Training

The warmth of the kitchen faded away as we stepped outside into the chilly air. Despite the cold, the sun's rays provided a small measure of comfort, and we found ourselves drawn to a pair of benches near the entrance.

As we settled onto the wooden seats, I couldn't help but notice the change in January's demeanor. Gone was the lighthearted smile from earlier, replaced by a serious and cold expression that I had come to know all too well.

"March, we need to talk," he said, his voice low and grave.

I nodded, bracing myself for whatever news he had to share. I had a feeling it wouldn't be good.

January took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm sorry, but you won't be able to join us on the next mission. It's too risky, especially given your current condition."

I felt my heart sink at his words. After everything we had been through together, the thought of being left behind was almost too much to bear.

"But I can help," I protested, leaning forward on the bench. "I may not have my memories, but I'm still a skilled fighter. You've seen what I can do."

January shook his head, his expression unchanging. "It's not about your abilities, March. It's about your safety. We don't know what triggers your memories, and we can't risk you having an episode in the middle of a critical mission."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the look in January's eyes stopped me short. There was a depth of concern there that I hadn't seen before, and I realized that this decision wasn't easy for him either.

"I know you want to help," he said, his voice softening slightly. "But right now, the best thing you can do is focus on recovering your memories. We need you at your best, and that means taking the time to heal."

I sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation wash over me. As much as I hated to admit it, January was right. I was still a liability, and I couldn't risk putting the others in danger because of my own struggles.

"Fine," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I was angry and crushed, but there was nothing I could do, again.

"I understand," I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "But there's something else I wanted to talk to you about. Last night, I had a dream - a memory, I think."

January's eyebrows raised slightly, his interest piqued. "Go on," he encouraged.

I took a deep breath, recalling the vivid details of the dream. "I was a child, training with a lizard-man named Professor. We were on some kind of magical platform, and I was trying to unlock my abilities. But something went wrong, and the platform shattered."

January frowned, his brow furrowing in thought. "That's strange. I don't recall any mention of a shattered platform in your past. But the training with Professor does sound familiar."

I nodded, feeling a small sense of relief that at least some part of my dream was based in reality. "I thought so too. But no one seems to know anything about the platform."

We talked a bit more, but soon enough, it was time for January and the others to prepare for their mission. I watched as they gathered their gear and reviewed their plans, feeling a pang of longing to be a part of it all.

But there was nothing I could do, so I found myself wandering the expansive gardens of the safehouse, lost in thought. That's when I spotted Alfred again, watering some plants with a peaceful expression on his face.

As I approached, he looked up and smiled warmly. "Ah, mister March. How are you holding up?"

I shrugged, not quite sure how to answer. "I'm alright, I guess. Just wish I could be more useful."

Alfred set down his watering can. "Don't worry about your friends, mister March. Their talent is far greater than anyone expects. They'll be just fine."

His words brought a small smile to my face, and I felt a surge of gratitude for his kindness. "Thank you, Alfred. That means a lot."

He nodded, then seemed to consider something for a moment. "Say, mister March. If you're looking for a way to pass the time, perhaps I could assist you with some training? It might help jog your memory, and at the very least, it'll keep you occupied."

My eyes widened at the offer, and I felt a spark of excitement at the prospect of actually doing something productive. "That would be great, Alfred. I'd really appreciate that."

I followed Alfred as he led me to a secluded area of the garden, away from the main house. The grass was soft beneath my feet, and the sun's warmth seemed to seep into my skin, chasing away the lingering chill from earlier.

As we walked, Alfred spoke, his voice gentle but firm. "You know, the old March wasn't particularly fond of weapons. He always preferred to fight with his bare hands, relying on his strength and agility to overcome his opponents."

I frowned, trying to reconcile this information with the fragmented memories I had of my past. It was true that I felt more comfortable fighting without weapons, but I couldn't say for certain why that was.

"But given your current situation," Alfred continued, "I think it's best if we start from scratch. Learning to wield a sword will help you develop new skills and techniques, and who knows? It might even trigger some of your lost memories."

I nodded, seeing the wisdom in his words. If I was going to be of any use to the others, I needed to be at my best, and that meant being open to new ways of fighting.

We reached a small clearing, and Alfred turned to face me, holding out one of the swords. "Here," he said, "take this. Let's see what you remember."

I took the sword, feeling the weight of it in my hand. It was heavier than I expected, but not uncomfortably so. I gave it a few experimental swings, trying to get a feel for the balance and movement.

Alfred watched me closely, his expression unreadable. "Not bad," he said after a moment. "But you're holding it too tightly. Loosen your grip, and let the blade become an extension of your arm."

I nodded, adjusting my grip as he instructed. It felt strange at first, but as I continued to practice, I could feel myself starting to get the hang of it.

"Good," Alfred said, a hint of approval in his voice. "Now, let's work on your stance. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, and keep your knees slightly bent. This will give you a stable base and allow you to move more easily."

I followed his instructions, feeling my body settle into the unfamiliar stance. It was different from the way I usually fought, but I could see the advantages it offered.

"Alright," Alfred said, picking up the other sword. "Now, let's see what you can do. Attack me, and don't hold back."

