"They are not even so bad, once you get used to them!" Henry swallowed the last of his Firebeetle and grinned. "Obviously, when I first understood that I was to eat beetles, I did not see it that way. But then I discovered that they are much better when steamed. Would you like some?"

"I have been eating them the entire time," said Thanatos with half-closed eyes. "That is not an unusual diet for a flier."

Henry's mouth snapped shut. He had actually not considered that.

"Oh, he is merely trying to garner praise, and not even very subtly," snarled Kismet behind him.

"Perhaps he deserves praise," replied Thanatos after a moment of silence. "And you, too, for making him practice actual discipline."

"Oh, I do. I mean, we do." Kismet laughed. "And the pup was needing discipline as desperately as a parched man water."

"You do not have to tell me."

"Oh, be still!" yelled Henry. "Go back to the part where you praised me," he added after a while. "About one day surpassing you all in the field of perception."

Both Thanatos and Kismet laughed. "Do you see what I have to deal with?" she gesticulated toward Henry. "Do you see this boy?"

"I am happy that someone else finally sees it," replied Thanatos. "But forget not that I have infinitely more experience with this boy."

"I am right here!" called Henry, but they blissfully ignored him. He had it not in himself to be upset. Since he had passed the trial, he had gone to sleep three times, and when he had awoken for the fourth time, Thanatos had been perched at the entrance of Kismet's cave, representing the most pleasant surprise Henry had experienced since coming here.

Henry hadn't yet acknowledged that part of him had also felt . . . relief, that the flier had come back. That he was here as he had promised and not gone, as the deepest, most irrational part of Henry had feared. He couldn't help but hope that he would never have to battle this fear again, now that Thanatos had come.

His flier had also brought the plague vaccine that a courier had delivered to the nibbler colony in the jungle; among the batch had also been one dose for the Death Rider and one for his flier.

"You spent your time at the colony, then?" asked Henry, tugging at the bandage where he had injected himself earlier.

Thanatos nodded. "And you?" He looked back and forth between Henry and Kismet. "You are . . . alright here? Other than the beetles."

Henry snorted. "I am handling," he said with a grin, staring at the wall into which Kismet had etched their contract. He had no idea when she had gotten around to it, but what he did know was that when he had lit a torch in the cave for the first time after his trial, it had been right there on the wall in bold, large letters. A constant reminder.

This Service Contract is entered into between Kismet and Henry.

1. Trial Period: Kismet reserves the right to subject Henry to a one-week trial period during which Henry will be assessed based on his performance and suitability for the agreed-upon skill.

2. Result: In the event that Henry does not pass the trial, his concession shall be considered final and binding. Conversely, if Henry passes and chooses to continue with the contract, Kismet is obliged to deliver the agreed-upon teaching.

3. Termination: Henry's satisfaction with the provided teaching shall be the determining factor for the completion of this contract. Until Henry expresses his satisfaction, Kismet shall continue to fulfill her obligations.

"It is not a vacation, but it is not supposed to be. And however easy Kismet is to be around or not," Henry snickered. "I am making true progress for the first time in forever. And that is what matters."

"Oh! Oh, I am the one who is difficult to be around?" exclaimed Kismet, staring at him for a second and then turning to Thanatos. "He is undisciplined, stubborn, and outright unbearably positive. It is sickening," she snarled. "But I am also handling. Thank you very much for your concern." She paused. "And he is also not hopeless. So we have that."

"You can use the positivity," said Henry with a wave of his hand. "Anyone who has to occupy themselves with carving pointless stairs because they have no actual life—or any idea as to how living works—does. And so, I am here."

"It is sickening!" repeated Kismet emphatically. "Utterly! Completely!"

Thanatos looked back and forth between the two. "Oh, yes, this is a match made to thrive. You should take my advice regarding his positivity," he addressed Kismet. "It is inevitable."

"We shall see," she hissed back, and Henry snorted.

"Either way, you . . ." He looked at Kismet again. "What is it exactly that you are planning to teach him, and how long will it take? Do either of you know?"

Henry and Kismet exchanged glances. "Echolocation," said Henry eventually. "Some higher . . . inherently different from any commonly used form of it. A second threshold."

