8:01 AM at the THOE Academy's old foundation gymnasium.
Ben pushed open the heavy doors. Inside, Korin stood waiting in the center of the sparring circle. He wasn't in his formal Director's attire. Instead, he wore simple, dark training fatigues, pants, and a tight-fitting shirt that emphasized the lean, coiled strength of his frame. He looked less like an administrator and more like a weapon that had been temporarily set down.
"You're late."
"Sorry," Ben said, stopping a few feet away. "So what's first?"
"Control," Korin replied, as if it were the only word in the dictionary.
Ben looked around, searching for opponents or a clue as to how the training would unfold.
"You're assessing the room," Korin observed. "Stop. I won't let you fight anyone here. Your focus is internal now. The power you used in the arena is a very rare thing to manifest at your age. It was a glimpse of your Origin Power."
Ben went still, the memory a cold weight in his gut. "Origin power… what is it, exactly?"
Korin smiled, a genuine, almost wistful expression spreading across his face. In his lifetime, Korin had done so much that his peers' respect no longer allowed him to take a position beneath the world's demands. He had always loved to teach, to analyze, and to encourage progress, but his reputation had placed him apart from the many. As a last resort, he had chosen to become the director of the largest, most prestigious academy in Solaria; a way to remain connected to the next generation, and to the rise of the new, stronger heroes.
"I'm glad you asked," Korin said, his tone softening into one of rare passion. "Ben, what I'm about to tell you is one of the most potent ways to utilize your power. It's the culmination of a lifetime's research, inspired in large part by your father's final actions. And you… You are the youngest person ever recorded in the Essence Database to access it. So listen carefully."
Ben had no words. It was too much to process, a secret power he'd somehow unlocked, with his father as the blueprint? What did that even mean? For the first time, he felt a thread of something other than dread: his wish to mask his hidden powers might actually be within reach.
Korin continued. "Every human in our world has a unique power, correct?" He didn't wait for an answer. "That power is the result of our core translating essence into different abilities. That translation happens on a molecular level inside our bodies; tiny receptors attached to our core activate the moment essence is detected. Each of us has a different configuration of receptors, which dictates our power." Korin leaned in slightly. "Now, do you think your receptors are labeled 'water' or 'ice'?"
Ben opened his mouth, but Korin answered for him. "Of course not. The identification happens at the level of specific particles."
"Then how can I use water and ice?" Ben asked, "I even learned how to turn the steam in the air into water. Aria taught me that." A hint of a smug, show-off look crossed his face.
"Simple," Korin said, his tone shifting back to that of a lecturer dissecting a rare specimen. "It's because your authority isn't over 'water' or 'ice.' It's authority over the fundamental concept of your element at its most microscopic, primal level. For you, that's H₂O. Not just bodies of water, but the molecular bonds in mist, in sap, in the humidity between air molecules… and in the plasma of blood. It's a rarer, more precise form of essence manifestation. That's why you could affect Jax's physiology without understanding how. You weren't controlling the blood; you were commanding the water within it."
As Korin laid out the elegant theory, a hollow shame echoed inside Ben. It was a perfect cover story, but it haunted him. The truth was an ugly, simple theft. He didn't have divine authority over H₂O. He had just tapped into the Crimson Blood power he'd stolen from the hunchback man. Korin was mistaking a stolen weapon for a sacred gift.
"This road won't be easy," Korin continued, his voice cutting through Ben's thoughts. "But I will make you break your limits. To start controlling the higher realms of your essence, we begin with the fundamentals."
Korin pointed at Ben's hand. "Turn your fingernail into water."
"What? No, I'll lose my nail!"
"I said turn your nail into water," Korin repeated, his voice dropping into a tone of absolute dominance. "And you had better be able to turn it back. You only get ten tries."
He let the weight of the statement hang in the silent gym.
"And after that?" Ben asked, not understanding the meaning of the assignment.
"After that," Korin said, his eyes unwavering, "the lesson changes."
The bell rang at 8:00 AM sharp. Professor Vence entered Class A1 like a clock herself. All of the students were already seated and waiting; no one would be late for the first class in such a prestigious school. It was known that if you did, you would not have any more classes to be late to, since you would be out the door at light speed.
Professor Vence did not spend any extra time on introductions. It did not matter. All that mattered was education and strength.
"Good morning, everyone. Please open your desk compartments," the professor started with no delay. "There, you will find a Lumina Shard. Remove it. Place it on the desk in front of you. Do not channel essence into it until I give the instruction."
The class moved as one. There you will find 3 shards. Each student retrieved from the compartment one small, geometrically cut crystal that glimmered with a dormant, captured light.
"Your name, your lineage, your test scores, they are irrelevant now," Professor Vence stated, pacing slowly. "In this room, you are a core, a conduit, and a will. Nothing more.
