Chương 15: Lifting.

The trip is uneventful. Sweat cools against my skull as I find myself shivering with cold now that the adrenaline has faded. I think I still considered myself a Londoner until today. Well, a Greater Londoner. Something shifted in my mind when I realized I had many other options. I think it's only finally registering now, truly. I'm an Enderlithian. I'm going to spend many, many years as an Enderlithian. I'm not a stranger in a strange land. I'm a local. Regardless of how I feel about it.

I can't win or even survive if I don't fully accept that this is my new reality. I won't win and return to my normal life. It will never happen. Cello player and teacher Steve is gone forever. His life is over. I'll never go back. I'm lost. Fuck me.

"We've arrived, sir," the golem says.

"Drop me here. Thank you." And just to be sure, I toss the thug's phone in a cleaning robot. Track this, idiot. I mope for all of twenty minutes before remembering that time is money and for a supposedly powerful avatar, I have little of either. I can't tell if I'm being a pansy going from grief to acceptance in my mind, or if I'm justified because of the unfathomable horrors of the Year of Judgment. Most people don't get regularly assassinated either. How would I even know how I'm doing?

Is there a frame of reference? I guess I could ask the previous Avatar of Time except there hasn't been one in forever. Fortunately, remembering that asswipe Adi replaces some of the sadness with anger. That fucking weasel. Just you wait; I'm not going to forget you any time soon. I don't care if I have written a great Book of Grudges the size of an atlas by the end of this interstellar dumpster fire. That asshole is going on the list. Fuck him. And fuck those thugs. Actually, fuck War and Transformation too.

Ok, I'm going to need a big book. I nibble on my anger for a while but the safety and pleasant drone of the flying limousine lulls me into a brittle calm. What next? I had actually planned the rest of the evening rather well before fucking it up, so now I only need to return to the plan. I wait in the station until the first early train, then cross half of Enderlith on my way to the docks. A part of me wants to go to Sethri and just do the same thing again, but I desist. I want progress.

I want to stop being so afraid and powerless all the time, or being called a cripple by those who don't know better. I want to feel like I'm changing even if the station doesn't, so I head towards one of the dock's neighboring districts nicknamed the Small Night borough. The local, grimy station deposits me on the edge. The overall structure of gray crystal and concrete, functional buildings is the same down to the lodgings covering the distant walls, but this place is still different from Mercy's own.

In the times before the troubles, Small Night used to be a center of entertainment rife with small studios and the dens of other niche interests. I could still see traces of it in the pale false light of the ceiling lamps: a mana painting studio — whatever that means. A store selling focii used in arcane plant magic stood next to a training dojo specialized in Vestilian whip arts.

None of those could have possibly hosted more than thirty people at once, but those now contended with newer, more desperate sources of entertainment: brothels — from the advertisements, larger bars and night clubs now shown in the ruthless light of dawn like hungover slags under the neon lights of a chippie: ruined makeup and puffy cheeks. Peeling paint. Detritus on the ground.

There was still a fragile balance between the excited nerds of before the crisis and the influx of desperation spilling from the dock, ready to buy or sell happiness for a hasty evening. There are apartments too, snugly hidden behind garish signs, and trees. Lots of trees. I didn't pick this place at random. I did my research, selecting an 'interesting' spot because, as it turns out, seeing the future has its uses. Come to think of it, I may have crossed this district during the rout, after War came.

It's hard to reconcile the massive tomb the station had become with the peaceful living place it still is. I yawn. I'm going to crash soon. Unfortunately, people are still waking up. I find a cheap cafe that serves sandwiches on the side and settle. It will take a while.

I think I dozed off but by some miracle, no one stole anything. Maybe the massively muscular waitress had something to do with it so I make sure to tip her with a quarter credit before leaving. My destination is a gym at the edge of the district, near one of the few true areas of greenery these places can afford, still deserted at this time of day. I see barred windows showing old but serviceable equipment and meditation mandalas laid on bricks of soft brown stones.

Two early practitioners in serious gear work out despite the early hour. This is it. I knock and enter, getting a lot of unwelcoming attention from the people inside. This is a serious gym for serious people. Both of them are at the third rank or higher, something even I can feel from their carefully controlled souls. Back in the Defense Force, all the frontliners were at this level or higher, and I know Enderlith sits at the top of the scale as far as power goes. These are some powerful people.

I'm not exactly fitting. As they study me, I cannot help but do the same. The man of the pair is an absolute mountain of a man half again as tall as I am, completely shaved with comparatively normal brown skin and eyes. And quite a few scars. Virile in a warrior monk kind of way. I could probably build a civilization with his abs which would last a thousand years.

