Alliance (2)

Alypos

I needed a plan, and a schedule to make the most of my time. This place was both a prison and a battlefield. The forest, the monsters, and Marina—none of it could be trusted. And yet, it was my reality now. If I was going to survive, I needed control, not only over my body but over my powers. Marina, despite her hidden motives, had something I needed—knowledge.

In the mornings, I would hunt. In the afternoons, I'd learn water manipulation from her. Evenings, I'd practice my spear techniques far from her prying eyes. It was a strict routine, designed to keep me sharp, growing, and above all, untouchable. There was no room for error. Emotion would only cloud judgment.

Morning. The air was crisp, my breath visible in the early light as I trudged through the woods. The sled behind me bore my latest catch—a wild boar. Spear on my back, I remained vigilant. The blood would attract predators soon, but that wasn't a problem. I didn't mind being hunted anymore; it was simply part of the cycle now. I was predator and prey all at once.

After securing the boar, I turned my attention to a small squirrel I had rescued—a creature I had affectionately named Nibbles. It had limped at first, dragging its injured leg behind it, but after days of care, it had grown stronger. I found it amusing how it would scurry up my arm, perching on my shoulder like some kind of sentry. It chirped at me whenever I sat down to eat, always begging for food.

***

He's a child.

I remind myself that every day, but it never really sinks in. Watching him carve out a routine with precision most adults couldn't manage, there's something about him—something cold and calculating. His stoic face never betrays the slightest hint of emotion, remaining impassive no matter how pleased or frustrated he may be. His head might tilt a bit when he shows comfort or happiness, but his eyes are always watchful.

And yet, he trusts no one. Not even that damn squirrel.

I watch him, noting every detail. His strengths, his weaknesses—how his fingers twitch when he's thinking, how his gaze flickers when he hears something suspicious. I'm gathering data. I have to if I'm going to manipulate him. After all, this arrangement is temporary. The boy is a tool, just like the forest. As soon as I recover, I will be stronger than him. I'm strong enough, as soon as I can make my escape… But for now, I play along. I teach him. I cook for him. I even hang the beasts he hunts to dry them. It's almost…domestic.

But we're not allies. Not even close.

Water Manipulation Training

The first-afternoon session was frustrating. For both of us.

"Focus," Marina said, her voice tight with impatience. "Water responds to intention, not just movement. You have to guide it, not force it."

"I know that," I muttered, sweat dripping from my brow. Controlling water was like trying to tame a wild animal. It moved, but not always where I wanted it to go.

"Then stop trying to crush it. Feel it."

Easier said than done. We started small—shaping water into simple forms: spheres, blades, waves. I could manage that, but the real test was in the subtlety. I needed control over pressure, over flow, to make the water truly respond to me. Marina demonstrated, creating delicate threads of water that spun through the air like dancing ribbons. My attempts, in contrast, were clumsy and brutish.

Day by day, though, I improved. I learned to compress the water into high-pressure streams, sharp enough to cut through bark and even stone. I shaped water into shields, slowing attacks. But the hardest part was maintaining control under stress. Marina would throw rocks at me without warning, forcing me to react instinctively.

I discovered that using my mana to control the water particles directly was easier but drained my energy quickly—about 90% of my mana. Marina insisted that I needed to master a more efficient method that balanced my will and the water itself, a method that required equal parts will and water, demanding skill and precision—50% will and 50% water. It was challenging, but I realized the potential behind it.

Spear Training

Evenings were for the spear—my true weapon.

Away from Marina's watchful eyes, I practiced refining my technique. Basic spearmanship was no longer enough. I needed something more. Something that was mine. The boar had taught me about brute force, but force alone wouldn't make me unbeatable. The snake's agility, its lightning-fast strikes—that was what I needed to incorporate.

I began combining techniques. Using footwork to move like water, bending and flowing around imaginary opponents. The spear became an extension of my body, not just a tool for thrusting. I practiced fluid transitions—strike, pivot, block, spin. Every move had to flow into the next without hesitation.