"If it is attainable to a human," amended Kismet. "His senses are stunted, and I am unsure how long it will take to attune him to them in the manner that is necessary, but we will try."

"And if I succeed, I shall surpass you all in the field of perception!"

"Oh, how much I regret saying that."

"Please! I will make it come true. How hard can it be?" He jumped to his feet and began pacing. "The week I spent without my eyesight has already improved my senses remarkably; I shall not give up now!"

"Do not call it "improving" senses," Kismet interjected. "That is not how it works. You can hone them; you can become more attuned to what they tell you, but you can not improve their output."

"Whatever," muttered Henry, sitting back down between her and Thanatos. "But that is the deal. I must stay, and I cannot say for how long," he concluded, eyeing Thanatos, then hesitantly asked: "And . . . what of you?"

"I might go back to the jungle," said the flier without looking at him. "It is a peaceful place to stay."

"But why must you leave again?" exclaimed Henry. "You do not have to leave!"

Thanatos twitched. "I . . . my claim still stands," he said gingerly. "I've no place here."

"That is not true!" exclaimed Henry, turning to Kismet. "It is not true, is it? He may stay, no?"

"He may," she replied. "If he wants to. But we should not force him either. I don't think we can blame him for preferring a nibbler colony over this." She eyed her barren cave through the vision aid bemusedly. "It is not particularly riveting if you have no occupation. You believe you will be in the way, no?" she asked Thanatos. "Although I doubt you will be in the way, I can also not offer you anything where you may be of use . . . Or much entertainment."

Thanatos nodded. "That, I figured."

Henry stared at his flier helplessly, but before he could speak, Kismet beat him to it: "I will not allow your bond to be harmed or threatened. But only you can ever decide what you wish to do. And if you leave, he will be here and waiting for you unscathed. This, I swear."

***

Log 1/Day 11, after lunch

My demise is inevitable. Undoubtedly so. If this is the fate that awaits me every day from now on, it must be. The very act of me penning these words should serve as ample proof.

Nevertheless, given the current situation, I am faced with two choices: I can either scream at the top of my lungs until my eardrums burst or at least put it all down in writing. For practical purposes, I have chosen the latter.

First and foremost, let me make it clear that this is not some sappy diary or anything like that. It's a private log for my thoughts . . . not that I have time for many of those with that hectic schedule. (Yes, I'm squeezing this into my notebook that's already more than two-thirds full. I'm not entirely sure how wise this is, but where else am I supposed to write? On the walls? Well, the joke's on me; those are already covered in Kismet's carvings.)

So, Kismet. She is great in many ways, but she is not what I expected. Did I have expectations for her? I cannot say. But what I can say is that, despite our differences, we have a unique connection that is hard to put into words. We are so alike in some aspects, and yet she oftentimes nothing short of infuriates me. I suspect this feeling is mutual. Still, being here with her could be worse.

But why did Thanatos not stay? I do not understand why he is so insistent. I do not want him to leave. I want him to be here when I achieve this impossible. It may be boring and whatnot, but we would be together. Is that not worth it? Is he seeking an excuse to be away from

But what more can I say besides that I dislike his leaving? And I have said that. And he is leaving anyway. I cannot argue with his reasoning. Like last time when he nearly departed the nibbler colony without me. But last time, we were not bonds. Why is it that I am hesitant to bring that up anymore? Has he dismissed it as irrelevant too many times?

I cannot admit to having eavesdropped either. I can barely remember what he said to Hamnet anymore, and on one hand, I am distressed by this, as it robs me of the option to confront him with it. On the other hand, I do not want to remember. I want to be done with this threshold and go back to the way things were before. Once I have regained my strength, he will have no grounds upon which to be so concerned all the time. Then we can be like before, no?

Thanatos departed yesterday. He did not even stay overnight. But prior to his departure, Kismet finally revealed the specifics of the theory and the threshold that I am to cross. This is the actual reason for my writing; I doubt she will repeat any of it, so I am keeping notes (who would have ever thought . . .) to ensure that I don't forget anything. Which brings us back to why I initially said that my demise is inevitable.

Apparently, this threshold allows for the use of echolocation during battle because my suspicion was right—it eliminates the need to create sound to envision one's surroundings. This means no more finger-snapping!