The woman is very short with dark hair and no mods that I can tell, beautiful and without a speck of makeup, yet strangely attractive in a visceral kind of way. It takes some effort not to allow my eyes to linger or — God forbid — check her out. Neither of them give me friendly vibes, though the woman seems more curious than anything. I hate that I'm feeling intimidated.

Pretty much everyone on the station can beat my ass at this point, but it's never so visceral as with dangerous, hostile people in an enclosed space. I'm so tired of being scared; though it won't change until I do, so when everyone stops lifting weights as large as truck wheels, I just go for it.

"Good day. I'm looking for Xan." The pair exchange a few quick glances. Their souls are controlled so I can only tell they're not feeling any strong emotions. The woman turns to her training partner, giving him precedence. His voice is deep and gravelly.

"In the back." I follow a stone path away from the main room and through a reinforced metal door. It smells clean here. There are stairs up and two doors on either side of a narrow corridor. A soul burns on the left so that's where I knock.

"Come in," a voice replies immediately. I find myself in a rigorously clean office, facing a man sitting behind an ancient computer that would have looked old on Earth. He is tall and lean with wide shoulders shown by a tight-fitting gray T-shirt as basic as they come. Gray hair, short and clean, shows his age. The tapestry of old wounds and burns tell me he should be dead seven times over but it's his rigid posture that tells me he was military. Or used to be, in any case.

His features feel softer than they could be.

"Can I help you?" This is him.

"Yes. I'm looking for a trainer," I politely greet.

"There is a studio by the district entrance led by Aurora. She will help you get started." He looks back down at the keyboard. I hate this, being dismissed because here, being unawakened is either a mark of laziness or handicap. But I have not come here just to give up after one rebuke.

"I need something a little special. Could you please hear me out?" Xan looks at something on his screen long enough for it to be rude, or at least it would be if I were awakened, but then he waves me to continue.

"Due to… unique circumstances, I was not permitted to work on body awakening until today. I can perform the Three Gates meditation method though, and my soul is awakened." Xan sits back in his chair, body slightly to the side which means he wants to leave or for me to leave. Not good. I don't want to restart the loop over this. Fuck.

"Really?" This one's easy. My soul extends and to my immense surprise, I feel a connection. I am dragged and stuck to a part of him like I'm a plug and he has a, well, a receptor. I find the sensation immensely uncomfortable. Uh, what was that? Telecommunication implant. I blink. Xan's expression is now more curious than dismissive.

"Very rare, to be a soul awakened without any body awakening behind it. How did that come to pass?"

"I'm a bit of a special case and I'd rather not go into details, if that's fine with you," I reply because I couldn't come up with a good lie on the spot. Dammit, I should have prepared better.

"Is it related to the Year of Judgment?" he immediately asks. I wince.

"Yes."

"Will someone be coming after you?"

"I don't think so? And if they do, they'll come after me alone," I reply with certainty. The assassin failed to track me down last time, therefore I'm fairly confident I'm in the clear.

"Hmmm. I still don't get why you couldn't go to Aurora." He gestures at the seat opposite him which I take before my brain can properly process the offer. I don't know. He just has this… presence.

"So, I was offered a deal. I can get something very nice if I reach the third awakening before the end of the year." There is a pause while he looks at me. His gray eyes try to peel my soul away. Obviously this guy must have been some sort of sergeant, or whatever rank here is paid to whip recruits into shape.

"I don't know if what you ask is even possible," he eventually tells me.

"No idea. Are you serious?"

"Very serious, and I can pay."

"You would have a much better chance contacting one of the major sects."

"I can't pay that much and I would also never be let through the door. Your reputation precedes you. If anyone can help me, you can." This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Because you were an important instructor during the abomination war. You even made a survival guide for the enlisted civilians.

"I can pay 250 credits," I tell him. He breathes in. I don't know how well-off he really is, but I don't think a wealthy patrician would use battered training gear if he could help it.

"You'll need 350 just to pay me for my time, and the resources required to accelerate your growth. You know what? You told me you know the Three Gates meditation technique? Show me. Here and now." I close my eyes without hesitation. I sit back in my chair and can immediately feel the phantom fingers of hunger twisting my guts like knots, the smell of old blood and failing air purification. I hear the distant groans of a dying station. The memories send me back in my mind like a mental backhand.

I almost bounce against the seat but then I close my eyes again. I can't afford to fuck this up. I need this. I need to prove myself. The first notes of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue tickle my ears. The clarinet's jazzy call soars to a beautiful pitch, and some of the tension leaves me. I don't know why this song comes to my mind because I haven't thought about it for a year. It doesn't matter. It works. I relax and open the heart gate, then the navel gate and finally the mind gate with much more ease than last time.

