The Fool’s Ascension

Jarek Thorn was starting to think that not dying was worse than dying.

His body ached. Every inch of him burned from the relentless training Lena had put him through. He had cuts on his arms, bruises on his ribs, and an ever-growing sense of regret about every choice he'd made in life.

"You call that a dodge?" Lena taunted, twirling her wooden sword. "You looked like a drunk bird trying to fly."

Jarek groaned and staggered to his feet. "You ever heard of positive reinforcement?"

Lena smirked. "Yeah. It's for people who aren't this terrible."

Jarek huffed, rolling his shoulders. He had been improving—at least, he thought so. Sure, Lena still knocked him flat every five minutes, but now it took five minutes instead of three. That was progress, right?

He eyed her stance, trying to think.

And then he stopped.

Thinking was slowing him down.

The Heart of Ruin had shown him that much—it had let him move faster when he stopped second-guessing. When he trusted his instincts.

So this time, instead of planning, Jarek just moved.

He lunged at Lena with a burst of speed, swinging his wooden sword with everything he had.

Lena's smirk widened. She sidestepped easily—

—but this time, Jarek was ready.

At the last second, he twisted his body mid-swing, redirecting his strike. His blade cracked against Lena's arm before she could dodge.

Lena took a step back.

Jarek gaped. "Did I just—"

Before he could finish that sentence, Lena's fist slammed into his gut.

Jarek folded like a cheap chair.

"Okay," he wheezed, sinking to his knees. "I deserved that."

Lena tilted her head. "Not bad."

Jarek groaned. "You could've just said 'good job.'"

Lena smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

Jarek flopped onto his back, staring up at the sky. "So? Am I finally worthy of, I don't know, not getting beat to death every day?"

Lena crouched beside him, resting her elbows on her knees. "Not even close."

Jarek groaned again.

"You've got potential," Lena admitted. "But you're still sloppy. Relying too much on luck."

Jarek huffed. "In my defense, luck has kept me alive this long."

Lena poked his forehead. "And it'll get you killed if you don't sharpen your skills."

Jarek rubbed his temples. "Fine, fine. More training, less whining. Got it."

Lena stood, tossing him a waterskin. "We'll rest for now. But tomorrow?" She smirked. "You're going to wish you were dead."

Jarek muttered something very rude under his breath.

Later That Night…

Jarek sat on a rocky ledge overlooking the ruins where they trained. The sky above was littered with stars, casting a soft silver glow over the landscape.

His muscles still ached, but it was the good kind of ache—the kind that reminded him he was getting stronger.

He looked down at his hand, where the Heart of Ruin was still faintly pulsing.

It had chosen him.

But why?

He wasn't some great warrior. He was just a guy who ran from trouble (badly) and got hit in the face a lot.

Jarek exhaled. "You could've picked someone a little less punchable, you know."

The artifact gave no answer, but for a brief moment, he swore he felt something.

A whisper.

A promise.

Whatever power the Heart of Ruin held—it wasn't just keeping him alive. It was waiting for something.

And Jarek had a feeling he was running out of time to figure out what.