I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I was ready for this. But the determined look in Alfred's eyes gave me the courage I needed. I took a deep breath, then lunged forward, my sword flashing in the sunlight.

Alfred's sword clashed against mine, the sound ringing through the garden. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to land a single hit. He deflected every strike with ease, his movements fluid and effortless.

"Again," he said, his voice calm and even.

I gritted my teeth and attacked once more, putting all of my strength behind the blow. But Alfred was too quick. With a flick of his wrist, he deflected my sword and then, in one smooth motion, disarmed me completely.

I stared at my empty hand in shock, hardly believing what had just happened. Alfred tossed my sword back to me, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Let's try something different," he said. "This time, I'll attack, and you defend."

I nodded, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. I had barely raised my sword when Alfred was upon me, his blade a blur of motion. I stumbled back, frantically trying to parry his strikes. But it was no use. He was too fast, too skilled.

Suddenly, I felt Alfred's leg sweep behind mine, and I lost my balance. I fell to the ground, my sword clattering beside me. But even as I fell, something inside me clicked. Without thinking, I reached out and caught the wooden blade with my bare hands.

Alfred's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, we both froze. I could feel the rough grain of the wood against my palms, the weight of the sword pressing down on me. 

I felt a surge of strength as Alfred helped me to my feet, his smile a mixture of pride and understanding. "Swords were never your weapon of choice, March," he said, dusting off my shirt. "It's only logical that your muscle memory is more suited to hand-to-hand combat."

I nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. It was good to know that at least some part of my past was still ingrained in my body, even if my mind couldn't fully recall it.

"Let's try something different," Alfred suggested, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "How about we focus on magic? Specifically, physical empowerment."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the idea. Magic had always been a mystery to me, something I knew I possessed but couldn't quite grasp.

Alfred began to explain the concept, his voice calm and patient. "Imagine your hand in the most vivid detail possible," he instructed. "Visualize the power flowing through it, enhancing its strength and durability."

I closed my eyes, trying to follow his guidance. I pictured my hand, every line and callus, and tried to infuse it with an invisible force. But no matter how hard I concentrated, I couldn't seem to make it work.

Sensing my frustration, Alfred placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "It takes practice," he said, his voice soothing. "Don't be too hard on yourself."

We started to spar again, this time with me focusing on both defense and offense while trying to channel my magic. Alfred's sword flashed in the sunlight as he attacked, and I found myself relying more and more on my instincts to keep up.

But even as I started to remember my old fighting style, it was still a challenge to face a skilled swordsman with nothing but my bare hands. Alfred's blade danced around me, and I found myself being pushed back, step by step.

Suddenly, my back hit the wall, and I realized I was cornered. Alfred lunged forward, his sword a blur of motion, and I knew I had no escape. Acting on pure instinct, I thrust my palm forward, feeling a surge of energy coursing through my arm.

There was the sound of shattering wood filled the air. When my vision cleared, I saw the remnants of Alfred's sword scattered on the ground, the blade broken into countless pieces.

Alfred stared at me in shock, his eyes wide with excitement. "Mister March," he said, his voice filled with awe. "You did it. You used your magic."

I stared at my hand in disbelief, hardly able to comprehend what had just happened. The power that had surged through me, the shattered remains of Alfred's sword - it seemed like a dream.

But the pride and excitement in Alfred's eyes told me that it was real. I had done it. I had used my magic.

A grin spread across my face as I looked at Alfred, my chest heaving with exertion. He smiled back at me, his own face beaming with pride.

"Congratulations, mister March," he said, bowing his head slightly. "You've made incredible progress today."

I bowed back, feeling a rush of gratitude for his guidance and patience. "Thank you, Alfred," I said, my voice sincere. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Alfred waved off my thanks, his expression humble. "It was all you, mister March. I merely provided the opportunity."

He glanced at the sun, which was starting to dip lower in the sky. "Unfortunately, I must take my leave now. There is much work to be done around the house."

I nodded, understanding the demands of his role. "Of course," I said, straightening up. "Thank you again for your time."

Alfred collected the sword I had used earlier, as well as the shattered pieces of the one I had broken. As he turned to leave, he gestured towards a large dummy on the other side of the clearing.

"That dummy is reinforced for magic training," he explained. "Feel free to stay and practice as much as you need."

I nodded, already feeling the itch to continue honing my newfound skills. "I will. Thank you, Alfred."

With a final nod and a smile, Alfred departed, leaving me alone in the clearing. I took a deep breath, feeling the energy still thrumming through my veins.

For the rest of the day, I trained relentlessly, pushing myself to the limits of my endurance. I focused on channeling my magic, visualizing the power flowing through my body and into my strikes.

The dummy took a beating, but it held strong, absorbing the force of my blows. I lost myself in the rhythm of the training, my mind emptying of all thoughts except for the task at hand.

Hours passed, and the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. Exhausted but satisfied, I finally allowed myself to rest, collapsing beneath a nearby tree.

As I drifted off to sleep, a sense of peace settled over me. For the first time since I had lost my memories, I felt like I was making real progress. I knew there was still a long way to go, but with Alfred's guidance and my own determination, I was confident that I would find my way back to who I truly was.