Chapter 11

  “So what you’re saying—” Jor’dan’s brows furrowed as he strode forward, his tone tinged with a mix of frustration and curiosity, “—is that you felt a pull to the left, like some insistent feeling to move?”

  “Yes,” Xander huffed, exasperation lacing his voice. He’d repeated the explanation five times now, and the memory still lingered sharply in his mind. “I mean, that obviously has to do with my ability, right?”

  Maurice’s words about the Wheel of Fortune surfaced again. Scarce knowledge, rare manifestations, and… something about a tug? Was this what he had meant? The event replayed in Xander’s head, knotting his thoughts tighter with every step.

  Lost in his musings, he didn’t notice Jor’dan slowing ahead of him until he walked straight into his friend’s broad back. Xander snapped his head up, his eyes widening at the imposing structure before them.

  The Solari Combat Guild loomed tall, its pale stone facade bathed in golden sunlight, the oak wood supports weathered but strong, exuding an air of timeless resilience. Above the archway entrance, vines sprawled like nature’s tapestry, their vibrant green tendrils thick with blossoms that swayed gently in the breeze.

  “Uh… why are we here?” Xander asked, his voice thick with suspicion. His chest tightened with an uneasy anticipation as he glanced at Jor’dan.

  “I’ve decided training is actually going to start now,” Jor’dan replied, his tone casual, as though he were discussing the forecast rather than combat lessons. He continued walking without so much as a backward glance.

  “Nope. Nope, nope, nope.” Xander shook his head, his heart pounding faster. “Dude, no. I said I’m not—”

  Before he could finish, Jor’dan’s hand was around his arm again, dragging him forward with the same relentless determination he’d shown all day. The gesture sparked a fresh surge of irritation in Xander, his feet dragging stubbornly against the soft grass as he dug his heels in.

  The archway loomed closer, the engraved crest of the guild—a sword and shield emblazoned with a blazing sun—catching his eye. Every detail seemed to mock his resistance, as if the building itself approved of Jor’dan’s audacity.

  “Seriously, Jor’dan, I said no!” Xander snapped, yanking his arm but finding no freedom.

  Jor’dan merely grunted, his grip unyielding as he hauled him through the vine-draped archway. The scent of greenery mixed with the faint tang of steel, wafting through the air in an unsettling blend of serenity and intensity.

  Xander stumbled as they crossed the threshold, frustration boiling over. “Do you ever stop to think about what I actually want, or is empathy not a setting in your fucked up brain?”

  Jor’dan shot him a dark look, his jaw tightening. “One more word…” he warned, his grip tightening just enough to make the threat clear.

  Xander huffed, his eyes scanning the main lobby as they entered. It wasn’t as busy as he’d expected, the space quiet except for distant echoes of voices. The floors were polished stone, their pale surfaces catching the golden sunlight streaming through the expansive windows. His gaze drifted down one of the branching hallways, where a group of men stood in a loose circle, chatting animatedly.

  They were clad in standard tactical gear—sturdy boots, loose-fitting tank tops, and pants striped with Solari’s signature colors. The vibrant hues stood out against the muted tones of their clothing, a subtle yet clear marker of their allegiance.

  “Justin!” Jor’dan’s voice cut through the space, loud and bouncing through the space.

  One of the men turned, revealing a freckled face and dirty blonde hair. A wide grin spread across his features. “Yo, Jor’dan! Whatchu need?” His gaze shifted to Xander, who was still scowling and shooting pointed looks at Jor’dan. Recognition lit up the man’s eyes. “Wait—is that the kid from the festival?”

  Xander felt his stomach tighten as the rest of the group turned, their attention snapping to him. Their gazes were heavy, curious, and annoyingly amused. He could feel the faint hum of their card energy, like distant vibrations pressing against his senses. It wasn’t sharp enough to discern specifics, but he could tell they were mid-level holders.

  Deciding to lean into his frustration, Xander plastered a pleading expression on his face, silently begging the group for help. It earned him a snort from Jor’dan.

  “Don’t mind him,” Jor’dan said dryly, turning back to the group. “Is the yard free?”

  Justin nodded, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Yeah, everyone cleared out after Mr. Smith told us to take the day off.”

  “Good,” Jor’dan said, already moving forward. He didn’t let go of Xander’s arm, steering him down a different hallway with brisk efficiency.

