The doors of the Temple of Life creaked shut behind them, their heavy groan swallowed by the vibrant hum of the bustling capital. The city streets were alive, teeming with beast-people of all shapes and sizes going about their daily lives. The sun stood high in the sky, its bright, golden rays casting sharp shadows that danced across the stone buildings and illuminated the marketplace in a brilliant glow. Despite the lively atmosphere, a tense silence lingered between Jack and Sumit.
Jack was the first to break it. "Well, kid," he said, clapping Sumit on the back, "congratulations! You've made it past the mid-level test. That's no small feat." His wolfish grin widened. "You've just skipped the messy selection round. Straight to the competition! We should celebrate. A new pub just opened—it's supposed to have the best ale in town."
Jack's enthusiasm was infectious, his words flowing with an energy that could light up the dullest rooms. But when he turned to check Sumit's reaction, he found the younger man staring at his hand. Sumit's brows were furrowed, and his focus elsewhere. Thoughts churned in his mind, grappling with the intricacies of his new technique, leaving Jack momentarily puzzled.
"Hey." Jack waved a hand in front of Sumit's face. "Are you listening?"
Sumit blinked, snapping out of his trance. "Huh? Sorry, I didn't hear you."
Jack tilted his head, studying him. "What's wrong? You look like you've got a lot on your mind"
"It's nothing," Sumit said quickly, shaking his head. "I just… want to train."
Jack sighed dramatically, throwing his arms in the air. "So that's how it is, huh? You're just like Leo—always brooding, always training. Fine. Follow me."
Jack strode off without waiting for a response, his tail swishing lazily behind him. Sumit followed in silence; his thoughts still clouded by the memory of his aura shaping. The gauntlet made of aura had felt so powerful on his hand, but he wanted to try it now. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it.
They passed through the heart of the city, where vendors shouted over one another, hawking wares from glistening fruits to strange clothes. The air was thick with the aroma of roasted meats, mingling with the occasional scent of wet fur from the beast people bustling around them.
The streets became narrower as they headed west, the ornate facades of the central district giving way to the utilitarian architecture of the barracks. Soldiers in polished armor sparred in open courtyards, their movements precise and purposeful. As they passed, many stopped to salute Jack, addressing him as "Captain." Each time, Jack's ears twitched, and his face contorted into an expression of barely concealed annoyance.
Sumit couldn't help but chuckle. "You really hate that title, don't you?"
"'Hate' doesn't even begin to cover it," Jack muttered, glaring at the next soldier who saluted him. "I've been trying to dump this job on Leo for days, but the bastard refuses to take it. Says he's not ready or some nonsense about responsibility. So here I am, stuck with the title and all the headaches that come with it."
Sumit raised an eyebrow. "Headaches like what?"
"Like you," Jack shot back with a grin. "But don't worry, I've got a plan to make you someone else's problem soon enough."
They arrived at a large training field at the western edge of the city, where rows of soldiers practiced drills under the watchful eyes of their instructors. Jack led Sumit to a small building tucked away at the far end of the field. Inside, the air was cool and still, a stark contrast to the noise and heat outside.
"This is my personal training room," Jack said, leaning against the doorframe. "No one will bother you here. Use it as much as you want."
Sumit hesitated. "Why are you doing this for me?"
Jack smirked. "Simple. There aren't many mid-level users around, and if you stick around, you might end up as a soldier under Leo's command. I'm just giving you a taste of the perks."
Sumit's lips quirked into a wry smile. "So this is just recruitment?"
"Call it what you want," Jack said with a shrug. "But don't forget—training's important, but so is living a little. It's a shame I won't get to share a drink with you tonight." He turned to leave, waving over his shoulder. "Don't overwork yourself, kid."
Sumit stood in the center of the dimly lit space; his breathing steady but his mind racing. The room itself was not big but it was not small either. The faint scent of sweat and old wood hung in the air, a testament to the countless hours of toil spent here.
Sumit extended his hand, summoning his aura. The golden energy flickered to life, wrapping around his fingers like liquid light. It felt warm and alive, a force both familiar and foreign. He closed his eyes and pictured the gauntlets he had formed in the temple. Slowly, the glow solidified, encasing his hands in a crude, golden gauntlet.
It wasn't enough.
