The morning breeze was strangely cold, wrapping around Thamuz's skin, who shivered slightly from the cold that seeped into his bones.

  A considerable weight settled on his chest, as if something was sinking into it. Thamuz's eyes shot open to find what was causing this discomfort.

  It was the orugadorun, that small creature that caused so much terror in Korro. However, it slept peacefully on Thamuz's chest, curled up while trying to nibble on its own tail.

  Thamuz sighed with relief upon identifying the source of his discomfort. He raised a hand to gently stroke the small creature, feeling the hardness of its scales under his fingertips.

  Turning his head, he noticed his father's bed was empty, an image that had become familiar in recent days. He knew his father usually woke before him, either to help Vixkard or simply to sit on the hills and contemplate the morning sky, where stars danced upon a celestial canvas that rose more majestic each day.

  Carefully, he took the orugadorun in his arms like a baby and slowly sat up to avoid waking it. Once standing, he placed the small creature in his bed, covering it with sheets that were small for his own robust body.

  He headed towards his room's exit, where he distinguished two figures outside the house. Recognizing Vixkard and his father, he quickened his pace. Upon exiting, he confirmed his suspicions: Vixkard rested in a rocking chair, analyzing with his keen hearing Tawnylon's movements, who was executing techniques that Thamuz barely knew. Some were familiar, like the heartshatter and palm strikes, but he watched in amazement as his father sometimes seemed to grab the air itself, and although his movements lacked a visible target, the air split around him, evidencing extraordinary physical strength.

  Vixkard perceived the heavy footsteps approaching from inside the house. He raised his head, feeling on his skin how the wind redistributed, as if a gigantic figure interrupted its natural flow. He knew immediately it was Thamuz.

  "Good morning, young Thamuz, how are you?" he asked, with a broad smile on his face.

  "I still wonder how you can perceive things without your eyes," questioned Thamuz, sitting beside him.

  "The years without sight have sharpened my other senses, though when it rains I'm as blind as you see me now," responded Vixkard, rocking his chair slowly.

  Watching his father train, the memory of korro fight assaulted his mind. He hadn't heard much about him since his father had taken him to that place to heal his wounds.

  "How is Korro?" asked Thamuz, turning towards Vixkard.

  "He's fine. Your father took him to a good place for his recovery. I think he's even enjoying it, as I saw several pretty girls at that site," said Vixkard, playfully elbowing Thamuz while smiling mischievously. "Although the last time I went to check on him, he seemed rather quiet. Perhaps the surprise and physical punishment he received left him with more than just visible marks."

  Thamuz nodded at these words, imagining Korro's situation: perhaps trying to flirt with the women attending to his recovery, as his master suggested, or maybe just withdrawn, ruminating on thoughts that devoured his words and buried them deep in his mind.

  "By the way, Mr. Vixkard," said Thamuz, turning completely towards his master. "Why is my father training? Will he participate in some tournament?"

  "Not at all. If he entered current tournaments, he'd surely only need one arm to defeat everyone without difficulty. I sent him to train for a more important challenge that will test his skills," explained Vixkard, making a dramatic pause. "That test is to train with you, to perfect your techniques so that in the end... you'll have a fight with him."

  Vixkard's words fell like lead in Thamuz's stomach, cutting off his breath while his eyes opened immensely. A specific memory crossed his mind: the first time his father taught him Shamonak.

  That memory remained indelible in his mind for being his first encounter with defeat, although at that moment he didn't understand what it was. He vividly remembered the pain that followed that brutal training, the bruises that covered his body like a map of his inexperience.

  "Really?" asked Thamuz, with a trembling voice.

  "Completely serious. This will be your final test before we focus on repeating my other lessons until exhaustion," responded Vixkard, turning his head towards him. "Remember, we have trained your durability through muscle control and your power through a very special strike. Now it's time to perfect what makes Shamonak so extraordinary: its techniques. Without them, you'd just be a brute giant."

  Vixkard's words floated in the air like leaves in the wind, penetrating Thamuz's consciousness. He mentally reviewed all the process he had gone through, now facing its culmination. He stood up and observed his father, who was resting from his arduous training with his back turned and hands on his waist.

