Just as the leather shop came into view, Leion stepped outside.
He was already waving his hands at me.
I hadn't even reached the entrance yet.
Either he had sharp eyes—
Or he had been waiting.
As I got closer, I realized his excitement wasn't directed at me.
It was fixed entirely on Rusty.
Rusty walked beside me calmly, his larger frame drawing attention without effort. His horns were more pronounced now. His posture steadier. There was weight in his steps.
Leion slowly circled him.
"…He grew again."
Not fear.
Not concern.
Professional fascination.
"Bring him to the back," he said quickly.
I guided Rusty behind the shop where equipment was already laid out.
Saddle.
Reins.
Modified harness fittings.
Extra straps reinforced at stress points.
Leion had prepared everything.
I checked each piece carefully.
The stitching was tight.
The leather thick but flexible.
No weak seams.
No rushed craftsmanship.
Rusty tolerated the inspection better than before, though his tail flicked in irritation when Leion examined the horn spacing for balance alignment. Compared to his younger self, he handled it with far more restraint.
He was growing.
In more ways than one.
Leion adjusted the saddle placement slightly and stepped back.
"The reins need refinement," he said. "And the harness must settle with his current size. Come back in a week."
It was an estimate.
But an informed one.
Satisfied, I left.
When I returned home, Rathen was already waiting.
A hen rested calmly in his hands.
He didn't speak.
He simply released it onto the ground.
I took my stance.
Today, I would freeze it longer.
At least five seconds.
I closed my eyes.
I remembered the moments I had nearly died.
The suffocation.
The pressure.
The silence before impact.
But this time—
Instead of fear—
A quiet chuckle slipped out of me.
Death no longer felt distant.
It felt familiar.
I opened my eyes.
Focused.
Compressed my killing intent.
Directed it.
The hen froze.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Its body trembled—
Then it broke free and resumed pecking.
Rathen nodded once.
"You've stabilized the first stage."
Not praise.
Not warmth.
Just acknowledgment.
Immediately after, a wave of dizziness struck me.
My body was steady.
But my mind felt strained.
Holding killing intent in a narrow focus while suppressing everything else was exhausting. It felt like gripping something violent and refusing to let it spread.
From then on, Rathen adjusted the routine.
If I froze the hen for more than three seconds, I was allowed a short break.
If I failed—
Back to the one-hour stance with water containers.
By sunset, I froze the hen four times.
Not perfectly.
But consistently.
For the first time since this phase of training began—
I felt progress that didn't vanish overnight.
That evening, Bharam arrived.
He and Siena alternated days.
My archery had improved.
I could shoot while running.
While pivoting.
While shifting weight mid-step.
Not every arrow struck the center—
But most landed close enough.
When I missed, Bharam said only one word.
"Again."
No frustration.
No encouragement.
Just repetition.
Then he said something unexpected.
"Rathen has Death Glare. Siena has close-quarters dominance. I will give you something different."
He drew a circle on the ground with a stick.
Then another smaller circle inside it.
"This is you," he said, tapping the middle.
"This is your field."
I watched silently.
"Normally, when aura leaves the body, it disperses into nature and fades," he continued. "In this technique, you release it outward—but prevent it from merging."
He traced the outer circle again.
"You remain the center. Your aura spreads evenly within a controlled boundary."
"And if something enters that boundary," he said calmly, "you feel the disturbance."
Like ripples in water.
Even with your eyes closed.
I understood immediately.
A ranger who does not rely only on sight.
Detection before vision.
Reaction before confirmation.
This—
This was awareness.
They were different tools.
Different phases.
Bharam looked at me.
"If your control is weak, the aura will scatter. You will exhaust yourself quickly."
Of course it would not be simple.
Nothing here ever was.
Still—
I nodded.
This technique wasn't about domination.
It was about preparation.
And preparation meant survival.