look closely! Weren't you listening?") and cooking the stew ("More salt. And let it simmer longer, otherwise the roots will still be hard as stone."), meditation followed. They sat facing each other in the hut, the scent of drying herbs hanging heavy in the air. "Close your eyes, Kael," Elmsworth said softly. "Breathe in deeply... feel the cool air... and slowly out. Find the silence behind the noise of your body". They sat in silence for a long time. "Can you feel it? The whisper of energy within you?". "Yes, Master," Kael murmured. "It's... clearer today. Less... muffled". "Good. Now don't try to force it. Invite it. Imagine the trickle widening, the lake behind it gently overflowing its banks. Just a little". Elmsworth's voice was calm, almost hypnotic. "And listen outward. What do you hear? Not with your ears. With your inner fire. Do you hear the song of the water? The breathing of the trees?". Kael concentrated. He felt the glimmer within him, and very faintly also the energy of the forest around him – the slow, deep hum of the old trees, the incessant pulsing of the water from the fall. "I... I feel the forest," he whispered. "It's alive". "Very good," Elmsworth said with a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "That's the beginning. The connection. Everything is interwoven, Kael. Learn to see and feel these threads".

  The late afternoon was again dedicated to menial tasks, followed by preparing dinner, which, for once, they didn't skip today. As dusk fell and the first stars appeared in the sky, however, they stood again in the clearing, wooden staffs in hand. The cool evening wind carried the scent of damp moss. "Today you focus on defense," Elmsworth explained. "Your attacks are too wild, too predictable. Learn to read your opponent's movements before they execute them". An hour of endless parrying drills followed. "Higher with the staff!" Elmsworth shouted. "You need to intercept the blow, not just deflect it! Your footing is wrong! You're standing there like a felled tree! How are you going to keep your balance?". Then the practice fight. Kael tried to focus on defense, tried to anticipate Elmsworth's movements. But the old man was like quicksilver. Once Kael thought he had spotted an opening and quickly lunged, but Elmsworth was no longer there. Instead, Kael felt a hard blow on his back that sent him stumbling forward, right into a lightning-fast move by the old man that tore the staff from his hand and sent him landing in the damp grass.

  Defeated again. By a puny human! Shame and anger boiled up in Kael, hot and bitter. This human dares to lecture me? Me?. Back in the hut, they drank their herbal tea in silence. The taste was just a bitter note in the background of his exhaustion, mixed with the metallic taste of his anger. "You're making progress, Kael," Elmsworth said unexpectedly softly, looking into the fire. "Faster than I thought. But your anger... it's getting in your way. It's a powerful force, yes, but it's like an uncontrolled fire. It makes you blind and predictable in combat. It will burn you if you don't learn to master it, to direct it, instead of letting it direct you". Kael said nothing, just stared at his hands, sore from holding the staff. He knew the old man was right, but controlling his anger was like trying to tame a raging storm with bare hands. It was a part of him, a part of his divine nature. Shortly after, he lay on his cot again. His body ached, his mind was tired, but beneath the exhaustion pulsed something else – the growing power and the unshakeable certainty of his revenge. Every pain, every humiliation is just fuel, he thought before sleep overcame him. I will learn. I will become stronger. And then Aeliria will pay.