  "If that's how it must be, then so be it," declared Thamuz firmly. "If I can defeat my father, I can defeat anyone."

  "That's what I like, that attitude," said Vixkard, with a slight laugh. "Now go and show what you're capable of."

  Thamuz advanced with firm steps while the air hit his body. He observed how his father, still with his back turned, was sweating intensely, perhaps from the effort required to execute each technique with precision.

  However, each step Thamuz took felt as if gravity was reversing against him. It was as if a mountain was collapsing on his shoulders; not even the foot of a colossal beast trying to crush him could compare to the sensation that invaded him at that moment.

  When he was at close distance, his father slightly turned his head, fixing his gaze on his son's eyes.

  Instantly, Thamuz felt a searing heat and a deep unease within him, as if his father emanated a gigantic aura, almost tangible in the environment.

  "Just look at him, it's the same force I felt that time, when you used your hand to almost kill your father," the demon's whisper infiltrated Thamuz's mind, clouding his thoughts.

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  "Why do you appear in the most important moments? Just leave me alone for once," protested Thamuz, almost in a whisper so his father wouldn't hear.

  "What are you saying, son?" asked Tawnylon, disconcerted by the sudden change in his behavior.

  "Nothing, father, just talking to myself," explained Thamuz, standing up straight in front of his father. "Vixkard told me I was going to train with you to perfect your techniques, with the final lesson being a fight with you."

  "Ah, yes, that," said Tawnylon, with a hint of unease in his voice. "I hope you don't hold a grudge when we fight. I might remember something from my fighting days and not know how to contain myself at times."

  "Don't worry about that, father. Rest assured you won't defeat me as easily as the other time," responded Thamuz, with a challenging tone. "But first, can you teach me some of your techniques and practice them together?"

  "Of course, son. They won't be easy to learn at first sight, but we have until nightfall for you to at least master the basics," said Tawnylon, stepping back while placing one hand in front and his closed fist against his chest, with the middle finger slightly extended. "Get in this position."

  Thamuz imitated his father's posture, noticing how strange it felt, very different from what he was used to.

  "Now, with your middle finger, try to strike the air as fast as you can, as if wielding a knife."

  Thamuz obeyed his father's instructions, concentrating all his strength in that strike. He felt how his middle finger cut through the air like a sharp dagger.

  "Good, excellent," said Tawnylon, clapping softly. "That technique is called heartbreaker, you've surely seen it multiple times. It focuses on concentrating all your strength in that small space of the middle finger to aim it at the heart, stopping it in the best case or completely destroying the opponent's internal organs. The open hand serves to hold the opponent and execute the technique at close range."

  After finishing his explanation, Tawnylon got into a squatting position, making his shoulder appear to grow as he tensed his muscles in that posture.

  "Now imitate this position," indicated Tawnylon.

  Thamuz copied his father's posture, recognizing similarities with a rudimentary technique he had used in previous fights, where he would charge at his opponents with his shoulder, like an enraged beast.

  "What is this technique called, father?" asked Thamuz, intrigued.

  "It's called Ghokmeran, a term that designated an ancient beast with an extraordinarily hard head. They said its headbutts were so powerful they made the earth tremble. The ancient Shamonak fighters managed to create a technique based on it, and the result is the following..." Tawnylon's words vanished along with him.

  Thamuz barely registered his father's disappearance before seeing him materialize in front of him, with his shoulder mere inches from his body. The force of the movement generated an air wave that made Thamuz step back several paces until falling on his back.

  "If this technique impacts, it's very difficult for the opponent to get up. Its only disadvantages are that you must tense your muscles to the maximum and remain still to cause the most damage possible, besides being swift to execute it like lightning," explained Tawnylon, crouching down and extending a hand to help his son get up.

  Thamuz gripped his father's hand, trembling slightly as he understood that if that blow had connected, he would be writhing in pain on the ground.

  "Now, you try it," ordered Tawnylon, stepping back and crossing his arms.

