Lunch was served in a sleek dining hall bathed in soft ambient lighting. The long, minimalist table was set with perfectly portioned plates of lean protein, fresh vegetables, and whole grains. Lucian stared at the meal for a moment, then sighed and picked up his fork. He was too drained to crack a joke, too sore to bother with anything more than eating. The food, though simple, was undeniably satisfying, each bite restoring a bit of his energy. As he ate, he could feel his body responding—the ache in his muscles easing, the tension in his chest loosening. Whatever they put in the food here, it worked.
Across the room, Amelia stood with her arms crossed, her sharp gaze flicking to him occasionally as if assessing whether he was eating fast enough. When he finished, she gave a curt nod and gestured for him to follow.
An hour of rest later, Lucian found himself standing in a stark, minimalist sparring room. The walls and floors were padded with sleek black material that absorbed impact, and the air smelled faintly of disinfectant and leather. Amelia stood in the center of the room, her stance perfectly balanced, her presence as unyielding as ever.
"You've had enough rest," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, we spar."
Lucian groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do I at least get a helmet?"
"You don't need one," she replied, motioning him to join her on the mat.
Reluctantly, Lucian stepped onto the mat, attempting to mimic her stance. He tried to steady his breathing, his body still sore from the morning session.
Amelia approached him with a critical eye. "Your posture is wrong," she said flatly. Without waiting for permission, she adjusted his arms and legs. "Straighten your back. Bend your knees slightly. And stop leaning forward—you'll lose your balance."
Lucian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Anything else, coach?"
"Yes. Stop talking," she snapped, stepping back. "Begin."
They started slowly, Amelia demonstrating basic moves and Lucian doing his best to replicate them. Each mistake he made—and there were many—was met with a sharp correction, either verbal or physical. Amelia nudged his arms into position, tapped his legs when his stance faltered, and even pushed him off balance once to prove her point.
"Again," she commanded, her voice unwavering.
Lucian gritted his teeth, his frustration mounting. Yet with each repetition, his movements grew sharper, his stance more stable. The rhythm of practice began to settle into him, his body slowly adapting to the demands being placed on it.
After a while, Amelia upped the stakes. "Now, sparring," she said, her tone as calm as ever.
Lucian blinked. "Sparring? I'm barely keeping up as it is!"
"You'll keep up," she replied, stepping into position. "Or you'll fall. Either way, you learn."
Her strikes came fast and precise, forcing him to block, dodge, and counter. Lucian quickly realized she was holding back, but even her restrained attacks pushed him to his limits. Sweat dripped down his face as he struggled to match her speed. Every time he thought he had her timing figured out, she shifted tactics, keeping him perpetually off balance.
Within minutes, Lucian was on the ground, gasping for air. His chest heaved as he stared up at the ceiling, the padded floor cool against his back.
"Pathetic," Amelia said, though her tone held no malice. She extended a hand, pulling him back to his feet. "Again."
Lucian groaned but obeyed, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. They sparred again and again, each session leaving him more battered and breathless. Amelia's strikes were controlled but relentless, her movements fluid and efficient. By the end, Lucian collapsed onto the mat, unable to move another inch.
Amelia stood over him, her expression unreadable. She handed him a small metallic canister filled with a glowing blue liquid. "Drink this," she instructed. "You'll need it for the next phase."
Lucian groaned, taking the canister reluctantly. "Next phase? Are you trying to kill me?"
"Muscle-building exercises," Amelia replied without a hint of humor. "You're weak. That needs to change."
Lucian stared at her, his usual humor gone. "You're serious."
"Always," she said, her voice firm.
---
The next phase of training was grueling. Amelia led Lucian to a futuristic strength-training area unlike anything he'd seen before. Rows of equipment lined one wall, each piece gleaming with a mix of polished chrome and glowing, embedded lights. The weights floated in shimmering fields of energy, adjusting their resistance based on the user's movements. Along the opposite wall were advanced suspension systems with adaptive tension bands and bars that retracted and expanded based on performance. The air buzzed faintly with the hum of machinery, the sound both intimidating and exhilarating.
To one side, a sleek counter displayed rows of glowing protein shakes and compact energy bars, each encased in matte black containers that radiated a faint neon glow. Lucian eyed them curiously, their futuristic appearance making them look more like experimental tech than food.
Amelia noticed his hesitation and grabbed one of the bottles, handing it to him. "Drink this," she instructed. "It's a high-density protein shake infused with recovery agents. Your muscles will thank you later."
Lucian twisted the cap off, his skepticism clear. "This isn't going to turn me into some radioactive monster, right?"
Amelia's expression remained impassive. "Not unless you're hiding something. Now drink."
He took a sip and was surprised by the flavor—a rich blend of chocolate and mint, followed by a cooling sensation that spread through his chest. Almost immediately, he felt a surge of vitality coursing through his body, the soreness in his arms and legs easing slightly.
"Not bad," he admitted, taking another gulp.
Amelia nodded, satisfied. "First," she said, pointing to a weight machine that resembled a cross between a bench press and a zero-gravity rig. "Strength training. Start here."
Lucian approached cautiously, noting the glowing console that displayed resistance settings, heart rate, and real-time performance metrics. Amelia tapped a few buttons, setting the resistance to a manageable level. "This machine will adapt as you push harder. The more effort you put in, the greater the challenge."
He settled onto the bench and gripped the floating bar, the energy field around it tingling faintly against his hands. As he began to press, the resistance shifted subtly, the weight increasing in response to his effort. Each repetition felt heavier than the last, his muscles burning with exertion.
"Engage your core," Amelia instructed, her tone sharp. "Stop relying on momentum."
By the time he finished the set, his arms were trembling, sweat dripping down his face. "This thing… hates me," he muttered, earning a faint smirk from Amelia.