The morning light poured softly into the room, warming Zoran's face as he stirred awake. The memories of the previous day were still fresh—the confrontation against the slavers, his mysterious new powers, and him collapsing just after cleaning up. He blinked a few times, shaking off the lingering grogginess. As he tried to sit up, he was surprised to feel none of the sharp pains he felt yesterday when collapsing, instead, his body felt stronger than ever as he transferred to his wheelchair with swift ease.
His first thought wasn't about his new power nor the slavers, it was about the girls. Had they been alright after he collapsed? The weight of responsibility pressed on him, and he quickly scanned the room.
Before he could call out, the door creaked open, and Elara, the eldest of the six girls, peeked in hesitantly. Her face lit up when she saw him awake.
"You're finally up!" she exclaimed, rushing to his side. Behind her, the other girls followed, their expressions a mix of relief and worry.
"Zoran!" Sylvie, the youngest, darted forward and clung to his arm, her wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "We were so worried!"
Zoran's heart ached at the sight of their concern. He placed a reassuring hand on Sylvie's head, gently ruffling her hair.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice soft but steady. "I didn't mean to scare you all. I just… overdid it a little."
Nysa landed on his shoulders and crossed her arms, her tone more scolding than forgiving. "You didn't just 'overdo it.' You collapsed! What if something happened to you? What would we have done?"
Zoran bowed his head slightly, guilt washing over him. "You're right, Nysa. I should have been more careful. But I promise I'm fine now."
The girls crowded around him, each voicing their relief and lingering worries. It was a heartwarming moment, their concern a reminder of the bond they'd formed in such a short time.
As the chatter died down, Hanna, one of the quieter girls, hesitated before speaking. "Zoran… last night, when you were unconscious. We saw another light… It came from you. Is that your power?"
The room fell silent. All eyes were on him. Zoran rubbed his chin, unsure how to respond. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened himself.
"I'm not really sure," he admitted. "I don't know what it was, but… it didn't hurt me, and it doesn't seem to have harmed you either. If anything, I think it might have helped us."
The girls exchanged glances, their expressions thoughtful.
"That's why we need to get stronger," Elara declared, her tone firm.
Zoran blinked, caught off guard by her sudden resolve. "What do you mean?"
"We can't always rely on you to protect us," she said. "You've done so much for us already, but if something like yesterday happens again, we want to be able to fight alongside you. To protect you, too."
The other girls nodded in agreement, their faces serious. Even Hanna, usually timid, looked determined.
Zoran frowned, his protective instincts kicking in. "You're all still so young. You shouldn't have to worry about fighting or—"
"We've decided," Elara interrupted, her voice unwavering. "We want to train. Please, Zoran. Teach us."
"Yeah! We want to help you too!"
"I... also... want to get stronger..."
The room was silent for a moment as Zoran looked at each of them. Their resolve was clear, their determination shining in their eyes. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.
"You're too young for this," he muttered, though there was no real conviction in his voice.
"We're not asking," Elara said with a small smile.
Sylvie tugged on his sleeve, her voice pleading. "Please, Zoran?"
Faced with their insistence, Zoran felt his resolve waver. Their determination reminded him of the soldiers he'd trained in the past—bright-eyed recruits who wanted to make a difference.
"Alright," he relented, though his tone was still cautious. "I'll train you. But we'll take it slow. No pushing yourselves too hard, understand?"
The girls cheered, their excitement infectious.
---
The training began the next morning. Zoran wheeled himself to a clearing beside their house, the girls trailing behind him.
"First rule," he started, his voice firm, "I'm your teacher now, not just Zoran. When we're training, you listen to me. No arguments, no complaints. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" the girls chorused, their enthusiasm earning a small smile from Zoran.
"Good. We're starting with stamina. You'll run from here to that tree and back." He pointed to a tree a fair distance away. "Pace yourselves. This isn't a sprint."
The girls set off, their movements uncoordinated at first. Zoran watched closely, noting each of their performances. After a few rounds, they returned, panting but still in good shape.
"Not bad," he said, nodding approvingly. "Now, basic hand-to-hand combat. I'll show you some techniques, and you'll practice until they're second nature."
The training continued, Zoran demonstrating strikes, blocks, and counters with surprising precision despite his physical limitations. His voice was sharp but encouraging, correcting their mistakes and pushing them to improve.
At first, the girls struggled, their inexperience evident. But as the days passed, Zoran noticed something remarkable. They adapted quickly, their stamina improving, their movements becoming more fluid. It was as if they were naturally attuned to his teachings.
---
In between training sessions, Zoran took time to explore his own abilities. The short-distance teleportation—or blinking, as he started to call it—was both fascinating and taxing. He practiced in private, testing its range and limitations.
The first few attempts left him breathless, his body straining under the effort. But as he pushed himself, he realized that his recovery time was shorter than expected. Whatever happened after he felt unconscious, it seemed to have strengthened him in more ways than one.
He discovered that blinking required a clear mental image of his destination and that obstacles could disrupt the process. The strain was still significant, but he was beginning to understand how to use it more efficiently.
---
By the end of the week, the girls' progress was astounding. They could run long distances without breaking a sweat and had nearly mastered the basic combat techniques Zoran had taught them.
"I don't know how you're all improving so quickly," Zoran admitted one evening, watching the girls spar with each other. "It's like you're prodigies."
The girls exchanged secretive smiles but said nothing. They had noticed something unusual during their training—whenever Zoran taught them or corrected their techniques, they felt a strange warmth, a clarity of mind that made everything click into place. They decided to keep it to themselves, wanting to surprise him with their progress.
---
The day ended with a sparring match between Zoran and the girls. Despite his physical limitations, Zoran's experience and skill made him a formidable opponent. The girls attacked as a team, trying to overwhelm him, but he countered their every move with ease.
"Your coordination is improving," he said, dodging a strike from Elara. "But you're leaving yourself open here." He tapped her side lightly, demonstrating her vulnerability.
One by one, he skillfully blocked and parried their attacks, pointing out their mistakes but also praising their efforts.
When the match ended, the girls were exhausted but exhilarated. Zoran, seeing their progress, couldn't help but feel a swell of pride.
"You've all come so far in just a few days," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Keep this up, and you'll be stronger than me in no time."
The girls beamed at his praise, their determination renewed.
As Zoran wheeled himself back to their home, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something special about these girls. Whatever the light had done, it had awakened something within them—and within him.