Argolaith awoke in the forest, the morning light streaming through the canopy above. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the earthy scent of damp leaves and the distant sound of a bubbling brook. He stretched, feeling the satisfying ache of muscles worked to their limits. Yet as he moved, he became acutely aware of his disheveled state—his long black hair fell unkempt over his shoulders, and his tunic was little more than a collection of tattered scraps hanging loosely from his frame.
Brushing off dirt and leaves, Argolaith stood and began the trek back to his small house on the edge of the forest. His boots crunched against the underbrush as he walked, and the sunlight filtering through the trees cast fleeting patterns across his path. His training had consumed him lately, leaving little time to attend to anything else, and it showed in his appearance. But today, he resolved, he would take a moment to prepare himself properly before returning to the grueling regimen that had become his life.
When Argolaith reached his home—a modest cabin built from sturdy oak—he stepped inside and made his way to the small mirror hanging on the wall. As he gazed into the glass, he was momentarily taken aback. The reflection staring back at him seemed almost unrecognizable.
His once shoulder-length black hair now cascaded down to his lower back, unruly but striking. The dark strands shimmered faintly when they caught the light, like the surface of an obsidian blade under the sun. He ran his fingers through it, marveling at its texture—soft yet strong, much like the rest of him.
He straightened and took in the rest of his reflection. At fifteen, he had grown taller than he had expected, standing just shy of six feet. His broad shoulders and muscular frame filled the mirror, evidence of countless hours spent training in the forest. His skin, though pale, held a healthy vitality to it, as if it were sculpted from marble by a master craftsman. It was a pale that radiated strength rather than frailty.
But it was his eyes that drew his attention most. They were a deep, piercing blue, like the heart of the ocean, but they held an undertone of light green that gave them an almost ethereal quality. They seemed to glow faintly, as though reflecting an inner fire that could not be extinguished.
Argolaith leaned closer to the mirror, studying himself. His transformation was undeniable. The boy who had once been unsure of his place in the world was gone. In his place stood someone who bore the visage of a warrior—or perhaps even something more, something divine.
He stepped back and exhaled, letting the weight of his self-realization settle. Training has done more for me than I ever imagined, he thought. But this was no time for vanity. His reflection might have revealed his progress, but it was also a reminder of the work that still lay ahead.
Determined to make himself presentable, Argolaith set about tending to his appearance. He found a small blade he used for trimming and began cutting away the uneven ends of his hair. With each stroke of the blade, he felt a strange sense of renewal, as though shedding the remnants of his old self. Once his hair was neat, he tied it back with a strip of leather, keeping it out of his face.
Next, he changed into a clean tunic, one he had saved for moments like these when he needed to feel focused and prepared. The fabric fit snugly over his muscular frame, a testament to how much he had grown in recent years. Finally, he splashed cold water from a nearby basin onto his face, the chill invigorating him and sharpening his senses.
Feeling refreshed, Argolaith stepped outside and took a deep breath. The forest was alive with the sounds of birdsong and the rustling of leaves, a reminder of the world he was working to protect and understand. He stretched his arms, feeling the strength in his limbs, and resolved to use the day wisely.
As he walked back toward his training spot, he allowed his mind to wander. The changes in his body were not simply the result of his training; they were a reflection of his purpose. Every swing of his sword, every rock lifted, every hour spent pushing himself beyond his limits had shaped him into the person he was now. But more than that, they had given him a sense of clarity.
He thought about his trees—the mysterious goal that drove him forward. Though he did not yet fully understand their significance, he knew they were tied to his destiny. But he could not afford to falter. The world was vast and filled with challenges he could barely comprehend, and he needed to be ready for all of them.
Reaching his clearing, Argolaith wasted no time. He unsheathed his sword, the blade glinting in the sunlight, and began his drills. His movements were fluid and precise, each swing cutting through the air with a whistle. He practiced against imagined foes, envisioning their strikes and counters as he darted and weaved, his blade moving in perfect harmony with his body.
Sweat began to bead on his brow, but he did not stop. The rhythm of his training was a kind of meditation, a way to focus his thoughts and channel his energy. He struck at invisible enemies, his blade finding its mark again and again, until it felt as though the forest itself bent to his will.
After hours of sword work, he turned to strength training. He approached the pile of heavy rocks by the stream and began lifting them, hoisting each one above his head before letting it crash to the ground. The effort made his muscles scream, but he welcomed the pain. It was a reminder that he was alive, that he was pushing himself to his limits and beyond.
When his arms could no longer lift the stones, he dropped to the ground and began a series of push-ups. The earth beneath him was cool and firm, grounding him as he pushed through the fatigue. Next, he sprinted back and forth across the clearing, his legs burning with every step.
By the time the sun began to set, Argolaith was drenched in sweat, his body trembling from exhaustion. Yet he felt a deep sense of satisfaction. He had pushed himself further than the day before, and tomorrow he would push even further still.
As the sky darkened, he sheathed his sword and sat by the stream, allowing the cool water to soothe his tired hands. He gazed at his reflection in the water, seeing the determination in his eyes.
I may be young, he thought, but I will not let that stop me. I will forge my own path, no matter how difficult it may be. The Grand Magic Academy will see my worth. My trees will reveal their secrets. And I will become the person I was meant to be.
The stars began to appear overhead, their light reflecting in the stream like scattered gems. Argolaith leaned back, letting the sounds of the forest surround him. His journey was far from over, but for the first time, he felt truly prepared for what lay ahead.