I leave the kitchen, and head out into the cool predawn air. The silence of the manor is broken only by the echo of my footsteps along the hallway. My mind is replaying the mory of when my powers went crazy against the inquisitors. I recall it all too vividly: the surge of raw energy, the way their faces twisted in horror as I unleashed a barrage of illusions so potent they believed their worst fears to be real. I still can't quite grasp what I did that day, but I know it wasn't intentional. It was as if the darkness inside had taken over, using my power to exact a brutal, silent revenge.
I set off on my morning run, pushing my body to its limits running faster then I ever had before. Each stride laced with exhilaration, my muscles burn as I rember the feeling of my untapped power. I replay that day in my head over and over trying to pinpoint the exact mont when I lost control, when my emotions took the reins. Was it sheer anger? Every unanswered question fuels my drive as I pound the cold, dew soaked pavent.
I finish my run in record ti today the fastest I've done it yet. 10 miles in 15 minutes quite speedy if I do say so myself. I head back to the training hall, sweat still glistening on my skin. I pick up my sword and begin my drills, determined to etch the "Aether Flow" style into my muscle mory.
I set six wooden dummies stand in a row. They were the victims I was going to vent my frustrations on may they rest in peace. I take a deep breath, steadying my body, and dive into the drill. I move striking at the first dummy with a quick slash that slices through the air. The movent is smooth, almost instinctive, as if the weapon were an extension of my very self. I pivot to face the second dummy. My body rotates with a grace that belies the raw intensity of the training. Each strike is precise a calculated blend of speed and power.
I push myself harder, weaving through a series of feints and parries, each motion designed to be as efficient as possible. I strike at the third dummy from an awkward angle, then flip over to engage the fourth with a sweeping arc. My movents are a blur, my arms shifting seamlessly between offense and incorporating defensive blocks as if they were real enemies. Every kick, every twist, every pivot is a symphony of violence, and I relish the in raw physicality of it all.
I exhale in satisfaction, dragging the back of my hand across my forehead wiping the sweat off. My muscles burn with exhaustion, but it's a satisfying ache. I scan the training hall, the dummies left in various states of disrepair. With a sigh, I begin the tedious work of cleaning up, setting everything back in place. Cain would have my head if I left a ss, and I'm not in the mood for one of his lectures this early in the morning.
By the ti I make my way toward the washroom, the sky outside is beginning to lighten. The mansion is still eerily quiet, but that won't last much longer. The servants will be arriving soon, bustling about as they prepare for the day.
I yawn as I push open the door to the washroom. The lack of sleep is starting to catch up to . I sigh quietly as I lower myself into the large bath the warmth of the water is imdiate, sinking into my skin. A satisfied groan escapes my lips as my muscles finally relax, the tension from training lting away. I let my head tilt back against the edge, closing my eyes for just a mont.
After a few more minutes of soaking in the warmth, I finally drag myself out of the water. The cold air bites at my skin as I dry off quickly, running a hand through my wet hair before changing back into my usual attire black pants, a long-sleeved fitted shirt, and, and now the black Elite robe. The fabric settles around my shoulders, a weight I'm still not entirely used to but if I'm going to be sent to the Academy I may as well get used to it.
As I step out of the washroom, the cool morning air greets , a stark contrast to the warmth I just left behind. I run a hand through my damp hair as I make my way toward the mansion and my main goal which was the dining hall, already anticipating the al waiting for . If there's one indulgence I refuse to deny myself, it's Harkin's cooking. Because as much as I hate to admit that bastard is one good cook. Almost as as good as .
As I step into the main room, I spot Doran in the middle of his morning routine, dusting and straightening the furniture with precision. The mont he notices , he stiffens slightly, then bows his head in acknowledgnt.
"Good morning, Awakened Ayato," he says, his voice asured, as if afraid of offending .
I roll my eyes, barely suppressing a sarcastic retort that would probably send the poor man into a coma. "Morning," I reply, waving him off like a fly as I continue past him. I still cant get over this weird ass treatnt.
As I step into the kitchen, the rich aroma of breakfast fills the air, stirring my hunger. Marta and Harkin are already at work, moving around each other effortlessly as they prepare breakfast. The scent of sizzling at, fresh bread, and sothing subtly sweet lingers in the air. They both glance up as I enter, imdiately straightening.
"Good morning, Awakened Ayato," Marta greets as she bows her head.
Harkin turns as well, offering another small bow of his head. "Breakfast will be ready soon. We will co to collect you in about an hour."
I pause, irritation flickering through . "An hour?" My stomach twists at the thought of waiting. "Oh whatever I'll be back" I say dryly as I turn and leave just as fast as I had arrived.
With my training finished early, I actually have ti to spare, which is sothing that rarely happens. Might as well take a walk through the city. It's been a while since I've simply observed the streets without Cain bitching at for so reason or another.
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