At the training ground, the morning air felt heavier than usual, thick with the metallic tang of anticipation. Dust drifted lazily across the worn stone underfoot, disturbed now and then by restless pacing. Kellan stood with his arms folded, weight shifting from one foot to the other, while Tavin kept glancing toward the entrance as if staring hard enough might summon an answer. Elenor didn't pace at all—she stood rigid, shoulders tight, fingers curled into fists at her sides, her silence sharper than any accusation.
Ronan had left without a word. No explanation. No warning. Just… gone. The absence lingered like a crack no one could quite look at directly.
Every footstep that echoed from the corridor made their heads turn.
Then—finally—two figures appeared.
Ronan walked in beside Kairos, their silhouettes framed by the pale morning light. The moment stretched—tight, brittle—before relief broke across Kellan's face, before Tavin's shoulders dropped, breath escaping him in a quiet rush.
Elenor didn't move.
Then she did.
She strode forward, each step crisp against the stone, her gaze locked onto Ronan like a blade finding its mark. When she stopped in front of him, the air between them felt thin.
"Our prince," she said, voice sweet enough to cut, "finally graces us with his presence." Her lips curved, but there was no warmth in them. "Aren't we just so grateful?"
Ronan raised both hands instinctively, taking a small step back. His grin came quickly—too quickly—crooked and unsure. "Good morning, Elenor."
Her eyes flicked to his raised hands, then to his face again, narrowing. "Good morning," she echoed softly, as if tasting the words.
Her fist moved before the thought could settle.
The crack echoed across the training ground.
"Aah—! My face!" Ronan staggered back, clutching his nose, eyes watering as the sting bloomed sharp and immediate. He barely had time to straighten before she closed the distance again.
"Wait, wait—!" he yelped, half-laughing, half-wincing as he tried to retreat. "Next time, I swear—I'll tell you personally—"
Her hand shot up, fingers locking around his ear.
Ronan froze.
Then she twisted.
"Aah—aaau—!" His body bent with the motion, one hand grabbing her wrist as if that might somehow lessen the damage. "Mercy—mercy!"
"Oh, you will?" Elenor leaned closer, her voice low, steady. "That's funny." She twisted just a little more—not enough to injure, just enough to remind. "Because Kairos already told us yesterday where you went."
Ronan's head snapped toward Kairos, eyes wide with betrayal. "You—"
Kairos lifted both hands in surrender, shrugging, the corner of his mouth twitching. He didn't even try to hide it.
Elenor gave Ronan's ear another sharp turn, dragging his attention back. "But next time," she said, each word deliberate, "it should come from you. Got it?"
"Aau—aaau! Yes—yes, I understand!" Ronan flailed slightly, his dignity unravelling thread by thread.
She held him there for a heartbeat longer, studying his face—checking, measuring—before finally letting go.
Ronan stumbled back, rubbing his ear, muttering under his breath as sensation returned in painful pulses. His nose still throbbed, his pride worse.
Elenor crossed her arms, her gaze sweeping over him from head to toe.
Something in her expression shifted.
"Wait," she said, tilting her head slightly. "You…" Her eyes sharpened. "You advanced to Adept, didn't you?"
The tension broke cleanly.
Kellan stepped forward first, a grin spreading across his face as if the earlier worry had never existed. "About time," he said, clapping Ronan on the shoulder hard enough to jolt him.
Tavin followed, his smile quieter but no less genuine. "Congratulations, Ronan." His hand lingered a moment longer, firm, grounding.
Ronan exhaled, some of the stiffness leaving his shoulders. "Thanks," he said, rubbing his ear again, though a small smile tugged at his lips. "I've been working hard, you know." His gaze slid sideways toward Elenor. "Even if some people don't appreciate the effort."
Elenor smirked, one brow lifting. "Oh, I appreciate it," she said lightly. "I just appreciate communication more."
Ronan huffed, but the edge was gone now.
The group lingered, the earlier tension dissolving into something warmer, steadier—like the quiet after a storm that had never quite broken. Eventually, they drifted apart, each turning toward their own training, the rhythm of the ground resuming.
Two days later, night settled softly over the compound.
Sophia stepped out onto her balcony, the faint scent of soap still clinging to her skin, her damp hair trailing cool lines down her back. The water from her bath had washed away the grit of travel, but not entirely the weight in her limbs.
The night air embraced her—cool, steady.
Moonlight spilt across the grounds below, silvering the stone, turning every edge softer, every shadow deeper.
She rested her arms against the railing.
For a while, she simply breathed.
Then—movement.
Her gaze sharpened, narrowing slightly as she leaned forward. A lone figure stood in the training ground below.
"Tavin?" she murmured.
Below, Tavin sat cross-legged, unmoving. Sweat darkened his clothes despite the cool night, catching the moonlight in faint glimmers. His breathing was slow, measured—each inhale deep, each exhale controlled, as though he were anchoring himself to something unseen.
The air around him felt… still.
Not empty—waiting.
Sophia's fingers curled slightly against the railing.
Tavin rose.
He reached for his sword, his grip steady despite the fatigue that lingered in the slight drag of his shoulders. When he moved into stance, something in him shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. The stillness sharpened.
Water Aether gathered.
It didn't surge—it flowed.
A thin stream at first, coiling around his blade, then swelling, thickening, until it wrapped him in a faint, shifting aura that shimmered under the moonlight. It moved like a living thing, responding to the smallest adjustment of his stance.
