the beginning after the end perfect duo

The Mentor

The spar with Dad lingered in my muscles as Arthur and I trudged back to our room, the faint ache of exertion settling into my bones. The candle on our shared desk flickered, casting jittery shadows across the wooden floor. I flopped onto my bed, the straw mattress creaking under me, and glanced at Arthur, who was already peeling off his sweat-damp tunic.

"Tiring spar, huh?" I said, breaking the quiet hum of the evening.

He snorted, tossing the tunic into a corner. "Yeah. Dad dodging everything like it's nothing... I didn't realize how big the gap is between us and real fighters." His voice carried a mix of awe and frustration, his grey eyes narrowing as he stared at the ceiling.

"We'll catch up faster than you think," I said, propping myself on an elbow. "We've got time—and each other."

Arthur's gaze flicked to me, softening slightly. "I want to get strong to protect them—Mom, Dad, you. That's what matters."

"Same here," I replied, forcing a lightness into my tone. "But no rush. We've got years to build it up."

He nodded, but his brow furrowed, like he wasn't convinced. "Forget that for now. Tell me about the shadow clone thing again—I still don't get how it works."

I grinned, sitting up fully. "It's simple, sorta. I split my mana into chunks—each clone gets a piece. They act on their own, practicing or scouting or whatever I tell them. When I dispel them, everything they've seen or learned flows back to me. Like a cheat code for training."

Arthur leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression shifting to that sharp, analytical look he got when something clicked. "Theoretically, that makes sense. Mana division... I'll mess with it, see if I can pull it off." He paused, then tilted his head. "Where'd you even get the idea?"

"Other novels," I said with a shrug, keeping it vague. "Stuff I read back in my old life."

His eyes widened, curiosity sparking. "Wait—so each novel's a different world? Like this one?"

"Maybe," I said, leaning back against the wall. The thought hung heavy between us, unsettling in its vastness. "No one knows for sure."

"So we could be in another story right now?" he pressed, half-joking, half-serious.

I didn't answer right away, my mind snagging on the idea. The novels I'd devoured—worlds of magic, heroes, betrayal—could they all be real, layered somewhere beyond this one? "No one knows," I repeated, quieter this time, letting the silence stretch.

Arthur huffed a small laugh, breaking the tension, and slid off his bed to sit cross-legged on the floor. "Guess I'll stick to meditating then—less existential crises that way." His eyes closed, his breathing slowing as he sank into focus.

I mirrored him, settling into my own meditation, though my thoughts refused to settle. The rhythmic pulse of my Solid Orange core thrummed beneath my ribs, steady but not enough. Dinner came soon after—Mom's voice calling us down to a spread of roasted chicken and steamed roots—but my mind was already racing ahead, plotting the next steps.