It's like riding a bike.

"A little rough. Adequate." Xan scratches his square chin, sounding like steel wool on rock. I wait while he inspects me from head to toe.

"You have a decent muscle structure and no Patrician gene mods that I can see, a sign of genuine effort. It looks like you're telling me the truth, kid, but that's not enough to get things done." He leans forward and it's like having a head teacher about to turn your parents into a pair of banshees.

"Though now I'm curious. Right. Here is my offer: I'll take you in. You do exactly as I say, and I don't just mean exercise. I mean everything: sleep, food, cultivation aids. I tell you to work out, you work out. I tell you to eat this, you eat it, even if it's raw bitterleaf with a side serving of fresh rat. I don't want to hear any complaints unless you're quitting. If you manage your first awakening within a month, we start the next phase. If not, you're out. And you pay me fifty creds for the whole month.

In advance." He gives me a pointed look.

"I don't have 350. That means I need to work which will cut into the training time."

"Everyone here has a job, kid. I can work around your schedule but if you don't hit those goals, we're done. It's up to you to find a balance. 50 creds now and we work together." He shrugs.

"Deal." The tall man leans back in his seat, shocked.

"Really? Just like that?"

"I know it takes what it takes, and like I said, your reputation precedes you." Because you died covering the dock evacuation.

"Hmmm. When can you begin?" he asks after a short pause.

"I need to find a place to stay for the month and then…" I shrug.

"Right away?"

"Old Charene is looking for a tenant. I'll introduce you. After I see those credits." I set up the transfer using the chip while Xan types and prints the contract on actual physical paper — which costs a lot of money here. His large fingers dance on the keyboard with a power and speed that makes me realize the computer must be built with reinforced material to accommodate his wiry strength. He is done in under a minute. I read the contract which he approves of.

"Good. Seen too many recruits get trapped with stupid contracts. It just leads to resentment down the line and we don't want that. Ready?" It's exactly what he offered but in legal jargon as far as I can tell. I sign.

"Alright. I see you brought a backpack. Is that all of your belongings?"

"I'm afraid so." He breathes, but the ping of the transfer of the first batch distracts him from his frustration.

"We'll get you situated, kid. Then the real work can begin." Over the next hour, Xan drags me up the district's wall dwelling to the lodgings of Charene who happens to be a three-meter long mix between a mantis and a xenomorph, and owner of a famous specialty butcher shop. The tiny apartment above the shop happens to be of little use to her as she sleeps in a cocoon, so she was looking for someone to rent.

Her rules to stay are quite simple: no reproduction, no pets because she'll eat them, and no loud noise after the ceiling lights turn off or she'll eat me. I willingly agree, moving in the next moment. Xan then lets me buy a second hand datasheet from a retired painter which I use to buy sundries and a large amount of cheap training clothes, all to be delivered by drone the next day. Xan orders me to return tomorrow at the local equivalent of 6AM when it's clear I'm crashing hard.

I find a local supermarket to buy food and then settle down. No signs of any assassin. I check my finances. All of the cheap shit I bought cost me a grand total of 24 credits which didn't seem like much, but credits are hard to come by here in the boonies, most districts resorting to local scrips for low-level jobs instead. I know where I can find gainful employment, I think, but it won't be for another five days. It will be fine for now. I really hope this works.

Xan is waiting for me outside of his gym at the ass crack of dawn. After making sure I have eaten something — I did and it was disappointing — we begin with meditation and stretching. I expected something drastic but it feels fairly close to standard gym fare, mana aside. At least, at first. Xan's patient guidance is a big help in keeping things grounded as we progress through the morning and the other two gym rats arrive.

After an hour, Xan has me take a short break to eat something that feels like a mana-infused cereal bar. I immediately feel better, though we do take that short break.

"Might's surplus military rations. Your tuition pays for them."

"Do you at least get a discount?" I ask, not expecting an answer.

"Of course! I still got some friends on the inside. Sometimes warehouses need to be cleared. It's all legal, I just get first pick. Call it… a perk of retirement." I nod. He's definitely ex-military from his appearance to his posture, like someone stuck a rod up his entire ass, but he also feels very casual in the way he orders me around. I'm already lowering my guard around him. I think it was less a difference of culture between Earth and Enderlith and more my prejudice against authority that made me wary anyway.

I should really give those guys a chance. Enderlith's military, I mean, not the templars. The templars can eat my dick.

"So I wanted to ask…" He seems curious. I nod to nudge him along and feel weird trying to coax someone who could fold me like a pretzel out of his hesitation. Maybe he's just being polite.

