The setting sun painted the abandoned church in shades of amber and crimson.
Dawsyn pushed open the weathered wooden doors and stepped inside.
The old building greeted him with the same familiar silence.
Broken pews rested beneath layers of dust.
Faded stained glass allowed the last rays of daylight to spill across the cracked stone floor.
Nothing had changed.
Nothing ever seemed to.
His footsteps echoed softly as he walked toward the front of the sanctuary.
Elias was already there.
Sitting alone on one of the front pews.
His worn coat hung loosely over his shoulders.
His head remained lowered as if he had been expecting Dawsyn long before he arrived.
Without looking up, he spoke.
"You were late."
Dawsyn smiled.
"By three minutes."
"Two minutes and forty-seven seconds."
Dawsyn chuckled.
"You actually counted?"
"I count everything."
"I met someone."
"I know."
That made Dawsyn pause.
"You know?"
Elias slowly looked up.
"I smelled another person's scent before you walked through the door."
Dawsyn rubbed the back of his neck.
"That still feels strange."
"It should."
The old man stood.
"You'll understand one day."
Without another word, Elias turned and disappeared behind the altar.
Dawsyn waited where he was.
That had become part of their routine.
Every evening Elias disappeared first.
Several moments later…
A familiar rumble echoed beneath the church.
Stone scraped against stone somewhere out of sight.
Elias' voice drifted through the silence.
"You can come down now."
Dawsyn walked behind the altar.
The hidden staircase had already revealed itself.
As always…
He never saw how.
He descended into the sanctuary, the opening closing somewhere above him as he reached the bottom.
The underground chamber felt almost comforting now.
The soft glow of crystal lanterns illuminated shelves filled with ancient books.
The crackling fireplace pushed back the evening chill.
The distant sound of flowing water echoed through the stone halls.
Elias was already preparing tea.
He slid a clay cup across the table.
"Drink."
Dawsyn accepted it gratefully.
The warmth spread through his hands.
For several minutes neither of them spoke.
Finally, Dawsyn broke the silence.
"The guy I met today."
Elias raised an eyebrow.
"The one whose scent followed you."
"Yeah."
"He introduced himself."
"And?"
"His name's Kyrian."
Elias took another sip of tea.
"What did he want?"
"I don't know."
"He just… started talking."
"And you believed that?"
"I didn't say I believed anything."
"You gave him your name."
Dawsyn hesitated.
"I did."
Elias nodded thoughtfully.
"Names have value."
"They're often the first thing people try to steal."
Dawsyn frowned.
"I don't understand."
"You will."
The old man stood and carried his cup toward the training hall.
Dawsyn followed.
To his surprise…
The room had been completely cleared.
No practice dummies.
No buckets.
No ropes.
No weighted stones.
Only an empty stone floor.
"What happened?"
"We don't need them tonight."
"So what are we doing?"
Elias turned to face him.
"I'm going to ask you a question."
Dawsyn folded his arms.
"Alright."
"If I placed a knife in your hand…"
"…would you know when to use it?"
"If someone tried to kill me."
Elias slowly shook his head.
"I didn't ask when."
"I asked if."
Dawsyn remained silent.
The distinction caught him off guard.
Elias began walking slowly around the room.
"When I was younger…"
"I believed strength solved every problem."
"It doesn't."
"It only gives you the ability to choose how you respond."
He stopped walking.
"Tell me."
"Why do you want strength?"
The answer came immediately.
"So nobody can control me."
Elias studied him.
"That answer has changed."
Dawsyn looked away.
"It has."
"A few weeks ago…"
"I would've said revenge."
Silence settled between them.
Elias gave a small nod.
"Revenge is easy."
"Purpose is difficult."
He walked toward an old wooden rack mounted against the wall.
Resting upon it was a simple training knife carved from hardwood.
He picked it up before holding it out.
"Take it."
Dawsyn accepted it.
It felt surprisingly balanced.
"Good."
"Now…"
"Hand it back."
Without thinking, Dawsyn extended the handle toward him.
Elias didn't take it.
Instead, he looked at the knife.
"What did you just do?"
"I handed it back."
"You handed someone a weapon without asking why they needed one."
Dawsyn blinked.
"I…"
"You never questioned my intention."
The realization settled over him.
He hadn't.
Not even once.
Elias finally accepted the knife and returned it to the rack.
"A weapon magnifies intent."
"If the intent is honorable…"
"It protects."
"If the intent is selfish…"
"It destroys."
"The weapon is never responsible."
"The hand holding it is."
The words lingered in the quiet chamber.
Dawsyn found himself thinking about Damien.
About the gangs.
About everyone who chased power.
Maybe…
Power itself had never been the problem.
Maybe the people were.
Elias watched him carefully.
"You're thinking."
"I'm trying to."
"Good."
"The body grows through hardship."
"The mind grows through questions."
Another silence passed.
Then Elias stepped into the center of the room.
His posture changed.
Gone was the calm old man who drank tea and offered quiet advice.
Standing before Dawsyn now was someone else entirely.
Someone whose presence alone made the air feel heavy.
"I've taught you how to stand."
"I've taught you how to move."
"I've begun teaching you why you fight."
His amber eyes met Dawsyn's.
"But words only matter if they survive pressure."
He slowly raised one hand.
"Come."
Dawsyn instinctively settled into Crimson Step.
His breathing slowed.
His heartbeat steadied.
For the first time since their training began…
Elias assumed a fighting stance.
Not to attack.
Not to intimidate.
To evaluate.
Every instinct in Dawsyn's body screamed the same warning.
This will be different.
A slow smile spread across Elias' face.
"Good."
"You finally learned to listen to your instincts."
He lowered himself another inch.
"Now…"
"Let's see if your body can keep up."