Today, you learn the First Law: Essence is a river, not a flood. You will channel a neutral stream of your essence into the shard. Your goal is not to make it bright. Your goal is to make it stable. A consistent glow for five minutes."
She held up her own shard. "This device measures discipline. It understands only three things: Flow, Pressure, and Consistency. Fail to balance them, and this happens."
With a subtle pulse, her shard flared with a blinding light before shattering with a sharp ping. The fragments dusted her desk.
"That is poor Flow. Unchecked output." She picked up a second shard. This time, the light sputtered erratically before fading completely. "That is poor Pressure. Erratic control." Finally, she took a third. A soft, unwavering light emanated from its core. "This is Consistency. This is efficiency. This is what keeps you alive when your opponent has run dry. You will begin. Now."
A low hum filled the room as the students focused. Almost immediately, a series of sharp pings rang out as the most aggressive students shattered their shards, their essence a sudden surge rather than a stream. Others watched their crystals flicker and die, their control too tentative. A handful, those with a natural patience or a disciplined mind, found the balance. Their shards glowed with a gentle, steady light.
Professor Vence walked the rows. She offered no praise, only sharp, quiet corrections. "You are focusing on the light. Focus on the source." Or, "Your breath is dictating your flow. Your flow must dictate your breath."
When the five minutes ended, less than half the desks held a steadily glowing crystal.
"For those who failed," Professor Vence said, "your homework is introspection. Why did you break it? Was your intention to dominate the tool, or to understand it? Dismissed."
As the majority of the class filed out, a select group remained. Professor Vence placed a new, more complex device on each of their desks: a dual-chambered crystal.
"For the next lesson," she said. "You will light the first chamber. Once it is stable, you will split your focus and light the second, without altering the flow to the first. This is the foundation of multitasking in combat. Channeling a shield while attacking. Sensing your environment while healing.
For the ones that broke their crystal, please take out another one and try again. Begin."
The true test started in silence. In the room, the future was being divided. Some students would leave today understanding the fundamental economy of power. Others would leave only with the memory of a broken crystal. All of them, however, had received their first real lesson: that before you can command any external power, you must first learn to command the quiet, relentless stream of your own essence.
Back at the Gymnasium - Three fingernails later.
Korin sat on one of the front-row seats, observing as Ben's failures only grew worse. Turning any part of his body into water was easy. Turning it back was impossible.
"I can't do it. It doesn't even make sense," Ben grunted.
"You are not focused enough," Korin replied.
"What the fuck does focus have to do with it?" Ben shouted, frustrated. "You said my power translates to water. How am I supposed to control a nail? It's not in my genes."
"Calm yourself. Now."
Korin didn't shout. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. When he spoke, the words engraved themselves in Ben's mind, leaving a silence that felt heavier than noise. His voice carried a dark, resonant weight that enveloped the space between them. It was like telepathy, a pure, undeniable implantation of words into another's consciousness.
Then he continued, "Essence is essence. Do not change what remains the same."
"What does that even mean? Can we stop with the riddles, please?" Ben was tired, nerves frayed, and deeply annoyed. The cold air continued to brush over his exposed fingertips, a constant reminder of his failure. Manipulating something so small, reversing a change he himself had caused, was taking a physical and mental toll.
"Everything around you is made of essence, Ben. We are called essence users for a reason, not water users, not power users. Even when form changes, essence remains essence. There is nothing more to it."
Korin stood from his seat.
"That is all I can say. Good luck."
He began making his way to the exit. Ben watched him go, his mind churning with more questions than answers. The phrase echoed in his head, a riddle without a key: Essence is essence. Do not change what remains the same.
Alone in the vast gymnasium, Ben stared at his hands. The absence of three fingernails was stark, the skin beneath tender and raw. He thought about the water he had created; it had felt like his, a part of him, until it wasn't. Until it was just… water.
He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the frustration, the cold, the pressure. He recalled the feeling of his own essence, that inner river Korin kept talking about. He thought of the nail not as keratin, not as a solid thing he had destroyed, but as a shape his essence had once filled. Essence remains essence.
A faint, almost foolish idea brushed his mind. What if he wasn't supposed to command the water? What if he was supposed to remember the form of essence the nail carried?
One more try.
Ben turned his pinky's fingernail into water. Then he focused not on the empty space where his nail had been, but on the memory of its shape, its structure, its place. The essence it once used to be. He reached for his essence, not to push, not to force, but to gently pull from the pool of water still trembling in a droplet on the floor. He didn't think, "Be a nail." He thought, "This is still mine."
A tingling warmth spread from his fingertip up his hand. He opened his eyes.
A shimmering, translucent film of hard light began to form over his pinky. It wavered, flickering between liquid and solid, as if unsure of what to be. But it was there. It was connected. And for the first time, it was coming back.
Across the academy, in a distant corridor, Korin paused mid-stride. A faint, approving smirk touched his lips before he vanished into the shadow of the archway. The teaching had finally begun.