"How did you awaken?"

"I died," I answer earnestly.

"It didn't stick though." I said it as a half joke, but to my surprise, he takes it seriously.

"Ah. I see. I figured it might be something like that. The rare few soul awakenings I met all had this… this thing with death. And crowds."

"It's difficult to block people out," I tell him.

"In fact I don't know how to do it. Crowds get tiring very quickly."

"I see. I don't suppose you know how to awaken someone else? Ah, of course you don't. I'm just…. curious." His eyes drift away. I think I can guess what he was going to ask.

"You want soul awakening too?"

"I wish," Xan quickly replies, getting the attention of the other gym people.

"I wish because I saw what soul-awakened warriors can do. Attacks that cut through every defense, stop regeneration. It's impressive. No one has found a reliable way to induce it in others though. Not that I know of. Maybe some of the sects…" The tall gym rat I talked to yesterday shakes his head. He sounds like a rockfall when he speaks.

"If any of them had, they would have risen to prominence. Soul awakened warriors have too vital an edge. I do not know if their extreme rarity is a blessing or a curse." That I cannot believe. Not from what I've seen from Enderlith so far.

"I assume some madman must have tried to drown a thousand people to see who would awaken, and then trained them."

"Aye," the other said.

"Sarish the mad, on Odalis. Murdered by his Praetorian guard."

"Who were…"

"The surviving soul awakened. Yes." The tall one gives me a measuring look.

"Perhaps not all awakened are equal. Those who ascend after they are already warriors seem…" He looks down.

"More impressive."

"Well excuse me."

"Do not judge too hastily," Xan gently chides his friend who acknowledges the remark with a curious gesture. Hey, I've seen that before.

"Sallurian," I say. The man glares. No tattoos though, which I find curious. The other two avoid his gaze. Xan has had enough, I think.

"It's time to resume your training, Steve. Come on,""Right away." Damn. I think he's got me. Bypassed the cortex to infect my Saurian brain. One more day and I'll be saluting. Three and I might vote Tory. The horror. There is something disarming in the way he operates though. He's professional and clear in what our respective roles are. It makes the interaction relaxing, in a way. The morning continues with more, lighter exercise. I'm more used to focusing on a single muscle group every session.

Xan has me work a little bit on everything. I suppose he's assessing me. Again and again, I meditate and exercise. Xan has advice on how to improve my command over the three gates. He also brings many snacks, all of them simple yet mana-rich. We take a short rest during which I can watch the others spar in a ring at speeds I cannot follow, and yet definitely focus more on technique than brute strength, or lifting what I'm guessing is the weight of a damn sedan.

While at first, I get the impression that there isn't much difference between what I'm doing here and the sort of workouts I would be doing back on Earth, I can soon tell three major differences. One, all the gym rats here are much more purposeful in their approach. I remember spending half of the gym time on my phone between reps, and for others to do the same.

The local approach is completely different not just from Xan's friends, but also from others coming to practice for an hour or less, all of them giving me curious looks. On Enderlith, practitioners have access to the purest and most potent mana in the known galaxy which they will internalize during the session. It makes those who come to practice very serious about it, almost religious in their rituals. Here, working out is a mental and spiritual commitment.

And no wonder, considering that the prize could be a very long life at the very least, a position in a strong sect at best. In a way, I find it inspiring. Two, Xan knows exactly how much he can push me. Sometimes, he asks for one more rep and other times, less often, he cuts a set short. I can do my absolute best because I know Xan is here to watch my back and I won't hurt myself obeying him. I don't have to wonder if that one effort will hurt me. He knows I have more in me, and therefore I know I do.

Three, I'm technically doping. I'm sure the stuff he's giving me to eat would turn an Earth-side drug test into a rainbow strip that glows in the dark. No such a thing here. Mana and supplements, here I come. I would have collapsed an hour before lunch without those. It feels a little unfair. Now I see why Enderlith is so treasured and why so many refugees come here. It also explains how the station could hold basically what was a supercharged zombie invasion at bay for months on end with its leadership gone.

I guess that since I'm an Enderlithian now, I'll have to learn how to make the best use of it. I think we're close when Xan stops me to ask a question.

"I noticed you looking at Tavor when he spars. You study his footwork. You also recognized that he was using mana to move, something that you have no access to. Yet. Have you perhaps studied combat arts yourself?" It isn't really a question. Also, the big man is called Tavor.

"A type of sport. We just call it boxing."

"Who is we?" I smile, but I do not reply and Xan doesn't insist.

"Show me. Use the bag there."