Kismet claims that echolocation works with any sound, as long as it's at the right frequency. She called it "the ability to see sounds" . . . I am not quite certain whether I understand this. Is not all echolocation the ability to see sounds? How is this different? However, that is not my concern. My concern is that mastering this skill requires a lot of practice in listening and directional hearing. Differentiating sounds and enhancing—pardon, OPTIMIZING my hearing.

It is exactly the kind of rubbish that I could not stand during the trial . . . and now it is no longer new and exciting, and there will be more of it. For an indefinite time. Because "echolocation stands and falls with hearing, and humans are utterly useless at it" (—Kismet).

As I was saying, my demise is inevitable.

If, against all odds, I am able to evade my demise, I may indeed have found a permanent and powerful solution to my feelings of weakness, though (or should I be crediting Ripred for this? I have mixed feelings about that.) Because if I do accomplish this, I may never feel disoriented or helpless again.

If, as a human, I can even "optimize my stunted senses to perceive on the required level" (—also Kismet).

Hold on, I am spewing utter garbage. Since when am I so reluctant to believe that I can master any challenge or skill? Is Kismet's cynicism getting to me? I shall not be defeated by something as pathetic as concentration and hearing exercises. You hear? I shall not concede. Not now and not ever. I have worked so hard to be where I am now, and I shall not concede. Not if it becomes my breaking point.

Oh, Kismet is calling for some exercise. Fret not, for I shall return. If I live.

***

"So, which one is it?"

Startled, Henry's head snapped up from its slumped position against the wall. He discreetly adjusted the blindfold, relieved that Kismet couldn't discern that he had briefly closed his eye. What was it that she had asked for again?

"Uh . . . that one?"

A sudden, loud crash made him jump. "You didn't actually hear what I asked, did you?"

Henry groaned, slipping the blindfold up. "Might I not go run the obstacle course instead? I have a great idea for how to expand it. Did I ever tell you—"

"Pup, the obstacle course is not the reason you are here."

Henry sighed. "The rocks all sound alike," he exclaimed. "I understand the concept of differentiating materials and sizes of objects by their noises, but this is utterly draining. I cannot focus for so long."

"How will you ever make progress if you cannot focus?" snarled Kismet. "If you find even an exercise like this draining, however will you fine-tune your hearing to the required level? Even I had to put in effort to maximize the potential of mine before I could use foreign sounds for echolocation."

"I am not you!" exclaimed Henry, springing to his feet. "I cannot focus the way that you can. And it all sounds the same!" They glared at each other for an eternal moment. "I may focus on something else," said Henry eventually.

"On something that is not your obstacle course?"

All he did was glare at her one last time, then pivot and storm toward the hot spring with the water supply. He had steamed a batch of beetles this morning, and even though they were not particularly fulfilling, he hoped they would replenish some of his energy. It was barely midday, and he already had a headache from all the unrewarding focus.

"I was not done with you!" Kismet yelled after him, but Henry paid her no mind. It wasn't that he didn't try his hardest; he thought defiantly. He could focus. He could focus on hitting fifteen blood balls, on running an obstacle course from memory, or even on tracking movement with his ears . . . But the lack of stimulation was not how he obtained his focus. Why could she not understand that?

By the time Henry had swiped all his steamed beetles into a cloth, Kismet had caught up to him. "I will not allow you to walk away like that," she said.

"Whatever." He stuffed one beetle into his mouth without looking at her.

To his surprise, Kismet laughed. "That is neither a coherent nor rational reply," she said. "But I suppose my statement was not coherent or rational either."

With a beetle between his teeth, Henry finally turned and found her crouched by the entrance. "I understand that this is tedious and that you feel understimulated," she said. "But to obtain this skill, you cannot get around engaging in activities that you might not find stimulating."

"But it is not some; it is all of them!" exclaimed Henry, crossing his arms. "Since the conclusion of my trial, you have not had me engage in anything even remotely interesting. It has all been dull, and it has been giving me headaches. Can we not mix it up?" he pleaded, waving his hands in the air. "Just a little?"

Kismet silently stared at him for a moment, then sat on her haunches, sighing. "And what if I tell you that nothing about learning echolocation is interesting in your sense?" she asked. "Or—when you passed the first threshold, have you done anything exciting then?"

