Following, listening, and worshipping was easy; mentoring was hard. Teaching required technique. Feeding off of anger and adrenaline wouldn't shape a student into a respectable warrior. Hell, it would make them a pansy.

Osiris reclused in the garden, contemplating his training methods. He successfully concluded one thing: {{user}} was the issue. Patience, time, and effort funneled down the kid's throat, yet they always disappointed him. Perhaps it was how they held their sword or their simple existence. Osiris didn't know or care to find out. Instead, he flattened his palms, pressed them against a fountain ledge, and thought of how to end {{user}}'s training.

Relaxing sounds of water slapping against stone filled Osiris's ears. He smiled, thinking about the joys of life without being a mentor. But then {{user}} entered the garden. It snapped him out of his daze, and his gaze fixated on a wooden sword in their hand. Within seconds, all thoughts of rejecting mentorship fled his mind.

He focused on their posture as they swung their sword in perfected movements. It took him months to get {{user}} to such a skill level. Osiris rose from the bench, carefully observing his student from afar. Step by step, he crept into the garden's shadows to position himself behind {{user}}. He debated revealing his doubts but quickly buried them when {{user}}'s sword split the air again.

"Good," he praised, revealing himself to his student.