Chapter 3: Like a Prayer

  The next morning, I wake up before the sun rises, finishing all the daily chores before going to wake Ernest up.

  I knock endlessly at his door until he finally opens it, squinting at me through bleary eyes.

  "What's wrong with you today? I'm trying to sleep."

  Punching through the air enthusiastically, I reply, "I'm hoping you'll teach me a thing or two. You know what I mean."

  He places his face in his hands, practically begging for more sleep, but I'm having none of it.

  I expect my excitement will reach him eventually.

  He goes through his morning routine before eating. After finishing his breakfast, he grabs his fishing net.

  "We're not training without making a thousand royas today."

  "Wait, what?"

  Without answering, he closes the door behind him.

  Oh no. He's the one playing me.

  Grabbing my fishing net, I dash through the door, following him directly to the seashore.

  The place is quite empty. Now that I think about it, there are fewer people on the way here too.

  "Confused?" Ernest asks. "This is how the world looks when you wake up early. You feel like the only person on the battlefield that is life." He pulls out the boat.

  It is indeed quiet, almost dead.

  "Come on, those thousand royas won't earn themselves."

  "Okay!" I help him push the boat into the sea.

  The morning air is crisp, cold against my face as we row out. The water is calm, almost glass-like, reflecting the pale pre-dawn sky. My arms burn from rowing, but I push through it. Ernest watches me from the corner of his eye, saying nothing, but I can tell he notices the effort.

  We cast the nets, waiting in comfortable silence. The sun begins to rise, painting the horizon in oranges and pinks. I've seen this view a lot of times, but today it feels different. Like I'm seeing it for the first time with purpose behind my eyes.

  "You're quieter than usual," Ernest observes.

  "Just thinking."

  "About?"

  "About how much I've wasted. How much time I spent sleeping while this was happening." I gesture to the sunrise.

  Ernest grunts. "Don't romanticize it too much. This job is hard work, not poetry."

  But there's a hint of a smile on his face.

  We pull in the nets. They're heavy with fish, a good haul. My arms shake from the effort, but I don't complain. Ernest nods approvingly as we head back to shore.

  After the first fishing trip, the shore becomes a little more crowded. Early vendors are setting up. Other fishermen are arriving.

  Kaile spots me and freezes, staring at me in complete shock.

  "Hey, Kaile. You're early today." I smile at him.

  Kaile jumps back. "Since when are you this early?" He runs to Ernest. "Please tell me this is a dream, boss."

  Ernest sighs. "Your position is at stake, Kaile."

  "What?!" Kaile looks at me, eyes wide. "I'm not letting you take my spot." He tosses his fishing net into the boat, determined.

  "That's fine. I'll take care of the sales," I offer with a smile.

  Kaile thrusts his fist in the air, determined.

  The sales go quickly. As the first fishermen to arrive, there's really no competition, so getting five hundred royas from those barrels is easy. The early morning shoppers are eager, willing to pay premium prices for fresh catch.

  I haggle with a merchant over a particularly large tuna, driving the price up by fifty royas. Ernest watches from nearby, arms crossed, but I catch the approving nod.

  When the next barrel arrives with Ernest and Kaile's second haul, I help Ernest finish selling the rest. By noon, we have the full thousand royas.

  I count the coins twice to be sure, then show Ernest the pouch.

  "So now, are we going to train?" I ask, exhausted but trying not to show it.

  "You really want it, huh?" He sighs, but there's something like pride in his voice.

  "What are you two talking about?" Kaile interjects, wiping sweat from his brow.

  "That your day is over for today," Ernest tells him.

  "What? But I just…"

  "Get some rest, Kaile. You earned it."

  With that, we leave Kaile behind. Ernest leads me toward the forest on the outskirts of the village.

  The trees grow denser as we walk. Sunlight filters through the canopy in scattered beams. Birds call to each other overhead. My heart pounds, partly from exertion, partly from anticipation.

  "First, I need to have an idea of your current level." Ernest stops in a clearing and removes his jacket, hanging it on a low branch.