Henry didn't bother looking up. Of course, it hadn't been exciting. But it had only been an hour a day, not—

"Improving echolocation involves maximizing sensory capabilities, achieving harmony with the physical environment, and ultimately combining the two by discovering that one may be used to comprehend and evaluate the other. It is a highly intricate mental process that requires a considerable amount of self-discipline and intuitive aptitude. And so, engaging in an obstacle course is decidedly unproductive."

When he took in the truth of her words, the wave of self-doubt he had so far been keeping at bay behind a wall of frustration finally crashed down upon Henry.

"Should you have assumed that passing the trial was sufficient evidence of your capabilities, you are sorely mistaken." Each of Kismet's words hit like a fresh blow to the face. "I have told you many times that I cannot yet tell if this is even—"

"I understand, alright?!" Henry cut her off, meeting her eye at last. "I understand that I am utterly terrible at this. It's redundant to keep emphasizing it. I understand," he yelled. With a determined effort, Henry blinked away the rising tears.

Kismet stared his way, visibly taken aback. "I did not say that."

"But you did! Over and over!" Henry sprung up, and his foot hit the rim of the hot spring. The beetles upon his cloth scattered on the ground. "Shit!" he screamed, staggering forward and into the nearest wall. He heaved, unable to recall when he had last felt so disheartened. He couldn't feel disheartened, Henry thought, clinging to the wall. He never felt disheartened.

He had his challenge, did he not? Had he not challenged himself to achieve this? Had he not challenged Ripred himself? But then, for the first time, it did not work. None of the thoughts that had inspired him to beat the odds last time had any spirit left to give him. "You may be right," he said numbly. "You may be. I may not be cut out for this after all." The words burned like venom on his tongue. "Perhaps I shouldn't have come here."

"Oh, pup, you stop that." Henry flinched when she flicked his cheek with the tip of her tail. "You have infinite hope, no?"

"Perhaps not so infinite."

Kismet said nothing for a while. "You must cease jumping to rash conclusions," she mumbled eventually. "We cannot yet tell whether you are cut out for this, and there is only one way to find out. If you give up now, you may never know. Imagine this—you are cut out for it, but you never learn it because you quit prematurely. Is that not worse than enduring this now?"

"I cannot!" Henry's head shot up. "I cannot . . . fail."

"You cannot," she said with conviction. "And I cannot afford to allow you to forget that. Under paragraph three, our contract terminates with your own satisfaction. Are you satisfied yet?"

"No, but—"

"There is no but," snarled Kismet. "This clause may be interpreted in a manner that allows me to enforce your staying until you are satisfied."

"But that was not what I meant. You cannot—"

"Try and stop me." She laughed, lifting him off the wall. "Our contract ends with your satisfaction, not a day sooner. So struggle all you want; I shall not let all the effort I've poured into you go to waste."

Henry said nothing anymore. He sat back down and glared at her, hoping with all his might that she couldn't see how grateful he was deep down for her reassurance.

***

Henry scowled at the hourglass he had taken from Kismet, feeling a pang of disappointment. He could do better than a full minute. He gritted his teeth and picked up the hourglass again, then spun it around.

In the same heartbeat, he pulled down his blindfold and vaulted forward. One, two steps, and then he launched himself over the boulder that he had tripped on so many times yet never removed, out of sheer spite.

He counted one, two, three, four, then he turned right. One, two, tight space. He twisted his body to slip through and emerged on the other side moments later. One, two, three—he confidently jumped onto the rock in front of him and then leaped again to land on the next one. With a smaller leap for the third rock, he almost lost his balance, as it was the narrowest of them all. But he stretched his arms forward and took a jump for the last rock.

Barely touching it with his foot, he propelled himself upward and stretched his hands out. He caught the rim of the tunnel ahead and pulled up. One, two, three, four, five—he crawled, then reached ahead, feeling the edge of the tight shaft, and pulled himself out.

He leaped to the floor and sprinted forward. Ten steps and not a single more. He veered right and counted again. One, two . . . the path grew narrower and narrower, and Henry stretched his arms sideways to keep his balance on the edge that measured no more than a few inches. Six steps, then a flying leap and a landing. There it was, the final stretch.