  Xander allowed himself a moment to glare at the back of Jor’dan’s head, his annoyance still simmering. He’d never been inside the guild before—there hadn’t exactly been a reason to visit a place so combat-focused. But now that he was here, he couldn’t help but take it in.

  The hallways were a blend of glass and stone, the walls almost entirely made of reflective panels that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. A closer look revealed why: solite crystals had been infused directly into the glass, their subtle glow an efficient power source.

  “Smart,” Xander muttered under his breath. Most buildings used larger crystals embedded in rooftops for energy, but integrating solite into the windows themselves was a clever—if undoubtedly expensive—design choice.

  The hallway curved slightly, leading them deeper into the guild. Xander caught glimpses of training rooms through the glass walls, some filled with racks of weapons and others entirely bare, seemingly designed for hand-to-hand combat. His unease grew with every step, the realization that this wasn’t just a casual visit settling heavily in his chest.

  The hallway opened into a sprawling training yard, sunlight pouring down onto the packed dirt and patches of grass worn thin from constant use. Xander stumbled slightly as Jor’dan hauled him forward, his arm aching from the relentless grip.

  “I’m getting real tired of you pulling me around every time I don’t want to do something you say,” Xander scoffed, yanking his arm free with a huff.

  “Then maybe you should listen more,” Jor’dan retorted, unfazed, leading them to a section of the yard that seemed purposefully worn down. The dirt beneath their feet was compacted, crisscrossed with scuff marks and gouges from weapons and boots alike.

  Xander stood stiffly, eyeing the area warily. Every fiber of his being screamed resistance. Training wasn’t just unappealing—it felt wrong. Sure, there were dangers outside the walls, and the Wheel could pull him into god-knows-what situations, but that wasn’t enough to overcome his deep aversion to this.

  “So what the hell are we—” he began, only to be cut off by the sudden blur of Jor’dan’s movement. Before he could process what was happening, Jor’dan’s fist shot forward, stopping mere inches from his face. Xander yelped, stumbling backward in a flailing attempt to avoid it, nearly falling onto the ground in the process.

  “What the hell?!” he roared, his voice cracking slightly from the adrenaline. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he glared at Jor’dan.

  Jor’dan crossed his arms, unfazed by the outburst. “I wanted to see if you’d feel that tug again,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone calm despite the chaos he’d just caused. “Clearly, you didn’t... so I must be doing something wrong.”

  “Of course it was wrong!” Xander snapped, jabbing a finger in Jor’dan’s direction. “You nearly took my damn head off!”

  Jor’dan snorted, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. “No, I didn’t. I was planning to stop before actually hitting you.” His expression darkened slightly, his brow furrowing in thought. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it sensed my intent…”

  Xander’s stomach sank as he caught the glint in Jor’dan’s eyes. It was the look he’d learned to dread—a mixture of determination and recklessness. He raised his hands in protest, trying to keep some distance. “Jor’dan, please, let’s just talk about this—”

  But it was too late.

  The Wheel spun, a low hum reverberating in his chest as a sharp tug urged him backward. He moved instinctively, stepping just out of reach as Jor’dan’s fist cut through the air, missing the tip of his nose by mere centimeters.

  The whoosh of displaced air brushed against his skin, his heart hammering in his chest. Xander fell onto the ground and stared at Jor’dan, wide-eyed and breathless, the reality of what had just happened sinking in.

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  Jor’dan straightened, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. “There it is,” he said, his voice low but triumphant. “Hmm now we know—when it’s life or death, the Wheel’s got your back. Question is, how far can you push it?”

  Xander stood frozen, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady his breathing. His hands shook slightly at his sides, his mind still reeling.

  Jor’dan’s expression softened just a fraction, concern flickering in his eyes. “Xander—”

  “Don’t you dare fucking speak!” Xander snapped, his voice raw as he glared at him. He took a shaky breath, trying to quell the storm in his chest. “You actually tried to punch me…”

  Jor’dan pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his teeth. “And it clearly worked. Look—I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to be sunshine and rainbows. Training is hard. You’re going to get hurt.”

  “I don’t want to train in the goddamn first place!” Xander exploded, his voice cracking with frustration. “What the hell are you not getting?”

  Jor’dan’s gaze darkened as he stepped closer, his tone dropping to a dangerous low. “What you’re not getting is that you’ve been sheltered your entire life, Xander. I’m trying to help you before you get yourself killed by the first thing that so much as sniffs you outside those walls.” His words carried a sharp edge, his posture rigid and commanding.

