CHAPTER 70: REFLECTION AND STRATEGY

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They rested under a basalt shelf. Star stretched out with a huff, steam curling from his nostrils. Zephyr unslung a waterskin and downed two gulps before dumping the rest on his neck.

His fingers tightened around the flask.

"Fenna’s doing her part. So will we," he said aloud to Star.

He watched the flames ripple in the treetops, the smoke lines drawn like veins in the sky. Somewhere beyond those trees, she was dancing with fire. She was becoming something more than a casual beast Tamer.

They had no time to waste.

Zephyr hid ember-dust clay pots across the clearing. Then he blindfolded Star with the same soot dusted silk he used for travel protection.

"Sense test. You know the drill. Find the heat and smash it."

Star took one slow breath. Then padded east, muscles tensing with each shift in the air.

Crack!

The first pot smashed. He turned, stomped again and the second pot was gone.

One by one, he found them all—except one, buried beneath a patch of sulfur-crusted loam. He circled three times before finally locating it.

[Skill Progress: Sense – Improvement Noted.

Core Heat Mapping Efficiency: +6%

Reaction Time: 1.2s → 0.9s]

Zephyr nodded. "Last phase is Dominance."

He stepped back and gestured. Star growled low.

A deep hum vibrated from his chest. It’s a sound you didn’t just hear, but felt in your ribs. Birds scattered from distant branches. The very trees seemed to lean away.

"Tremor with it," Zephyr said.

Star stomped on the ground with his small paws.

Shockwave + mana = a five meter radius of force and psychological pressure.

"Save that one," Zephyr said. "For the leopard."

As the sun slipped below the canopy, Zephyr hauled out scorched straw busts and mounted them across the clearing. He marked three with different symbols: one for the fireball combo, one for tail attack, and one for Dominance sync.

"I miss Fenna, I hope she comes back soon," he muttered. "Let’s begin."

He cued Star.

The drake clawed the first dummy, spun into a tail whip at the second, and launched a mid air fireball that scorched the third. He repeated, twice more, refining the angles and timing. Zephyr watched Star’s stamina meter fluctuate in the system feed.

"Good tempo," he noted aloud. "But keep your fireball centered. Hit the torso, not the shoulder."

By nightfall, the clearing was aglow again. Smoke curled lazily into the dusk sky. Star lay panting, wings limp.

Zephyr knelt, feeding him a piece of dried beast feed pill. Create with a fraction of the fire grass root.

"You earned that," he said, rubbing soot from his forehead. "Next time, we will go harder. We’ll test your strength, Rapid Fireball and Ember Lance in combo."

Star chirped weakly, then curled into the moss.

Zephyr leaned back, eyes drawn to the volcano’s red eye on the horizon. He didn’t know what Fenna would look like when she returned.

But he swore that when she did, she’d find him changed too.... Forged in fire. Just like her.

Next day before dawn.

The clearing buzzed with residual heat from yesterday’s training. Star paced in a wide arc, wings flicking, tail twitching as Zephyr circled him with chalk and focus.

Fenna was still with the phoenix, deep in the volcano’s core. That left Zephyr alone with Star—no distractions, no breaks.

"Time for claw lifting training," Zephyr said.

He led Star to the cracked remains of the same uprooted tree they’d used in a previous drill—the half-charred trunk now hardened by repeated heat exposure.

"Remember: not strength for strength’s sake. This is for pulling grounded beasts off their advantage. Pull them in the air and drop them on the ground."

Star snorted as if he understood the importance of this training. Zephyr stepped back.

"Claws in. Lift, Rotate and Slam."

Star’s claws dug beneath the bark. With a guttural growl, he heaved—veins straining under his hide as the trunk lifted on air, dirt trailing from roots like tendrils.

Then— WHAM.

The tree hit the earth, bouncing once.

"Again!"

Star repeated it five times, muscles shaking by the end. Zephyr wiped sweat from his brow.

"We’ll make that leopard airborne before he ever touches you."

One hour later... The sun is almost up. They decided to rest for a while.

Zephyr’s break began with a checklist and a headache. Two empty water kegs needed refilling, the last coil of resin rope had frayed beyond safe use, and the charfruit ration that should have lasted another week was reduced to a smear in the bottom of the bag—courtesy, he suspected, of Star’s nocturnal snacking.

He knelt by the supply crate, chalking tally marks on a scorched plank. The sun, still rising behind the eastern ridgeline, cast a honey-gold haze over the clearing. It was cooler this yesterday—rare and fleeting—but Zephyr hardly noticed. His focus was on the numbers: how many days of training left, how much jerky remained, if they wanted to continue the training they needed more supplies.

A soft rumble drifted from the far edge of camp. Star lay curled in a makeshift nest he’d built from grass, shredded leaves, and the burned remains of yesterday’s training logs. The young drake had arranged the debris into a shallow bowl, charred side inward for warmth, and lined the center with scorched moss. Every so often he shifted, flaring one wing or another, stirring tufts of ash that drifted away like lazy snowflakes.

Zephyr glanced over his shoulder with a half smile, tugging at his mouth. "You sleep like royalty," he murmured.

Star’s tail twitched, but the baby dragon didn’t respond. Training had drained him. Today was supposed to be light, claw rotations, maybe another tree-lift session if Star had the energy. But none of that could happen without supplies.

Zephyr exhaled, capped his chalk, and stood. "Alright, the list’s done." He stretched, feeling the satisfying pop of stiff joints. "Rope, water, more charfruit are all gone. Let’s skip the training and look for some supplies"

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