Henry propelled himself forward, angling to the right and following the subtle curve of the trail. He felt the solid presence of stone beneath his feet and picked up speed. Seven steps, so he needed four more until—

"So it was you who took my hourglass."

Henry struggled against Kismet's tail around his waist. "No fair!" he cried. "I have not checked my time—"

"The sand is nearly all through," she snarled. "If you intended to conclude before it had run out, you made it. Barely."

"Well, at least that." Henry hung in her grip and fell forward when she released him.

"Am I growing senile, or when have I authorized you to run the obstacle course, by the way?"

"I do not need your permission." Henry raised his blindfold to glare at her. "It helps me to unwind. Otherwise, all your rock noises would drive me insane."

"Speaking of . . ."

"No, but I have barely run two laps!"

But Kismet relentlessly dragged Henry toward the cliff. "This is enough playing around, pup. We've got a long day ahead of us. And it shall not be very physical, I'm afraid."

***

Log 2/Day 28, before bedtime

Did I not tell myself to write every day? Well, it has been three weeks since I did it last. But it's not like anyone is monitoring me. I've been so occupied that I haven't had the opportunity to write, think, or even catch my breath.

Despite not engaging in any physically demanding activities, I feel more exhausted than ever before. It is as though there's a permanent haze enveloping my mind. The mornings offer some respite, but once training commences, it becomes unbearable. I'm weary of being immobile. Maintaining focus is arduous. Listening, focusing, sitting still, sitting still. SITTING STILL. I'm tired of sitting still.

Kismet complains about my inability to concentrate. Well, no wonder! How am I to focus with a persistent haze clouding my mind? Right now, I would give anything for a day solely dedicated to physical exertion. Whether it's exercising, running, or simply moving in any manner, like hauling rocks up some ridiculous cliff.

Every time I lay down to sleep, I must remind myself why I'm here. The island and the sight of the sword propped against the cave entrance haunt my thoughts. On some days, I long to be back there, but then I despise myself for harboring such desires. The sensation of wielding a sword, the swiftness of its swing, the stark impacts—it all feels so foreign now.

I came here to regain my fighting skills, but will I ever truly experience battle again, or will the sword that I once took so much pride in remain a useless piece of steel? Judging by how things are going, I fear the latter.

Yesterday, Thanatos came to visit. While this should have brought me joy, I found myself more elated by the break in my tedious routine. I can't say I understand why he felt the need to visit at all, given that he won't be staying and his "check-in" seems to serve no purpose.

He explained that he stays at the colony most of the time, but he has begun to venture out to other places, such as the land near the citadel. He even mentioned a tunnel that leads below the waterway. Is there even anything below the waterway? He says that he shall venture in and find out, and so I eagerly await his return and his news. He must come back soon. He must not forget about me.

My mind sometimes wanders to a place where he vanishes forever, taking flight and never making a comeback. It's a sickening sensation, like a heavy boulder compressing my chest. All I long for is for things to go back to how they were before. To abandon this foolish threshold and depart with Thanatos, going back to how it was before.

It is only when I make myself aware of the futility of this notion that the haze truly takes over.

***

Log -/Day 99999

Please, someone get me out of here . . .

***

Log 4/Day 31, early morning

I may have just come alarmingly close to throwing this notebook into the boiling hot spring, but then I realized there are other important things in here besides my log entries. But before I act on my impulse to rip out the pages despite the sketch on the back of the first entry . . . listen to this: I found it.

I hadn't even been searching for it. Had merely searched for the book that Kismet had sent me to retrieve last night. And lo and behold, there it was—the book, as expected, nestled in the cave with a myriad of carvings in the mountain of books (where else would it be?) But there was also . . . No, there is no time. I must attempt something. I haven't felt this exhilarated in ages, you know?

Hold on a second . . . to whom am I speaking?

***

The hush was absolute, a rare occurrence these days, ever since . . . It must have been a full month now, a month marked by—

Her ears perked up when the unexpected noise reached her, seemingly originating from a distant location high above. Slowly, she opened her eye and raised her head, sensing that something extraordinary was occurring—something she hadn't anticipated. Not anymore.

The gnawer quietly abandoned her book and crept up the stairs to investigate, poking her head out into the cavern with trepidation. It was only after a moment's pause that she realized that the noise was not originating from within but from without.