  Then, cold and direct, he said, “Get up and try to hit me.”

  Xander blinked, disbelief cutting through his anger. “What? No, why the hell would I—”

  “Because if you don’t start attacking in the next three seconds, I’m going to start attacking you.” Jor’dan’s voice was ice, the sudden shift chilling Xander to his core.

  Xander’s anger flared back to life, his teeth grinding as he pushed himself to his feet. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, his thoughts a storm. Jor’dan’s dragging, his bossiness, his absolute disregard for Xander’s feelings—it all clawed its way up from the depths of his mind. Even now, Jor’dan stared at him with a blank expression, as if Xander were just some ridiculous joke.

  The frustration boiled over. Without thinking, Xander swung a fist wildly, only to hit nothing but air as Jor’dan sidestepped with ease.

  “Are you serious?” Jor’dan barked, his voice dripping with disappointment. “Don’t piss me off, Xander. That punch was—”

  Xander growled, cutting him off as he swung again, and then again, his fists flying in reckless anger. Each attempt missed its mark, Jor’dan dodging effortlessly, his expression unchanging.

  His fury only grew, fueling his erratic movements. Xander’s punches became more wild, his form increasingly sloppy. Each miss felt like a slap to his pride, and Jor’dan’s calm, almost mocking demeanor made it worse.

  Finally, after another missed swing, Jor’dan shifted. In a single fluid motion, he aimed a sharp punch toward Xander’s stomach.

  The Wheel tugged at him in warning, but his reactions were too slow. The blow connected, knocking the air from his lungs. Xander crumpled to his knees, clutching his abdomen as he gasped for breath, his chest heaving in pain and humiliation.

  Xander could feel the Wheel spinning wildly behind his head, the invisible force generating a tangible breeze that ruffled his hair.

  “Get up. Now,” Jor’dan demanded, his tone cold and demanding, his arms crossed as he loomed over Xander.

  The anger bubbling in Xander’s chest boiled over into unthinking rage. He lunged from the ground in a clawing motion, more animal than calculated, swiping at Jor’dan. It was an instinctive, feral act, born of frustration rather than strategy.

  Jor’dan was already shifting, stepping back to dodge when the Wheel surged. With a sudden, audible click, golden threads erupted from Xander’s fingertips, twisting and writhing toward Jor’dan like sentient strands of light.

  Jor’dan’s eyes widened in surprise, but his reaction was instantaneous. Flames erupted around his feet, scorching the grass as he launched himself backward in a blur, the golden threads narrowly missing him. They dissolved into shimmering particles as quickly as they had appeared, leaving Xander staring at his hands in shock.

  A wide grin split Jor’dan’s face as he clapped his hands together. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

  The burning anger in Xander’s chest was suddenly doused by cold realization. He stared at his palms, his mind racing. What the hell was that?

  The memory of Stella at the park flashed before him—her golden threads wrapping around the statue, restoring it with precision and grace. But this… this was different. Her threads were thicker, almost tangible ribbons of light. What had just burst from his hands was thinner, sharper, more like a web.

  Jor’dan crouched in front of him, his grin softening into something more genuine. He placed a hand on Xander’s shoulder, his voice low and steady. “I’m sorry I went cold on you, bro. But I’m not sorry for what I did.”

  Xander looked up at him, his breath hitching at the uncharacteristic tightness in Jor’dan’s voice.

  “You’re my best friend, damn it,” Jor’dan continued, his voice thick with emotion. “The thought of something happening to you? It pisses me off, especially when I know I could’ve done something to help. That’s why I’m pushing you. Because I can. Because I have to.”

  Xander swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He let Jor’dan’s words sink in, the weight of them heavy but grounding. Slowly, he nodded, forcing himself to see things from Jor’dan’s perspective. The thought of standing by while Jor’dan got hurt stirred a protective anger in him, one that felt startlingly familiar.

  “I get it,” he muttered finally.

  Jor’dan gave him a firm clap on the shoulder before rising to his feet. He extended a hand, waiting patiently until Xander grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled up.

  As Xander dusted himself off, Jor’dan assessed him with a fleeting, calculating look. Then, his voice took on that same assertive tone.

  “Again.”

  The warm water of the shower soothed Xander’s sore muscles, a small groan escaping him as he leaned back against the naturally chilled tiles. It sent a small shudder down his back, the coldness of the wall contrasting with the warmness of the water.