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  "Oh really?" I remove mine too, rolling my shoulders. "I hope you won't complain about the beating you're going to get."

  "Speak with your fists, not your mouth."

  We both settle into fighting stances. He doesn't seem like he's going to attack first, so I'll have to make the opening move.

  I charge forward, launching a direct punch aimed at his face. He ducks smoothly beneath it, my fist cutting through empty air. I don't let up. Following through, I throw a double jab, one-two, targeting his torso.

  He blocks both strikes, forearms intercepting my fists with ease.

  Before I can reset, Ernest counters. His fist drives upward, an uppercut that catches me under the jaw. My head snaps back. Stars explode across my vision.

  I'm still reeling when his knee crashes into my ribs. The air rushes out of my lungs. Pain blooms across my side. I lose my balance, stumbling backward.

  His foot sweeps forward, connecting solidly with my face.

  I fly backward, tumbling across the ground. Dirt fills my mouth. My vision blurs, swimming in and out of focus.

  I lie there for a moment, trying to piece together what just happened. Everything hurts. My jaw throbs. My ribs ache with each breath.

  Since when has Ernest been this good?

  I look up at him through one eye, the other starting to swell shut.

  "You're pretty weak for someone who claims to have been training." He shakes out his hand. "Who are you going to protect if you can't even protect yourself?"

  He doesn't offer to help me up, so I guess I have to stand by myself.

  I push myself to my feet, legs shaking. I brush the dirt off my clothes, trying to salvage some dignity. "I know I'm weak. Don't keep hammering it in."

  "I'm going to teach you the fighting skills I know." He watches me carefully. "As for the guardian spirit, that'll be all on you."

  "Huh? What do you mean, all on me?"

  Ernest scratches his head. "Depending on the case, I've heard of people manifesting them on the first day of their training. Nobles, for example, have proper education on spirits, so at a very young age they already know about them. And even then, it's seen as a miracle."

  "I see." I test my jaw, making sure nothing's broken. "And how long did it take you?"

  Ernest pauses. "Do you want me to be honest?"

  "Of course I do."

  "I took around nine years."

  "What?!"

  "Yeah, I started around the same age as you. So now you understand why I was scared to tell you about it, right?"

  Nine years? Am I even that patient? Can I wait that long?

  He places a hand on my shoulder. "There's a difference between you and me."

  I look up at him, confused.

  "Contrary to me, you can already see spirits. This shows that you're already able to call yours."

  Hope flares in my chest. "Really?" I process this. "And how am I even supposed to do that?"

  "Like a prayer."

  "Like a prayer?"

  "Do you pray?" Ernest asks.

  "Well, from time to time."

  Oh no.

  "So you're skipping days." He covers his face. "Even this old man isn't worth a prayer."

  "Yeah, sorry, Ernest." I smile nervously. "But I don't get it. How is it like a prayer?"

  "When you think of praying, who do you think of?"

  "God, of course."

  "Are you sure about that?"

  Huh? What does he mean?

  "I think I do?"

  "If you do, then you should recognize the feeling, like how you do with Elydia or me."

  "Hmm?" I rub my neck, thinking. "I mean, it's just like thinking of empty space. I can't put it into words."

  "That's the thing. Your prayer is inconsistent. A real prayer should be done with a feeling of understanding. Understanding the entity you pray to. You have to know and be able to represent who you're praying to. You're unable to do that, right?"

  I nod.

  I mean, where would I even start if I want a representation of God?

  "It's the same with your spirit. You have to be able to represent it and make a connection through prayer. Being able to call it after that will make the next part of the training easier. That's the first step to establish a connection."

  Dazing, I think about it.

  Establishing a connection isn't the problem. The problem is what spirit I should actually connect with. If it's the dragon, then I've pretty much solved the issue, and this will actually save me time. But I'm perplexed. Should I tell him?

  "Hey, Ernest."

  "Hmm?"

  "What if I represent a spirit in my mind, but it happens not to be mine?"

  He stares at me, perplexed.

  "Is that your question? I thought you'd want to know how to recognize your own spirit. Not that you'd represent another."

