The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden haze across the clearing when Joshua woke again. His body felt like it had been pulled apart and poorly reassembled. Muscles he didn't know he had throbbed with a dull ache, and his mouth was dry, tongue thick and sandpapered. For a moment, he lay there, not moving, wondering if it would be smarter to just pretend he'd died. Maybe they'd build him a small grave. A modest ceremony. Say a few kind words.
No such luck.
A wooden canteen thunked against his chest. He blinked up and saw Maydee standing over him, her expression unreadable.
"Drink."
He obeyed, greedily gulping down the cool water. It didn't fix anything, but at least his vision sharpened. His brain stopped pulsing like a second heartbeat.
"You should get up," Maydee said, stepping back. "Midday's not far off."
Joshua groaned. "Is it going to be more logs?"
She tilted her head. "Worse."
Somehow, that didn't surprise him.
He sat up slowly, his arms trembling as they held his weight. His clothes clung to him—still damp with sweat from the morning's punishment. Dirt streaked his skin, and he was fairly certain something had crawled into his boot while he slept. But he stood anyway, albeit unsteadily.
The same group of warriors had returned to the clearing, though this time, they stood in a loose semicircle around what looked like a set of low obstacles made from tree stumps, ropes, and jagged stones. One held a spear, tapping the butt of it against the ground idly.
Amador stood at the center again, arms crossed, impassive as ever.
"You survived the first half," he said.
Joshua didn't respond. He wasn't sure what response was appropriate.
"Now we see if you can learn."
Maydee stepped forward, now holding two short wooden staves—simple weapons, unadorned, but worn smooth from frequent use. She tossed one to Joshua. He fumbled the catch and nearly dropped it. Some of the warriors laughed under their breath.
"Basic strikes," she said. "Follow my lead."
And just like that, she launched into a routine.
Strike left. Strike right. Overhead. Downward. Side sweep.
Joshua followed, copying her motions as best he could. The staff felt unwieldy in his hands at first, but the longer he moved, the more he began to find a rhythm—clumsy, unrefined, but serviceable.
Maydee said nothing as she circled him, occasionally reaching out to adjust the angle of his grip or the width of his stance. She didn't offer praise, but she didn't criticize either. Joshua took that as a win.
The drills continued until his arms ached worse than his legs had. He could barely hold the staff upright when Maydee finally called a stop.
Amador gave a single nod.
"Better than I expected."
Joshua didn't bother hiding his exhaustion. He leaned on the staff like a crutch, breathing heavily.
"Can I… die now?" he asked.
"No," Amador said. "You eat. Then you run again."
Joshua blinked. "Run again?"
Maydee looked amused. "Endurance is half the fight."
That evening, as the sun dipped below the treeline, Joshua dragged himself to the communal hall. His legs barely functioned, and his back ached from where he'd fallen during his final lap. Still, he was upright. Barely.
Dinner was more of the same—roasted meat, strange vegetables, and those faintly glowing mushrooms that he'd stopped questioning. The food was good. Better than it had any right to be, considering the day he'd had.
He sat alone this time, not because the others avoided him, but because they didn't seem to notice him at all. Warriors joked and traded stories around the long tables, laughter rising in bursts, but none included him. Not yet.
Maydee eventually slid onto the bench across from him, her plate already half empty.
"You didn't quit," she said between bites.
"I thought about it."
"But you didn't."
"No."
She nodded, then went back to eating.
It wasn't praise exactly, but it felt like something. Maybe the start of something.
—
The next few days followed the same pattern.
Wake before dawn. Run. Collapse. Eat. Drill. Run again. Collapse harder.
Joshua's body slowly adapted. His muscles began to remember the work. His breath came easier, even if his limbs still shook at the end of each session.
Maydee remained his guide—stern but fair. She said little beyond instruction, but when he landed his first clean disarm during a sparring session, she gave him a small nod of approval.
It felt better than any compliment he could remember.
The other warriors continued to watch him with curiosity, but their expressions shifted gradually from amusement to consideration. Some even began to greet him in passing, short nods or grunted acknowledgments. He wasn't one of them, not yet—but he wasn't a joke anymore either.
By the fifth day, Joshua no longer collapsed after the run. He didn't walk straight, but he remained standing.
That earned a proper nod from Amador.
"Your legs no longer shake like a leaf."
Joshua managed a half-smile. "Thanks, I think."
Amador grunted, then tossed him a new staff—this one heavier, the wood denser. Joshua caught it with both hands and barely stopped it from slamming into his thigh.
"Time to learn pain," Amador said.
Maydee smiled faintly. "Sparring."
"What was the running and falling and dying part, then?" Joshua asked.
"Warm-up."
He wasn't entirely sure they were joking.
The sparring that followed was unlike any training he remembered—if he even remembered training at all. Maydee was fast and efficient, striking with the precision of someone who'd done this all her life. She didn't hold back. Every opening he gave, she punished. Every mistake, she corrected with a firm smack from her staff.
By the end, Joshua's arms were covered in fresh bruises.
But he stayed on his feet.
"That's enough," Maydee said finally.
Joshua leaned on his staff, gasping for air. "You hit harder than anyone I've ever met."
"You've met very few people."
He laughed, short and breathless. "Probably true."
Maydee hesitated, then added, "You're improving."
Joshua blinked. "That was… almost kind."
"Don't get used to it."
But she didn't walk away.
Instead, she stood beside him as the sun set behind the trees, casting long shadows across the training grounds. The air smelled of sweat, wood, and faintly of blood. But it wasn't unpleasant.
For the first time since waking in this strange world, Joshua didn't feel entirely lost.
Tired, battered, and sore—but not lost.
That night, as he lay on his wooden cot, Joshua stared at the ceiling and let his thoughts drift.