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Hector looked at him unhappily. ‘Geez... don’t do that again...’

‘Sorry.’

He looked at his fist, opening and closing it. ‘You were right, though. That was kind of easy...’

‘Yep. All it really takes is an acknowledgement of your imaginary mind as something real. Which, y’know, isn’t very difficult, given everything you’ve already experienced. But that’s just for the basics.’

‘Hmm. Why can’t normal people do this, again?’

‘Because the soul has to be carved out of the body first, which is something only accomplished by death.’

‘Does that mean Geoffrey died before, too?’

‘Egh, I don’t know. Maybe. But I got the impression he had been that way his whole life.’

Hector wanted to try materializing iron next, but Garovel said that could wait, so he returned to riding practice instead. He donned the riding helmet and mounted the bike. It was time to start picking up real speed.

He had not been looking forward to this part.

After going around in a circle and achieving his previous pace, Hector throttled up and shifted gears when Garovel told him to. The bike responded, and soon, he was going much faster than was comfortable. But that was the point of the exercise.

He sped across the massive parking lot, coming up to the edge and knowing he would have to make a gradual left turn. He moved the handlebars to the left, but the bike resisted and leaned the other direction.

‘Countersteer!’ said Garovel.

‘Oh, shit! But--!’ He struggled, and the bike just went straight.

‘Too late. Try to protect the bike, if you can.’

‘Fuck!’

The front tire hit the curb. The bike flipped, and he went flying.