The Gym

"Sh*t." Deep breaths, deep breaths. Trevor was angry - at the lying establishment, at the self-serving mentors, yes - but mostly at himself. "Sh*t."

His feet had brought him away from the dorms, instead to a large gated building, one of many. About to turn back, he noted the signboard. 'Gym', it proclaimed, spiting him. It wasn't enough to make him the worst - the weakest, the worst smelling until he ran to the showers unnecessarily far from his shack - they wouldn't even give him the chance to improve. He strided up to the doors and rattled them. Locked - no lights were on, either. There was, however, an open window near the top of the building. The door-frames and windowsills were rock - if he wanted, he could scale it.

He stepped back. Glancing around - nobody in sight - he ran at the wall, grabbing onto the door's porch-like frame and pulling himself up to stand on it. Hugging the wall, he jumped left and caught a window-sill, his fingers crying out from the sudden abuse. He had no-where to go. He was still pathetically low; if he wanted, he could still drop down and go back. He could graduate without magic; if it proved too hard, he could always transfer to another school - he could probably get into quite a high ranking one -
"You can use magic, right?" A voice stated from the darkness, cutting through the cold night air. Trevor hadn't the breath to argue.

"If you can't find a foothold, make one." Well, Trevor could do that at least. He closed his eyes and shut out the mundane world. He could see, smell and almost touch the yellow mist here. He fed some to his fingers, which seemed to cry out for it - their hunger satiated, they quietened down, letting him concentrate. He gathered energy into his foot and kicked - a handsome ledge projected within arms reach and he clambered onto it.

"Made of energy, are we?" Trevor quirked an eyebrow in the direction of his unseen benefactor, but realised he was right - there was no way he could keep this up until the top. Maybe a lighter kick?

"No, you idiot. Don't kick - just tap the wall with your hands, you don't need nor want large handholds." Use his hands? The voice had been right up until then. He cautiously rapped against the wall. He found he could finely vary the ledge size with ease; he settled on a certain size and made four holds - he jumped up and grabbed onto two, planting his feet on the others. He paused for a moment, in thought, and jumped back down. The voice made a curious grunt. Trevor eyed the distance up the wall - it was around 20 metres - and knocked against the wall many times. After three minutes, he stepped back and admired his handiwork - a ladder of small holds up to the window.
"Impressive." Trevor ignored the voice and began the climb. His hands pulled him up easily - if he closed his eyes he could still see a vague yellow mist about them. It took three minutes - he jumped from the holds sideways pushing off and grabbing onto the ledge, pulling himself up into the window when his head struck something. It was cold, hard. The window was barred shut.

The voice burst into racuous, hacking laughter, dying down into coughs and splutters and weezes after a couple of minutes. Trevor knocked out some footholds and climbed down, jumping the last two metres to find a tanned twenty-something by the side of the building; the voice, he presumed.
"So you're the rumoured level two, then?"
"Yeah - what's it to you?"
"You're pretty fun." Trevor glared death at him.
"Fine, fine - you didn't get a mentor, right? If you accede to my requests, I'll be your mentor. You can bring a friend, too."
"And what requests might these be?"
The man handed over a folded scrap of paper. "Battle any three of these groups and win at least one - then I'll be your official mentor. They have to be official matches, or it doesn't count, okay? Also, it's pretty late - you'd better get to bed." With that, the man walked off into the shadow behind the building. Trevor tried following him with his eyes, but couldn't - after a couple of minutes he gave up and returned to his dorm. He'd ask Rod about the piece of paper in the morning.

The End

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