"With all due respect, Xan, without any protection, it's not going to end well for me."

"Use little strength and little speed. Your technique is what I am interested in." I shrug, but at the same time I'm considered a decent amateur back home, so maybe it's an opportunity to show that I'm not completely useless. Unfortunately, I notice with the first jab that something is wrong, and I realize what. Technically, I haven't done any proper boxing in over a year. I'm simply rusty, but it's fine.

I slow down, pay attention to my feet, balance, the shoulder movement and a slew of other flaws I've had to correct over the years. The jabs come slowly at first, but then I grow more confident and add crosses, then hooks, and finally uppercuts. I take my time. Once I am comfortable with the basic motions, I move around the room with quick steps for a bit of shadowboxing. Xan interrupts me before I can really accelerate.

"Enough. A sport, indeed, and for the unawakened I presume?"

"No thought of mobility," Tavor grumbles like a disappointed avalanche.

"Feet too wide apart. Laughably open." He falls silent with one look from Xan.

"It is clear that you put some effort into practicing this 'boxing', Steev. If you enjoy fighting, I will adjust your training accordingly." Unexpectedly fantastic.

"Yes please."

"Very well. And now, enough of this. Stretching, then lunch." Lunch here isn't what I'd expected. Rather than directing me outside or giving me a sandwich, Xan has all four of us retire to the backroom, the spot facing his office. I expected it to be some sort of storage space, but in reality, it is only half a storage space, The rest is occupied by a kitchenette set near a few floor cushions.

We take turns washing our hands and drying ourselves off, something approximating hygiene, then Tavor and Xan cooperate while I set the table, draw water, and just help under the advice of the as yet unnamed woman. I'm getting strong gender-defined vibes here, something I elect not to comment on mostly because she is distracting. Now that we're physically close, I can't help but smell her floral perfume, and there is just something in the way she moves that's just...

The way her muscles roll under her skin, the way she bends with the grace of a ballet dancer… I feel something brush against my soul, failing to find purchase. I have to blink before bringing more water. Dammit, it's not just me being lonely, there is definitely something going on with her magic. What business do women even have being attractive when it's not immediately convenient for me anyway? Patently unfair. And distracting. With some effort, I lose myself in the mundane gestures of the chores.

There is a distance in the way she won't meet my eyes that matches the physical distance that she keeps between us. I can tell, but the others are not paying attention so at least my pride is safe. Dammit, it's like I'm a teenager all over again. At long last the food is ready, allowing me to sit on the opposite end so I can focus on my spoon rather than on her. We eat from a massive cauldron loaded with lean meat and vegetables swimming in a rich broth alongside bowls of boiled cereals.

I give up after the first two bowls and watch the others demolish platter after platter in some sort of culinary apocalypse that leaves basically no survivors, because Xan and Tavor arm wrestle to decide who will drink the remaining broth. We're all sated when Xan takes it upon himself to commit sociality.

"Since we're going to be spending some time together, let's introduce ourselves. I'll start. My name is Xanaphael Hiero. I left the Hiero clan about forty cycles ago to fight under the army. I did three tours on Obis then I retired to open this gym. I have a wife and three adult children. They have moved to Obis where it's relatively safer for the year. Steve?" God dammit.

"Steve Prentiss. I am a newcomer to Enderlith. I am also a soul awakened."

"If you are a newcomer," Tavor asks, "why do you speak without an accent?"

"I'm really good with languages."

"Speak in your mother tongue," he 'requests'. I feel attacked, but the others seem curious too so I must oblige.

"You're a big fat bastard and I take solace in the fact you'll never get to taste Jaffa cake in your life," I say in English. They shake their heads.

"What did you say?" the woman asks in a warm alto.

"I told him he was a tall asshole and would get no dessert," I reply. There is a very brief moment of tension before Tavor glares.

"Desserts are bad for you. I do not consume dessert," he announces.

"You poor thing." Our mock confrontation makes the others chuckle. The woman speaks next.

"I'm Momo. I'm a dancer." She gives me a pointed look, maybe daring me to comment. A dancer in this district probably means she's really a sex worker or she would have told me which school or whatnot she followed.

"Nice to meet you Momo," I reply since it doesn't look like she wants to say more.

"Tavor's turn then?" I ask. The massive man makes his best impersonation of a gargoyle. I'm getting the impression he's not having a great time.

"I am Tavor. I was also in the army." Maybe that's how they met. Xan happily claps his hands together.

"Good! We are all acquainted. Steve, say goodbyes to your new companions while they go to work. We will resume training in an hour. You will sleep briefly on that mat, yes?"

"Yes."

"Good."