The next few hours were a haze of trial and error. He tried to form blades, claws, shields—anything beyond the basic gauntlets—but the shapes refused to hold. Each failure chipped away at his confidence, but he refused to stop. After a few hours, Sumit stopped his training for the day as he was hungry and tired when he came out of the room the sun had already gone down. He somehow walks back to the bear's cave and sleeps right after eating.
That night, the dream came as it always did. Sumit found himself standing in the familiar surroundings. Waiting for him, as always, was the Cat-man.
"You look tired," the Cat-man said, his tail swishing lazily. "Rough day?"
Sumit sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I can't get it right. I can barely form anything with my aura, let alone control it the way I need to."
The Cat-man tilted his head, his piercing eyes narrowing. "Control isn't the issue. You're trying to force it into shapes you don't truly understand. Start simple."
"Simple? I've been trying simple," Sumit snapped, frustration bleeding into his tone.
The Cat-man's whiskers twitched with amusement. "Have you? Or are you trying to leap before you've learned to crawl?" He crouched low, his movements fluid and deliberate. "Your aura is an extension of you. To shape it, you need clarity, not force. Picture something familiar, tell me how you were able to make the gauntlet?"
Sumit hesitated, the word familiar echoing in his mind. His thoughts drifted to the gauntlets—their weight, their texture, the way they seemed to meld seamlessly with him as if they were an extension of his very being. Slowly, he nodded, his voice tinged with both certainty and nostalgia. "I've seen them before," he said, his gaze distant. "My father had a pair of gauntlets... He used to let me play with them when I was a kid."
"Good," the Cat-man said, sensing his shift in focus. "Imagine familiar things or improve things you can make"
The following days were a blur of grueling repetition. Sumit woke at dawn, ate a simple meal of fruits left the bear's cave, and spent the rest of the day pushing himself to the limit and returning to the bear's cave only to eat and sleep. Seeing this bears of the inn start calling him crazy behind his back.
As the days passed, Sumit refined his gauntlets, perfecting their design until they felt as natural as his own hands. Then he moved on, experimenting with other shapes. He imagined claws, like the ones Jack had used in the forest. His first attempts were pitiful—short, stubby protrusions that shattered at the slightest pressure. But he learned from each failure, adjusting his focus, and visualizing the shape in greater detail. By the fifth day, he could create claws sharp enough to cut through the training dummies.
He moved on to the other shapes that were familiar to him, this, too, was a struggle. The aura resisted his attempts to shape it out, collapsing inward whenever he lost focus. It was only on the seventh day, after countless tries, that he succeeded in forming a new shape.
His body adapted to the constant strain. At first, the effort of summoning and shaping his aura left him drained, his limbs heavy and his mind foggy. But as the days passed, his stamina grew. The golden glow of his aura burned brighter and lasted longer, responding to his will with increasing ease.
Each night, the Cat-man guided him, offering cryptic advice that seemed infuriatingly obvious in hindsight.
"Why do you keep trying to copy others?" he asked one night, lounging on a rock that floated in the dreamscape. "Your strength lies in what you create, not in mimicking what you've seen."
The words struck a chord. Sumit realized he had been trying to replicate Jack's claws and other's attacks like the tiger-monkey's attack instead of developing his techniques. From that moment on, his training took on a new focus. He experimented with shapes that felt natural to him—spikes, tendrils, even simple spheres. He discovered that the more personal the shape, the easier it was to form.
On the thirteenth day, Sumit stood in the center of the training room, surrounded by the remnants of his efforts—shattered dummies, gouged floors, and scorch marks where his aura had flared too brightly.
A grin spread across his face. He had done it.
For the first time in days, Sumit stepped outside the training room while the sun was still high in the sky. He inhaled deeply, the cool evening air filling his lungs. Despite the aches in his muscles and the exhaustion weighing on his body, he felt lighter than he had in weeks.
On the fourteenth day, he allowed himself a rare break. He wandered through the capital, soaking in its beauty. The streets were alive with color and sound—beast-people of every kind, their unique features blending into a vibrant tapestry. He marveled at the exotic foods, the ornate architecture, and the sheer energy of the city.
The fifteenth day arrived in a whirlwind of anticipation. The city buzzed with excitement as the tournament began.