The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when Riven dragged himself out of bed. His body still ached from the climb, every muscle protesting even the slightest movement. But there was no time to rest.
He had learned that much by now.
His master was already waiting for him, sitting on the porch, a mug of tea in hand. As usual, his gaze was sharp, unwavering. Riven gritted his teeth and made his way to the yard. It was time for the next lesson.
"Good morning, kid," his master said with a smirk, his eyes gleaming in the morning light.
"Morning," Riven muttered, though he was too exhausted to even make a decent attempt at a smile. He sat down beside his master, eyeing the wooden practice dummies lined up in the yard. They stood tall, like silent witnesses to the lessons that had taken place here. They'd seen him grow from an arrogant, impatient fighter to someone who was slowly—grudgingly—accepting the pain that came with growth.
Today was no different. Or so he thought.
His master leaned forward, placing his mug down and locking eyes with him. "You've been quiet lately."
Riven felt his chest tighten. He had been quiet. After the whole foot soak fiasco, after the climb, after the long hours of 'intense training'—it was like something inside of him was shifting. He wasn't sure if it was the exhaustion or something deeper, but he felt like he was carrying something, something that had been building up since the first day he stepped into this place.
"Just... thinking," he said, though it didn't feel like enough.
His master nodded, as if expecting that answer. "Thinking can be dangerous. The mind can play tricks on you. Distract you. Make you question everything. Like a storm inside your head."
Riven's eyes narrowed. "That's what's been happening to me. I keep thinking... I'm never good enough."
His master was quiet for a moment, as if weighing Riven's words. Finally, he spoke. "It's a lie. You are good enough. But you're too distracted by the storm to see it."
"Storm?" Riven scoffed. "I'm not distracted. I'm... I'm just tired of pretending I'm fine. I'm not fine, Master. I'm barely holding it together."
His master studied him for a moment before standing up, his old joints creaking. "Sometimes, kid, it's okay not to be fine. But you can't let it own you. The storm inside your head doesn't control you unless you let it."
Riven was about to respond, but his master cut him off.
"Get up. Let's work."
Riven followed him, though he didn't know what to expect. His master had a way of turning even the simplest things into grueling tests. They moved to the dummies.
"Attack," his master ordered.
Riven stepped forward, drawing the wooden sword. He moved quickly, thrusting, dodging, and slicing through the air in a flurry of motion. The practice dummy didn't move, but his master watched with careful eyes, as if weighing every strike, every movement.
After a few minutes, his master raised a hand to stop him. "Enough."
Riven lowered his weapon, panting. "What now?"
His master chuckled lightly, walking over to a nearby rock and sitting down. "Now we wait."
"Wait?" Riven echoed. "For what?"
"Your next move," his master replied. "You've been trained to move fast, to strike hard. But the real test is in waiting. In the calm. The storm comes. But it's the calm that prepares you for it."
Riven blinked, trying to understand. "So... what, I just... stand here?"
His master nodded. "Exactly. Show me your calm."
Riven looked at the dummy, then at his master, not sure if he was being mocked or if this was yet another weird lesson in patience. But something in him shifted. The words "the storm comes" echoed in his head, and for the first time in a long time, Riven closed his eyes and focused on his breath.
His mind raced at first—thoughts of past fights, of the pain, of everything that had led him here. But the longer he stood, the more he began to find that quiet place within himself. The anger, the frustration—it started to dissipate, leaving only the stillness behind. His sword felt lighter in his hands.
"How's that?" he asked, opening his eyes after a few moments.
His master was silent for a beat, before a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Better. You've learned to control it."
"Control what?"
"Your storm," his master said, standing up and stretching. "Your emotions are your greatest weapon, Riven. But only if you learn to control them. The way you fight, the way you live—it's all born from what's inside. If you let the storm win, you'll destroy yourself. But if you learn to calm it, you can use it."
Riven frowned, still processing. "So, you made me... stand still for what? Just to... find my peace?"
His master laughed. "You're slower than I thought. It's more than that. Now, you're ready for the next step."
Riven's heart skipped a beat. "What next?"
His master's grin grew wider. "We're going to push you further than you've ever been pushed. The storm inside you? I'll show you how to harness it, make it work for you. But first—you'll need to earn it. That's the lesson."
Riven swallowed, his pulse quickening. "Earn it?"
"Earn your calm. Then, when you can control the storm, you'll be ready for anything."
Riven stood tall, the weight of his master's words settling deep into his bones. He wasn't sure what the storm would look like, but he knew one thing for certain: he was ready to face it.
The calm wasn't just about standing still.
It was about mastering himself.
And for the first time, Riven thought he might just be able to do that.