The Essence Flow-Chapter 25: Flow And Force
Elliot’s breath came in ragged bursts, each exhale fogging in the cold. The bag hung motionless—taunting him with its indifference.
"You’re still holding back,"
Leon said, sipping his tea like this was a casual observation and not the hundredth time he’d said it.
"I’m not—"
Elliot snarled, then bit down on the frustration. He exhaled, long and slow, his breath stirring the dust at his feet.
Fine.
If focus wasn’t working, maybe…
He stopped thinking about form. Stopped worrying about Towan watching from the riverbank, half-drowned and grinning. Stopped
caring
if he failed.
For the first time since Heartwood burned, he let himself
want
something selfish—not to survive, not to protect, but to
hit
this damn thing until it
felt
him.
His next punch wasn’t clean. It wasn’t even a proper technique.
It was raw.
The bag didn’t sway.
It
exploded
.
The chain snapped with a sound like a gunshot, the links glowing red-hot as the bag
rocketed
into the trees. Wood splintered. Birds shrieked. Somewhere deep in the forest, an animal yelped in surprise.
Silence.
Leon sipped his tea.
"Huh. Overshot it."
Elliot stared at his trembling hand. The skin was unbroken, but his veins pulsed with a faint silver glow—like Essentia had
burned
through him instead of flowing.
Leon’s eyes flicked to Elliot’s fist. A shadow passed over his face—something between recognition and grief.
"That’s how Ardentis used to punch,"
he muttered.
"Before he learned control."
Elliot froze.
"You knew the Essentia Warriors?"
Leon’s mask slid back into place.
"I knew of them."
He stood, brushing off his pants.
"Now go get the bag. And try not to kill it this time."
As Elliot went for the punching bag, Leon’s gaze shifted to Towan
The rock was a betrayal. The waterfall, a personal enemy. Towan’s thirty-second attempt ended like the others—with him spitting river water and swearing loud enough to scare the birds off the trees.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, the violation.
"Adjust,"
Leon called, voice flat.
"I am adjusting!"
Towan snapped, slapping the water.
"I adjusted right into the damn—"
A memory flashed: Elliot, six years old, teetering on a log bridge over Heartwood’s creek.
"Stop staring at your feet, dumbass! Look ahead!"
Towan laughed, sudden and bright.
Oh.
He stopped fighting the water. Stopped
forcing
it.
His next kick wasn’t a strike—it was a
question
. It followed the flow
Leon’s eyes opened as he saw
his own kick
being performed by Towan
The waterfall
bent
, parting around his foot like a curtain. The riverbed stones hummed, a harmonic tone resonating through the clearing. For three seconds, the river held its breath.
Then dumped him on his ass.
Leon nodded.
"Closer."
he said with a soft smile
But his fingers twitched at his side—a reflexive motion, like he’d
almost
reached out to steady Towan. Or to stop him.
The days blended into a blur of sweat and strain.
Each morning began with a lung-burning sprint down the mountain trail and a grueling run back up — no breaks, no excuses.
Push-ups until their arms trembled. Pull-ups until their hands blistered.
They punched trees until bark flaked off like dead skin, then struck logs that Leon would toss into the air — midair targets they had to hit cleanly before they crashed down.
Quick circuits followed: hop, duck, roll, dash — over and over, faster every time.
It wasn’t flashy, but it worked. Their bodies grew tougher, leaner. Movements tighter. Breathing sharper.
A few weeks passed.
By now, even the soreness had faded into background noise.
One quiet morning, the three of them sat around a small wooden table, steam rising from cups of tea, the smell of toasted bread in the air.
Leon leaned back in his chair and spoke as if commenting on the weather:
“We’re running out of money.”
Towan paused mid-bite. Elliot froze with a spoon halfway to his mouth.
Leon grabbed a piece of bread and tore it casually. “You two are gonna have to start working.”
Towan narrowed his eyes. “Wait…
work
work?”
Leon chewed for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. I’ve gotta head back to Lockeheart — got some business I’ve been putting off. I can’t keep covering everything forever.”
Towan sat up straighter, his brow furrowed. “You’re leaving us?”
Leon gave a shrug, not unkindly. “Only for a while. You’ll stay here. But I want you to go to Stoneveil. Look for a man named Lytharos — tell him I sent you.”
Elliot glanced at Towan, then turned to Leon. “Will you come back?”
Leon looked at them both for a moment, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Of course. I’ll drop in from time to time… but it’s time you two started learning to stand on your own.”
Leon stood from his seat, stretching his arms with a casual roll of his shoulders.
“Today’s your last day of training with me,” he said, his voice calm but carrying that familiar edge. Then came the grin — sharp, confident, borderline smug.
“Get ready to get your asses kicked.”
Towan and Elliot exchanged a look, their smiles rising to meet his challenge.
“Don’t think we’re the same rookies from before,” Towan said, brushing a few crumbs off his shirt. “We can actually block now.”
“Most of the time,” Elliot added, still chewing.
.
!
Chapter 25: Flow And Force
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