CHAPTER 57: 57: LESSONS IN GRAVITY XI

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Fizz floated beside him. "I’m starting to think I backed the right doom ball master. You might actually make it through this world."

"That’s the idea," John said dryly.

Fizz gave a tiny whistle. "I mean, sure, you’re still fashionably tragic with your haircut and you smell like bark, but damn... that was impressive. You curved a black hole, slapped a beetle, and gave it the cosmic flush."

John smiled a little. "Cosmic flush?"

"Yeah! Like flushing a toilet, but with space. I’m writing that one down. Maybe we can use it as a name for your move."

"No, thank you." John replied.

As the day passed, they crossed two more ridges, a river, and a narrow mountain pass. The weather remained steady, and John noticed how much easier it was to walk with the core inside him stabilized. His stamina had grown. The black hole no longer tugged at his soul with every step. Instead it was more like a companion now, quiet and steady, waiting for his will to guide it.

Fizz chatted the entire way, commenting on everything. At one point, he tried to start a fire by sneezing flames onto the same squirrel’s tail. John had to stop him. The squirrel screamed and launched acorns in retaliation. The poor squirrel was going the same path to find a new home for it.

"Respect," Fizz muttered, nursing a tiny bump. "That squirrel was trained."

The following days blurred into a comfortable rhythm: walk, camp, eat, roast John, train with orbs, maybe fight a beast. They avoided most monsters thanks to John’s growing control over his instinct, which he could now focus or amplify to simulate a predator’s presence. Fizz called it "The Doom Musk."

Each night, John practiced throwing, pulling, and controlling the black hole palm better and better. Each morning, Fizz rated his moves with exaggerated commentary.

"Okay, that one curved nicely. I give it 7.5 smacks out of 10."

"That one nearly hit me, negative two million!"

"That one made a leaf fall off a tree. That tree was ashamed of you."

John tolerated it. Mostly.

And with each session, he grew faster, smoother, more natural in his use. The training they had done in the forest had solidified his instincts. Now he was polishing the edges, like a sword being whetted on stone.

By the sixth day, Fizz even paused once in mid roast and muttered, "Okay... that was genuinely beautiful. You almost looked competent."

John blinked. "Was that... a compliment?"

Fizz zipped away. "I said almost! Don’t let it go to your oversized black hole head, Master!"

As they reached the outskirts of the final stretch. There was an open plain that led down into the valley where the village lay. John stopped atop a ridge. The wind rushed through his hair, and the rising sun painted the grass in gold.

Fizz hovered silently beside him, for once not speaking.

Below, far in the distance, he could see faint smoke rising from chimneys. The rooftops of the village. The wooden watchtower. Home.

Seven days of walking. Seventeen days since they had left.

Fizz took a deep breath. "We made it, Master Forgetful. You survived the wild. Grew stronger. Learned some aim. Burned some of my precious fur."

John smirked. "Still not over that?"

Fizz crossed his tiny fluffy arms. "Never."

They shared a quiet moment. Then Fizz sneezed and set a nearby bush on fire.

"...Really?" John said.

Fizz shrugged. "Nature’s way of saying welcome back."

John stomped the fire out and sighed. They started down the hill. Tomorrow they will enter the village. But tonight, they would camp once more on familiar soil.

And his imagination told John that Sera’s expression was going to be priceless.

.

.

.

The dawn of the final day broke with a rosy hue across the horizon, casting long shadows over the dew damp meadow. The ridgeline where John and Fizz had camped offered a clear view of the valley stretching below. It was a rolling grassland speckled with small clusters of trees and, beyond that, the familiar timbered walls of the village.

John stirred first, packing up the bedroll with practiced ease. He’d gotten good at that. Living out of a pack for over a week would do that to anyone. His muscles no longer ached. His movements were measured, precise. His control over the void flowed like a trained rhythm. It was natural, instinctive. Only the constant hunger of the black hole within reminded him he was still learning. Still growing.

Fizz, however, remained face-down in a tangle of his own wings and fur. His tail on a small pillow John had stitched together using part of the beast feathers.

"...m’hurt," Fizz muttered in his sleep. "Fluff... pride... lost to a clumsy doomball... pancakes... vengeance... bite"

John chuckled and gently poked him. "Up. It’s time to finish this."

Fizz cracked open one eye. "Are we dead?"

"Alive and marching."

Fizz groaned and flopped dramatically onto his back, his tail swishing as he rolled in mid air like a dying comet. "I require divine tribute in the form of five pancakes and a ceremonial apology for my vanishing fur. Thanks to you..."

"I’ll get the pancakes when we’re back. Maybe even syrup. And I already said sorry multiple times."

Fizz perked up instantly. "I can work with that. Let’s go."

They descended from the ridge, trekking across the sloping meadows. Tall grass brushed John’s legs. Wildflowers swayed. It almost felt peaceful. Almost...

The system pinged faintly in his mind as they moved.

[Ding! System Notification: Threat Level – Moderate. Unknown entity detected within 300 meters.]

John slowed. "Fizz."

"Yeah?"

"We’re not alone."

Fizz’s wings snapped open as he rose. "Oh? Time for the Fluff to shine again?"

The air trembled faintly. Ahead, between two trees at the edge of a shallow creek, the grass parted and a massive creature stalked out.

It looked like a wolf at first. A very large wolf. But its back was plated in shale-like ridges, its snout split in two near the jaw, and its tail whipped with serpentine speed. Its eyes were pure black. As if it had no pupils. Just darkness.