Eldron

A full year had passed since Eldon first encountered Garrick, the seasoned huntsman who had come to their village to eliminate a menacing Chubbakarra—a formidable creature known for its ferocity and dark origins. The Chubbakarra had terrorized the villagers, claiming lives and livestock under the cover of night. Garrick's successful hunt had brought much-needed relief

During his six-month stay, Garrick had taken note of Eldon's unwavering dedication and resilience, even amidst the scorn and mistreatment from fellow villagers who viewed him as an outcast due to his imposing physique and latent energy. Recognizing a kindred spirit and potential in the young man, Garrick decided to impart some of his own knowledge.

Garrick introduced Eldon to his family's ancient martial art: Triastra, a discipline blending the techniques of cane arts, bo-staff combat, and scythe mastery into a seamless and deadly style.

• The Cane Form: Focused on subtle, fluid strikes, misdirection, and close-quarters combat. Perfect for quick, precise blows that combined elegance with power.

• The Bo Form: Harnessing reach and momentum, this emphasized sweeping arcs, rotations, and defensive maneuvers, making it ideal for controlling multiple opponents.

• The Scythe Form: The most brutal and intricate of the three, requiring precision and strength to wield the curved blade effectively. This form was designed to exploit an opponent's vulnerabilities, hooking and cutting through armor or thick hide.

"Triastra is the art of adaptation," Garrick had told him during one of their late-night training sessions. "It's about reading the battlefield, understanding the flow of a fight, and turning your opponent's strengths into their downfall."

Garrick's teaching wasn't just physical; it was philosophical. He emphasized discipline, patience, and the importance of mastering one's spirit alongside their body.

Before leaving the village, Garrick entrusted Eldon with two gifts. The first was a manual—a handwritten guide detailing the core principles and techniques of Triastra, complete with diagrams and annotations. The second was a cane, deceptively ordinary in appearance but ingeniously crafted to transform into both a bo staff and a scythe.

"This was made for someone who could truly wield it," Garrick had said, his tone uncharacteristically solemn. "Use it well, boy. And remember, this path is dangerous. You'll need to be more than strong—you'll need to be wise."

And then Garrick was gone, leaving Eldon with a purpose as tangible as the cane in his hands.

Eldon threw himself into mastering Triastra. His days became a relentless cycle of labor and training, with each task serving dual purposes:

• Hauling barrels and chopping wood strengthened his arms and core, preparing him for the grueling movements required by the scythe form.

• Carrying supplies and climbing the village's steep terrain honed his balance and endurance, critical for the intricate footwork of the cane and bo staff forms.

• Late-night sessions in the woods allowed him to practice in solitude, the moonlight casting long shadows as he worked through the forms, pushing his body and mind to their limits.

One evening, as Eldon rested by the riverbank, the manual open beside him, he traced the intricate diagrams with his fingers. Garrick's words echoed in his mind: "Adaptation is the key. The world doesn't bend for you—you bend with it."

For the first time, Eldon felt more than just the drive to escape his past. He felt a growing sense of belonging—not to the village, but to the larger world. A world filled with mysteries, dangers, and opportunities.

"I'll master this," he whispered to himself, gripping the cane tightly. "And one day, I'll show them all who I really am."

The boy who had once been an outcast was no more. In his place stood a young man on the cusp of greatness, armed with determination, grit, and the foundation of an art that could change the course of his life—and the world.

The villagers, while still wary of him, could not deny his transformation. Eldon moved with a fluid grace that belied his size, his strikes precise and purposeful. The cane, now his constant companion, became a part of him—an extension of his will and spirit.

Two Years Later

Eldon Reyes had become something otherworldly. Gone was the scrawny boy hauling barrels of water and chopped wood; in his place was a figure of raw, untamed potential. His physique was honed to perfection, his frame now broad and powerful, every muscle a testament to the inhuman effort he poured into his training. Yet it wasn't just his body that had grown—it was the volatile energy within him, the spiritiquitalias, which now brimmed with power so overwhelming that it leaked from him in strange, almost unnatural ways.

Eldon's days began long before the sun rose, and his nights ended long after it had set. His training was brutal, relentless, and outright inhuman. What would kill a lesser man was simply another challenge for him to conquer:

• Combat Training:

Armed with Garrick's cane, Eldon practiced Triastra with a fanatical dedication. He fought against himself—shadowboxing so furiously that the air around him seemed to ripple. He recreated battles in his mind, sometimes taking on imaginary foes, sometimes using logs and crude dummies. With every swing, thrust, and spin, his strikes became faster, more precise, and devastatingly powerful.

By now, he could split a tree trunk with the scythe form or shatter boulders with a single, well-placed blow from the bo-staff configuration. The cane form was his favorite, though—every flick of his wrist carried a speed and ferocity that felt instinctive, as if he'd been born with it in his hands.

• Physical Conditioning:

Eldon pushed his body to impossible limits. He wrestled apex predators: massive bears that roamed the nearby forests, wolves in packs, and once even a wild boar so large the villagers whispered it must've been cursed. He emerged from these encounters bloodied but victorious, the scars on his arms and chest testament to his battles.

For strength, he dragged fallen trees uphill, sometimes with the roots still attached, while sprinting for endurance. For balance, he practiced flips and leaps across narrow rocky ledges, knowing one misstep could send him plummeting to his death. He didn't care—fear had no place in him anymore.

• Spiritiquitalias Training:

His energy was still raw, unrefined, and alien to him, but he was learning to control it through sheer willpower. Without guidance or formal spells, Eldon resorted to experimentation. At first, his telekinesis was a chaotic burst of power: barrels would explode when he tried to lift them, rocks shattered into dust.

But over time, he gained precision. By the second year, he could levitate multiple objects at once—large boulders, heavy logs, and even himself, albeit briefly. Villagers often saw him at the edge of the forest, standing among floating stones and logs, his hands outstretched, sweat dripping from his brow as he pushed his mind and spirit to their limits.

One night, a thunderstorm rolled in, lightning tearing through the sky as Eldon stood in the clearing, shirtless and drenched, his breath coming in heavy gulps. A massive oak had fallen nearby, too thick to move by hand. Without thinking, Eldon gripped the cane in one hand and extended the other toward the tree.

The spiritiquitalias within him surged, crackling around his body like an electric current. His violet eyes glowed faintly, and the tree groaned as it lifted into the air. Eldon gritted his teeth, sweat mixing with rain as the massive trunk hovered before him. Then, with a roar, he swung his cane in a wide arc, and the oak followed suit, crashing into a boulder and splitting it clean in two.

He fell to his knees, panting, but a smile played on his lips.

By now, the villagers had stopped trying to ignore Eldon. He was no longer just a freak to them—he was something far worse. They whispered about him in hushed tones, calling him a cursed child, a demon. They avoided him when they could, even those who still relied on his labor.

But Eldon didn't care. Their opinions had ceased to matter. He wasn't training to earn their approval or respect. He trained because he felt something greater calling to him—a purpose he couldn't yet define.