Drawn by the sound, she made her way toward the cliff and reached the bottom in mere seconds. Stealthily, she advanced and traced the sound through a narrow tunnel that spiraled upward until it led to a vast cave, three times larger than her own dwelling. There, she halted. With a deft movement, she released the pocket on her broad leather belt and inserted her claw into the loop of the vision aid.

Rooted to the spot at the entrance of the tunnel, she surveyed the immense cavern below. It extended ahead for about one hundred feet, with a steaming creek running five feet beneath the tunnel's opening. However, it was not the water that held her transfixed.

"Concede!"

Her ears twitched, and her claw curled tighter around the loop of the vision aid.

"I—shall—not—concede!" With every word out of his mouth, Henry delivered another deliberate blow to the towering stone pillar that rose in the middle of the cavern. It was narrow and uneven, measuring some thirty feet in height.

But . . . he was not really delivering blows, for there were no sounds. She stared, awestruck. She understood that his sword always stopped just shy of the rock and that he was executing a pre-planned sequence of moves: upward to the right, downward to the left, a backhand swing upward to the left, a circular motion ending with a downward swing to the right, and a step around with a middle upward thrust. Finally, he repeated the same pattern on the other side. And then he began again.

The gnawer perched at the entrance of the tunnel and watched attentively for several minutes. Without warning, a loud crash erupted when Henry's blade incidentally collided with the stone, causing her to startle. She could only maintain her balance by digging her claws into the stone audibly.

Henry below almost dropped his sword and jumped around in her direction, frantically pulling at his blindfold. "K-Kismet?!" They stared at each other for a few heartbeats. "I . . . I mean to say, I—"

"You have no need to explain." She lowered the vision aid, making an effort to control her excitement about the epiphany that had overcome her as she had observed him. "Take care to be back on time for breakfast in an hour," she said and pivoted, vaulting back into the tunnel from which she had come.

Once she was certain that Henry could no longer see her, she halted and crouched down, stealing a glance back. Henry remained motionless, his sword dangling loosely by his side and his face showing an array of hard-to-determine emotions. He must have stood there for half a minute before he lifted the blade back up and tugged the blindfold in place.

In an instant, the gnawer darted out of the tunnel's entrance. She agilely leaped down, avoided the flowing creek, and landed soundlessly, completely unnoticed by Henry, who was fully focused on his exercise routine. After briefly scanning the vicinity for a fitting loose stone, she stealthily approached it and gave it a precise, calculated push.

Henry did not see it. After all, how could he have seen anything with the blindfold on? Nevertheless, when a faint scraping sound caught his peripheral senses, his brain automatically processed its meaning. Without conscious thought, his legs propelled him swiftly over the tumbling rock, landing him with only a slight stumble on the uneven ground.

But his brain was still in attack mode. And so, when he heard another scraping noise, his head jerked up, and his senses reacted in a way that they had never done. This sound . . . he flashed back to his ten-still-minute exercise and charged forward with his sword raised. Because he knew this to be the sound of claws on stone.

But the blade was effortlessly flung from his hands, and Henry screamed. He stumbled forward, only to be caught by a tail that wound around his waist. In a frenzy, he yanked at the blindfold and gazed into Kismet's perplexed face.

An indeterminable moment of stillness went by before she released him and drew back, slowly raising her vision aid. The look she gave him left Henry feeling both unsettled and exhilarated. "Well," she said. "Look at you."

"Certainly." His teeth clenched, and he rubbed his aching wrist. "I'm just wasting time here and should go back to training or whatnot."

"My point was about your impressive dodge of the boulder and your precise attack on me . . . sightlessly."

"That—" Henry tugged at his blindfold. "Strikes me as an accident." What else could this unusual lapse in perception even have been?

"There are no accidents," replied Kismet. "There are only lessons. And the lesson is—"

"—whatever you end up learning, yes." Henry eyed his sword, which still lay behind Kismet.

"It is." Kismet stared at him for a moment longer, then she sat on her haunches. "And the lesson that I just learned is that you are not the only one requiring a change in perspective. Perhaps it is in order for me to apologize."

Henry stared at her, his mouth agape. At the proud, stubborn Kismet . . . looking rueful.