Sophia leaned forward, her breath slowing unconsciously to match his rhythm.
Tavin moved.
An upward slash—clean, deliberate—the blade cutting through the air with a soft, fluid hiss. A ribbon of water followed, catching the moonlight, scattering it into trembling fragments.
He turned.
A horizontal strike—faster.
Then a low cut—faster still.
Each motion built upon the last, the flow tightening, refining, shedding excess until only intent remained. The water no longer trailed—it obeyed.
Sophia's eyes widened slightly.
"What… is he refining?" she whispered.
Tavin finished the sequence.
For a heartbeat, he held the final stance—
Then his legs gave out.
He dropped onto his back with a rough exhale, a breathless laugh breaking free as his chest rose and fell rapidly. "I did it…" he said, voice hoarse, disbelief and exhilaration tangling together. "I did it. Finally…"
Above, Sophia didn't move.
Her gaze lingered, not just on the technique—but on the strain it left behind. The trembling in his fingers. The way his breathing struggled to settle.
Below, Tavin's vision blurred.
The present wavered—
—and memory surged.
Steel met steel.
Heat and pressure slammed into him as Ronan's blade crashed down, crimson flames roaring along its edge. The air hissed violently where fire met water, steam exploding outward with every clash.
Tavin's arm jolted with the impact, his grip tightening as he redirected the force, sliding into a counter.
Ronan didn't give him space.
Another strike—faster. Heavier.
Tavin shifted, deflecting, stepping back—again, again—each movement measured, controlled. He could feel it clearly: Ronan wasn't holding back. He was pushing. Forcing.
Trying to break him.
If I dodge, I'm finished.
The realisation settled cold and precise.
So Tavin held.
Blade to blade. Step by step. Let him spend it. Let him burn through it.
Ronan moved.
The rhythm changed.
Tavin felt it a fraction too late.
The next strike slammed harder than the rest, forcing him back, his heel skidding across the ground. Sparks burst between their blades. His balance wavered—
Ronan lunged.
The stance—
Wrong.
A trap.
Tavin's breath caught. Too late to retreat.
"Sky Splitter!"
Fire tore forward in a blazing crescent.
Tavin reacted on instinct—water surged upward, forming a barrier just as the flames struck. The collision exploded into steam, the force driving him back, lungs burning as he coughed through the heat.
Through the haze, their eyes met.
No hesitation.
"Let's end this with one last move."
Ronan's flames roared brighter, flaring as he gathered everything he had left.
Tavin steadied himself.
The world narrowed.
"By the silence of the abyss and the truth within the tide…" His voice was low, steady despite the tremor in his arms. Water condensed, compressing, shaping—denser, sharper. "I call forth the weight that none can hide."
The spear formed.
"Verdict of the Depths."
He threw.
Fire and water collided.
Light consumed everything.
The shockwave tore through the arena, hurling them apart. Tavin hit the ground hard, air ripping from his lungs, his limbs trembling as he forced himself upright.
Across from him, Ronan stood the same—barely.
Tavin's legs wavered.
I used everything.
And still—
He looked at Ronan.
Ronan met his gaze.
Then—both of them laughed, the sound raw, unguarded, breaking through the exhaustion.
The memory faded.
Night returned.
Tavin lay there, chest rising and falling, staring up at the sky.
"…No," he murmured, the word quiet, almost swallowed by the wind. His fingers curled against the ground as he pushed himself upright again. "This isn't enough."
He rose.
Again.
"I can't keep falling behind."
Above, Sophia watched in silence.
The next morning, the scent of polished wood and old parchment filled the office as Tavin stood before Mr. Alden. Sunlight filtered through the window, cutting sharp lines across the floor.
Tavin bowed.
Alden studied him, fingers steepled, gaze sharp enough to weigh more than words. "So," he said slowly, "you want to learn swordsmanship."
A pause.
"But why?"
Tavin straightened.
Alden's eyes narrowed slightly. "You carry the blessing of the Water God. With that alone, most paths would open for you. Why chase something… slower?"
The memory pressed at the edges again.
Ronan's blade. The weight of it. The inevitability.
Tavin's jaw tightened.
"Because I can't rely on it," he said. His voice didn't rise—it settled. "My friend Ronan—his Aether is barely a third of mine." His fingers curled slightly at his sides. "We fought. I used everything. And I still couldn't defeat him."
Alden didn't interrupt.
Tavin's gaze steadied. "Every time we spar, I can feel it." A brief pause—then quieter, sharper: "In a real battle, he wouldn't hesitate."
Silence stretched.
"I don't want to stand behind my Aether," Tavin continued. "I want to stand beside him."
Something flickered in Alden's eyes.
"Then tell me," Alden said, voice cutting through the room, "why do you feel inferior to him?"
Tavin didn't hesitate.
"His stamina. His speed. His tactics." Each word came clean, precise. "His weakness is his Aether."
A beat.
"My strengths are the opposite."
Another beat.
"I surpass him in only one thing."
The room stilled.
Alden's lips curved—just slightly.
"Good," he said.
He turned his head toward Sophia. "You want me to train him?"
Sophia inclined her head. "I believe he's ready."
Alden looked back at Tavin, the faint trace of approval gone, replaced with something harder. "If I train you," he said, "your status means nothing. You'll be treated like anyone else."
The words settled like a weight.
Tavin met his gaze.
"I would prefer it that way."