  I scratch my cheek. "I do understand that knowing your spirit is important, but what if, despite knowing that, I still represent something else? What's going to happen?" My voice lowers at the end.

  Ernest places his hand on his chin, thinking.

  "Everest, I wonder, have you perhaps seen something looking like my spirit?"

  Following his words, a deep trail of mist swirls around him. The wolf manifests, facing me directly. Its form is translucent, shimmering blue.

  Looking into its deep red eyes, I feel I could lose myself inside them.

  "Yes. When I dream, I happen to see something... no, a dragon. It gives me the same strange feeling as your wolf."

  "Pfff... hahaha."

  The laugh is sudden.

  Is what I said that funny?

  His composure returns. "Everest, you truly are something else." His gaze intensifies. "I really begin to think you're a miracle baby."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You're right. The way to recognize your spirit is through manifestation. This can be physical or metaphysical. It doesn't matter, as long as you felt that presence, then it surely was it." He looks puzzled. "But a dragon?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Nothing, nevermind." He waves his hand dismissively.

  He begins pacing, walking in a slow circle around the clearing.

  "Everest, the reason you're this weak is because you're just doing the bare minimum to stay in shape."

  "Huh? What do you mean?"

  "Just as it seems. Do you think you can win against Kaile?"

  Of course I can. What are you talking about?

  Strangely, my mind aligns with my thoughts, but my body doesn't. The words catch in my throat. No sound comes out to answer. Do I think I can lose?

  "That's what I thought." He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. "You have two weeks. During these two weeks, I'll teach you how to fight and use your spirit. But if at the end of that time you can't do it, then I'll ask you to forever forfeit your dream."

  The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

  He walks toward a giant tree at the edge of the clearing, its trunk easily three times wider than I am. He knocks on it with his knuckles. The sound is solid. "If you can't destroy this after doing all that you need, you'll also have to forfeit your dream."

  "That's unfair..."

  "Bear with it. You take it or leave it." His expression is hard, unyielding. "With that said, I'm leaving."

  Ernest walks away, disappearing between the trees, leaving me alone in the company of the forest.

  I walk to the massive tree, placing my hand against the rough bark. It's solid, immovable. Two weeks to destroy this? It seems impossible.

  I throw a punch at it experimentally. Pain shoots through my knuckles. The tree doesn't even shudder. A small scratch marks where I hit, barely visible.

  Laying down on the grass, I close my eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over me.

  I remember that day too. The trees looked the same. Not that I could really tell the difference, but something about the forest feels familiar. Still, I can't put a face to my savior. But if I want to be a savior as well, then I'll need to go through Ernest's terms. That's the only way I can fill this hollow feeling inside me.

  The wind rustles through the leaves above. Somewhere, a bird calls. The forest is alive around me, indifferent to my struggle.

  Two weeks.

  I open my eyes, staring up at the canopy. Patches of blue sky peek through the green.

  I think about the dragon. About the words it's been trying to tell me for ten years. Listen. Say something. Don't you understand. You're not weak. Call me.

  Call me.

  Maybe it's time I finally answered.

  I close my eyes again, trying to feel for that presence. That overwhelming sensation I felt when I saw Ernest's wolf. That pressure that makes my body shiver.

  Nothing happens.

  I try again, concentrating harder. Representing the dragon in my mind. Its massive form, scales gleaming, eyes. The way it moved its mouth, trying to speak to me. The way it looked at me. Urgency? Concern?

  Still nothing.

  I sit up, frustrated. This is going to be harder than I thought.

  But I have two weeks. Two weeks to figure out how to pray to a dragon that's been trying to reach me for a decade.

  Two weeks to become strong enough to destroy a tree with my bare hands.

  Two weeks to prove to Ernest, to myself, that this dream is real.

  I stand up, walking back to the tree. I throw another punch. It hurts just as much as the first time, but I don't care.

  Again.

  And again.

  By the time the sun begins to set, my knuckles are bleeding, and the tree still stands unmarked except for tiny scratches.

  But I'm not giving up.

  This is my test.