Before he could say anything, she continued: "See, for as novel and uncomfortable as all of this is for you . . . understand that I have faced my own difficulties in trying to devise a way to teach this concept that I had somehow mastered a long time ago to someone else. My entire focus was on attempting to push you onto the same path I had followed in the past, but I have come to realize that this is not the correct method." She shifted, raising her gaze at him. "You had even told me, and yet I had been too narrow-minded to take your words seriously: you are not me."

"So, you mean—"

"I meant that I required a change in perspective," she cut him off. "And so, the lesson I learned today is that I cannot teach you the way I taught myself." With a flick of her tail, she sent his sword hurling upward before deftly snatching it out of the air. "I now see that the way to get through to you . . . is with this."

"With my sword?"

"Of course, your path to physical mastery need not involve a detour through the mental," she thought aloud without paying his question any mind. "On the contrary, it may be the other way around in your case." She snapped her head back in his direction and presented him with his sword. "Considering that your demonstration just now was beyond anything I had seen from you previously, I will embrace this change in perspective, and I encourage you to do likewise."

Henry's gaze lingered on the sword for a moment before he boldly seized the hilt. One significant look passed between him and Kismet before he swiftly pulled his blindfold back over his eye.

***

Log 5/Day 31, before bedtime

This is beyond belief! I still can't comprehend how this day unfolded. I had almost abandoned all hope, but now things are about to take a stunning turn. Why? Because I'm much more proficient at this than I initially realized (or Kismet, for that matter).

After I had discovered my sword this morning and snuck out to see if I could still swing it, at least, Kismet caught me in the act. However, her reaction was unexpected. Instead of being upset, she was impressed. It was the first time since I passed the trial.

I struggle with staying focused while sitting still, but when I combine the blind hearing exercise with physical action, it feels almost natural. It's a peculiar sensation, as if my instincts take over and react to sensory input faster than my brain can process it. Although I enjoy this feeling, it also makes me uneasy because I feel like I'm not entirely in control. Kismet assures me that this feeling will dissipate over time.

After she had caught me, we proceeded to spar for what felt like hours. I had no idea blind fighting could be so enjoyable! Naturally, we agreed upon specific auditory indicators for each attack, and from then on, it simply became a matter of identifying the sound, understanding its meaning, and reacting appropriately. I was surprised at how quickly I became proficient at it. In fact, Kismet gradually reduced the amount of noise she made later on, forcing me to listen more attentively. But suddenly, being compelled to listen was no longer daunting; it was fun.

Finally, she took me back to the orange lake for lunch. I hadn't had the chance to go there in over a week; if my memory serves me right, our last visit was on day 25 (five plus one marks ago on my tally). On that occasion, we also engaged in combat, but this time in the lake's shallow water and with fewer direct indications, instead utilizing the mere noise of the water.

Back at her cave, she proceeded to chase me through the entire obstacle course, excluding only the narrow part. The combination of different terrains made it more difficult to evade and strike, but the sheer enjoyment of figuring it all out in the moment far surpassed the tedium of sitting still and trying to understand it without active application.

This actually brought to mind my training to defeat the blood balls. Even though this is much grander in scale and complexity, there is a similar blend of physical practice and theoretical knowledge.

Fine, she certainly didn't hold back when it came to criticizing my actual combat skills. Apparently, my footwork is "resembling the prancing steps of a dancer," I'm "swinging the sword like a club," and my overall balance and stability are severely lacking. It seems we have a lot of work on that cut out for us in the future. But honestly, I don't mind that prospect. On the contrary. I came here to be a better warrior . . . And now I will be.

It hadn't crossed my mind, but apparently she wasn't really adept at this whole "teaching" thing either. Perhaps it shouldn't have been a shock, considering she's not actually a teacher and I sort of just barged into her life, insisting on being taught. And so she needed a change in perspective . . . and maybe I too. Hadn't I told myself I would no longer be surprised by those?

Either way, I have not set aside my sword even once today, and the immense elation I experienced as a result is indescribable. But the most incredible part is that all of Kismet's preachings from the last month—everything I was expected to have understood long ago—suddenly became crystal clear. As if it had been dormant in the depths of my mind, patiently awaiting activation. To fall into place.

And I have no words to describe how it feels when it then does.