Phantom Recall

31 || wake-up call

My association of the sun as the promise of Noir's soon arrival quickly becomes that of Harlow's strict training regimen — that is to say, with each morning as I would open eyes despite not having physically slept a wink, I would be startled by either the unsheathing of her sword in my face, or some similar method she uses to put me on guard. She does remind me of Noir in that sense. No flashy magic tricks or puffs of smoke, just the work of pure skill and stealth alone. However, with each day I spend as Harlow's pupil, these things start to become ingrained in my head. I begin to sense her. Her presence, distinguishable from Alba's and Rowan's even when the three are all in the same room with me. I sense her sword, being that it has always been nothing more than an impressive replica made of spirit magic. It all grows a little clearer.

I dedicate myself exclusively to training. Hours each day, I'm not sure how many, for it seems to vary as my training progresses. Harlow has to stop me each time. Even the bodies of spirits have limits, after all, as she reminds me time and time again. If I exerted myself too much and for too long then I could run my own well dry. And yet, I would argue with her that getting myself to take breaks is more strenuous than pressing on through the crying of my aching bones. I can only mask so much of my trembling and heavy breathing before even the silent Alba steps in to put a stop to it.

They know something is wrong. Something I won't speak of, something for which I use practicing with spirit magic as an outlet.

I don't know if I would call it 'cleansing'. It certainly creates that effect in my head, but day by day that stifling, almost suffocating feeling that I've left something terribly unresolved gnaws at me, and it only pricks and prods at the hands which grip the shovel. To bury it. Bury the thoughts, the feelings, unnecessary and unwanted.

I feel myself steadily becoming a disturbance to the peace Harlow and her friends had been enjoying here. But again, that fear of wandering alone and for too long has so quickly settled in me. Especially now. If I were to be left alone, wallowing in solitude and self-pity, perhaps I, too, would share the fate of those who give in to their emotions. Transforming into a hideous beast.

For as long as it takes to get used to this frightening body I possess.

As long as it takes, as long as it takes, as long as it takes, as long as it takes, as long as it—

"Will, that's enough."

Just a few words and my training for the day is brought to a screeching halt. I lost track of time. I always do, rather, but lately with how little I've even been stepping outside the warehouse, the closest thing I have to a watch is each occasion that Harlow drags me by the arm over to the fire pit. But today, however far into the day it may be, she stops me short. I can tell.

I turn to face Harlow as she tightens her grip around my wrist, urging me to retract my hand from the punching bag I've been using as a practice dummy. Alba had been the one to kindly set it up for me. Where he had gotten it from, I still don't know, but I've learned not to ask the man questions unless they're of great importance. Rowan does most of the talking between the two of them. And even he tends to be too lost in his own world to say much unless prompted otherwise.

"Will, are you listening to me?"

"Yeah, I'm listening."

I clench my fists but loosen them as Harlow's gaze intensifies. With those fiery eyes alone she conveys her thoughts, and had she not spoken a word I would have heard her message loud and clear anyway. She's done this before, after all. But today is different. She holds onto me a little longer, a little too long, to the point where I fear her hand would soon become fused to my arm.

"Harlow, c'mon-" I try tugging myself free from her grasp. "—I get it, I get it, I'll take a break, just let go already-"

"No, I mean that's enough."