  Xander ducked back under the shower a minute after, scrubbing at the sweat and grime clinging to his skin. The water was scalding, but he welcomed it, letting the heat work into the small bruises dotting his chest and arms. He winced as his fingers brushed a particularly sore spot. Jor’dan had said cardholders healed faster, but he wasn’t feeling the perks just yet—his entire body ached.

  His thoughts drifted back to the rest of training.

  Grudgingly, he could admit it had been productive. They’d uncovered a bit more about his ability, though it was still confusing as hell.

  After a brief break, Jor’dan had dragged him to a line of dummies set up across the training field. They were nothing like the props Xander had thought they were—they were infused with Solite. Each punch caused the dummy to pulse with light, the brightness indicating the strength of the impact. Xander’s form, as expected, was a mess. His punches were awkward, and the light barely flickered most of the time.

  “What did he expect?” Xander muttered under his breath, scrubbing at his arms. “I’m a painter, not a damn fighter.”

  Jor’dan’s expectations didn’t stop there. After the dummies, he’d insisted Xander try to summon the golden threads again. Xander concentrated, reaching out with his hands, his mind, his everything, but the threads refused to appear. Of course, nothing could ever be that easy.

  Naturally, Jor’dan had taken this failure as an excuse to start attacking him again. The tug from the Wheel continued to guide him, but always at the last possible second—so close to impact that dodging felt like an impossible feat. He’d tried his best, scrambling out of the way when he could, but every hit left him more frustrated.

  “What’s the point of the damn tug,” he muttered, shaking his head at the memory, “if I can’t even react fast enough?”

  After another break, it had been his turn to attack. Xander had thrown punch after punch at Jor’dan, each one meeting empty air as Jor’dan dodged effortlessly. Even when he’d tried to replicate the clawing motion that had summoned the threads earlier, nothing happened.

  Then, out of nowhere, something did happen.

  Jor’dan had launched another attack, his fist closing in on Xander’s face when a shimmering golden orb suddenly enveloped him. The punch stopped dead, the barrier holding firm.

  Jor’dan’s curiosity was immediate. He’d tested the shield cautiously at first, tapping it with his flame-tinged fingers. But as he started striking it, his patience wore thin. He pulled back and unleashed a full-force punch. Cracks spidered across the orb’s surface before it shattered completely, dissipating into golden shards that vanished before they hit the ground.

  The wave of fatigue hit him harder than expected, dragging his shoulders down as if the shattered barrier had siphoned something from him. Jor’dan noted his exhaustion and said they’d call it a day.

  By the Arcana, Xander had never been more relieved.

  When he finally got home, the relief was short-lived. His parents were on him the moment he walked through the door, their faces etched with worry as they peppered him with questions.

  Xander hesitated, unsure how much to share, but ultimately decided to tell them about the training. Their worry didn’t disappear, but to his annoyance, they seemed to agree with Jor’dan.

  It should’ve been reassuring, but it wasn’t. Xander didn’t want to train. He didn’t want to be prepared for danger—he just wanted to avoid it altogether.

  Questions continued to eat at him like vultures over a carcass, refusing to let go. Why did threads form the first time and not something else? Why didn’t the barrier form the first time Jor’dan punched him in the stomach?

  He sighed as the water shut off, dragging his hand across his face. Each answer seemed to birth more questions, tangling him deeper into the mystery of his abilities. How did the Wheel even decide what to manifest? Why him, of all people?

  Drying off, he tossed the towel aside and trudged to his room. The idea of going back to the Palace crossed his mind—maybe Maurice or someone else could offer insight—but Maurice had already told him all he claimed to know. It still could be useful to get their perspective, perhaps there was some Major Arcana secret he was missing out on. The Magician's words about the High Priestess also lingered in his mind, and he realized he hadn’t even given Maurice’s suggestion any thought.

  Xander groaned as he flopped onto his bed, his limbs sinking into the mattress. The weight of the day pressed down on him, and his face found solace in the pillow.

  The questions still clawed at him, but exhaustion dulled their edges. He didn’t know what the Wheel had in store for him, where it would guide him, or how far it would push him. All he knew was that survival was the bare minimum he could hope for.

  The faint, rhythmic clicking of the Wheel began behind his head, its presence like an uninvited observer. The sound was almost mocking, an acknowledgment of his thoughts.

  “Damn you,” he muttered into the pillow, a curse meant for the Arcana and all their enigmatic ways, before sleep finally claimed him.