My goal was to make my spear movements as fluid as water itself, versatile enough to serve in both attack and defense. There were days I would train until my arms screamed until my grip faltered. But pain meant progress. And with every session, I felt closer to breaking through to something new—something deadly.

***

Nibbles had become an odd companion. It had initially limped, dragging its injured leg behind it, but after days of care, it had grown stronger. I found it amusing how it would scurry up my arm, perching on my shoulder like some kind of sentry. It chirped at me whenever I sat down to eat, always begging for food.

One afternoon, as I worked on my water control, Nibbles decided to "help" by knocking over a bowl of water and spilling it across the ground. It seemed to enjoy watching me struggle with my attempts at control, like a mischievous child playing tricks. I had to admit—it was funny, in an infuriating way.

"You're lucky I don't eat you," I muttered, glaring at the creature. Nibbles chirped back, completely unfazed.

Marina watched the interaction from the side, her lips twitching in what looked like jealousy.

"You care more for that squirrel than people," she said one evening, her tone laced with bitterness.

"Beasts don't betray you," I replied flatly.

She didn't say anything after that. But I could feel her watching us. There was something about the way she looked at Nibbles—almost as if it was an intruder, stealing attention she thought she deserved.

***

He's relentless.

Every day, I watch him grow stronger. He absorbs information like a sponge, mastering water manipulation with a speed that terrifies me. He doesn't need praise or encouragement—he's driven by something else. Something dark.

But he's still a child.

I catch glimpses of it in the way he cares for Nibbles, in the small, rare moments of softness that break through his otherwise cold exterior. It's almost endearing. Almost.

Still, I'm not fooled. He may act detached, but he's watching me as closely as I watch him. This strange game we're playing—it's a dance of deception. We cook, we train, we talk…but beneath it all, we're both scheming. He wants my knowledge, and I want his protection. But neither of us trusts the other, and we never will.

I note everything about him—his habits, his preferences, the way he hesitates for just a fraction of a second before making a decision. If I'm going to manipulate him, I need to know him better than he knows himself. I will need to know if he would be useful after I recover.

On the sixth day of our routine, as Marina prepared dinner—grilled boar with some herbs we'd scavenged—I finally asked the question that had been lingering in my mind.

"Why did you offer me an alliance?" I kept my tone casual, but I watched her closely for any sign of deception.

She looked up from the fire, her expression neutral. "Because I had no choice. You're the only one left alive in this cursed forest, and I'd rather have a reluctant ally than face it alone."

I nodded, though her words felt rehearsed. "And you think I won't kill you once I've learned everything I need?"

She smirked, the firelight casting shadows across her face. "You could try. But by then, you might find I'm more useful alive than dead. You also can't kill me, I'm stronger after all"

It was a gamble, but one I suspected she believed in, especially when I have seen her control of water. I didn't respond, letting the silence stretch between us. She was right in one sense—there was still much I could learn from her. But I knew, eventually, one of us would outlive our usefulness to the other. 

The Final Day of the Week

By the seventh day, my spear felt like an extension of my body. I could feel the improvement, the speed, the power. My water control was sharper, and more refined. Marina even complimented me—though I could tell it was grudging. I could tell she was impressed but also wary. She knew I was no longer just a child.

Nibbles, now fully recovered, chirped as it sat beside me on the edge of the cottage roof, watching the sunset. I fed it a small piece of meat from my dinner. It nibbled happily, and I found myself smiling, if only for a brief moment.

Marina approached, standing beside me but keeping her distance. "You're not as cold as you pretend to be, you know."

"Maybe," I said, glancing at Nibbles, then back at her. "But I'm smart enough to know that everyone's playing a game. Including you."

She chuckled softly. "You're not wrong."

We stood in silence, both aware that despite the peaceful scene before us, the real battle between us would only continue.