Morning came without warmth.
The sanctuary's artificial dawn flickered to life in muted shades of silver and pale gold, casting long shadows across the training hall. The space had once been ceremonial—arched ceilings, fractured pillars etched with old runes—but Kael had stripped it bare over time.
No comfort. No cover.
Only a wide stone floor marked with concentric circles and scars from past battles.
Ari stood at the center.
Mika leaned against a pillar to the left, arms crossed, jaw tight. Lune remained near the perimeter, fingers hovering just above her focus array, eyes sharp and calculating.
Kael sat on a raised platform, wrapped in layered bindings of light and sigil-thread. He looked… weaker than usual.
That made this worse.
"First rule," Kael said, voice carrying despite his condition. "Power responds to intent, but it reveals instinct."
Ari frowned.
"That sounds like a warning."
"It is," Kael replied. "Activate your core."
Ari hesitated.
He had felt the power since the night before—quiet, coiled, listening. It wasn't violent. It wasn't eager.
It was waiting.
He inhaled slowly and reached inward.
The world sharpened.
Stone textures became clearer. Sound stretched. The air itself felt thicker, like it had weight. A faint pressure radiated from his chest, steady but immense.
The circle beneath his feet glowed faint blue.
Kael nodded once.
"Good. Now don't use it."
Ari blinked.
"…What?"
"Hold it," Kael said. "Perfectly. No leakage. No reinforcement. No reaction."
Mika scoffed.
"That's impossible."
Kael glanced at him.
"That's why it's first."
Seconds passed.
Then Ari felt it—the strain.
The power wanted direction. Movement. Expression. It pressed against him like water against a dam, searching for cracks. His muscles tensed instinctively, shoulders tightening, breath hitching.
The glow beneath his feet pulsed.
"Relax your body," Kael said calmly. "If your muscles tense, your power follows."
Ari forced his shoulders down.
The pressure spiked.
Pain bloomed behind his eyes.
"I—can't—"
The glow flared brighter.
Cracks spidered across the stone.
Kael's voice hardened.
"Contain it, Ari. Or it will decide for you."
Ari clenched his teeth.
He stopped resisting.
Instead of pushing back, he settled.
Like lowering himself into deep water rather than fighting the current.
The pressure stabilized.
The glow dimmed.
The cracks halted inches from his boots.
Silence fell.
Mika straightened slowly.
Lune's eyes widened.
Kael exhaled, something like relief crossing his face.
"…Good," he said quietly. "You didn't dominate it. You acknowledged it."
Ari's knees nearly buckled as Kael gestured, and Lune immediately reinforced the circle, allowing Ari to disengage. He staggered back, breathing hard.
"That felt," Ari muttered, "terrifying."
Kael nodded.
"It should. Power that feels safe is lying."
Kael turned his gaze to Mika.
"Your turn."
Mika pushed off the pillar, rolling his shoulders.
"Same exercise?"
"No," Kael said. "Opposite."
Mika froze.
"…Explain."
"Activate everything," Kael said. "All of it. Immediately."
Lune stiffened.
"Kael—"
"Now," Kael ordered.
Mika snarled and let go.
The room shuddered.
A red-gold surge exploded outward, raw and violent. The floor fractured instantly, runes screaming as containment sigils flared to life. Mika dropped into a combat stance instinctively, power whipping around him like a storm.
He grinned.
"This," he said, "I can do."
Kael's voice cut through the chaos.
"Then stop."
Mika's grin faltered.
He tried.
The power didn't listen.
It surged again, stronger, feeding on momentum. Mika's breathing grew ragged, eyes flashing as the energy began to tear at his own channels.
"Shut—off!" he growled.
Nothing.
Ari felt it now—Mika's power wasn't waiting.
It was hungry.
"Lune," Kael said sharply.
She moved instantly, deploying layered suppression arrays, golden hex-patterns snapping into place around Mika. The surge slowed—but didn't stop.
Mika screamed, dropping to one knee.
Kael's gaze was cold.
"This is your flaw," he said. "You think strength is permission."
Mika looked up at him, sweat pouring down his face.
"Then—what—am I supposed—to do?!"
Kael leaned forward.
"You don't command your power," he said. "You negotiate with it."
Mika's hands shook.
Slowly—painfully—he loosened his grip.
The surge wavered.
Then collapsed inward.
Mika fell forward onto his hands, gasping, power fading to embers.
Lune released the arrays.
Silence returned—broken only by Mika's rough breathing.
Kael turned his attention to Lune.
She stiffened.
"You already know what you are," Kael said. "So we test what you aren't."
He gestured, and a black containment prism rose from the floor—ancient, layered with Origin markings.
Lune's expression tightened.
"That's a null-field prison."
"Yes," Kael said. "Step inside."
Ari turned sharply.
"Kael—"
"She'll survive," Kael said. "Or we stop."
Lune stepped forward anyway.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the prism sealed.
The air inside vanished.
No energy. No magic. No system access.
Nothing.
Lune staggered.
Then straightened.
Her eyes glowed—not with power, but with understanding.
The prison began to hum.
Cracks formed—not from force, but from misalignment.
Lune placed her palm against the inner wall.
"I don't need power," she whispered. "I need structure."
The prism shattered—not outward, but inward, collapsing into harmless dust.
Silence fell again.
Kael closed his eyes.
"…Of course," he murmured.
He looked at all three of them.
"Now you understand," he said. "Your strengths are not what will kill you."
His gaze sharpened.
"Your instincts will."
Somewhere far beyond the sanctuary, unseen forces adjusted their threat levels.
Training had begun.
And the world was already responding.