  Thamuz swallowed at the order, wondering if he could replicate such power. He got into the indicated position, bending his knees and projecting his shoulder, which seemed to increase in size with each second of tension.

  "Now, release it," ordered Tawnylon with a sharp voice.

  Upon hearing the order, Thamuz unleashed all the force contained in his position. He seemed to vanish in the air before reappearing in front of one of the courtyard walls. The impact was devastating: the structure completely disintegrated, reducing to a cloud of dust.

  When the dust cloud dissipated, the figure of Thamuz emerged, who was slowly getting up while contemplating the destruction he had caused.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Vixkard, I promise to pay for the wall!" exclaimed Thamuz.

  "Don't worry about it, just keep training!" responded Vixkard.

  Thamuz returned to his father, who looked at him with some amusement at the executed technique. Tawnylon rested his hands on his knees and observed his son intently.

  "Now, this is another technique, one that isn't used much due to the high level required to make it functional. However, if you possess great physical strength, it can be devastating," while speaking, Tawnylon raised his leg to an extraordinary height, like a waving flag, then discharged a stomp with all his strength against the ground.

  The impact resonated throughout the place, making the earth and Vixkard's house tremble. The shock wave propagated through the surroundings, causing people to leave their homes, believing they were being victims of an earthquake.

  "This is called Bhatzaran. You must raise your leg to concentrate all the force in your foot, hitting the ground to generate a vibration that can disorient your opponent or use it as a technique to finish them on the ground," explained Tawnylon, stretching his arms. "What do you think of these techniques, son?"

  "They seem incredible, they could be very useful in my future fights," responded Thamuz with enthusiasm. "Do you have more techniques to teach me?"

  "Yes, there's one last technique, but I want to show it to you during our fight. Therefore," said Tawnylon, adopting a low position, "let's practice our grips until nightfall. Then, we'll have our match."

  Thamuz nodded and adopted his characteristic low position, extending his arms slightly toward his father. Both began to practice, not with all their strength, but to learn from each other.

  Thamuz fell to the ground before the overwhelming force and experience of his father, although occasionally he managed to execute an effective grip and take him down too. The most challenging part was facing Tawnylon's imposing height of three meters, who could simply rest an arm or leg on the ground to maintain balance and reposition himself.

  They progressed from grips to palm strikes, each one resisting the measured impacts to train pain tolerance and reception technique. Thamuz became frustrated noting that, despite using muscle control to absorb the blows, he still felt them.

  The afternoon passed this way between father and son, training until exhaustion and repeating the techniques shared in that special moment, while Vixkard dozed in his rocking chair with a thread of saliva escaping from his mouth.

  Night finally arrived. The sun hid under the mantle of darkness, leaving orange and blue traces in its imminent rest, while the silhouettes of Thamuz and Tawnylon shone against the night sky.

  Both were panting from the effort. Although they showed no damage or injuries that could compromise their performance in combat, the intense physical work was evident in their agitated breathing and the sweat that pearled their bodies.

  "It's nighttime, son," said Tawnylon with enthusiasm. "Do you know what that means?"

  Thamuz wiped the sweat from his forehead and spat the blood from his mouth. Tawnylon had accidentally connected a palm strike to his face, and now with his thumb he cleaned the blood from his lip, bringing it to his mouth to taste the metallic flavor.

  "It means I'm going to defeat you," declared Thamuz with a challenging tone, his eyes shining with determination. "Now I will be the best Shamonak fighter on this planet."

  "You wish," protested Tawnylon, adopting a pose almost identical to his son's, as if he were a reflection in the mirror of time, being the same pose that Tawnylon had used in his days as a fighter.

  The air around them began to distort, as if reality itself bent before the magnitude of their power. The ground trembled slightly, responding to the energy emanating from their bodies like waves in a pond. The tension was so dense it could almost be cut with a knife.

  The stars began to appear in the night sky, silent witnesses to what was about to come. The wind stopped, as if nature itself held its breath before the imminent clash of titans.

  Then, with a sound that seemed to tear the air itself, like thunder preceding the storm, the two warriors launched themselves at each other. Their figures became blurs of movement, the distance between them disappearing in an instant.