Bruce's breath fogged faintly in the morning air.
Not from cold - he barely felt that anymore - but from habit.
He stood near the clearing where Derek had driven wooden stakes into the ground, their shadows stretching long across the dirt as the sun crept higher. Bruce rolled his shoulders once, then twice, settling into a stance that no longer felt foreign to him. His feet adjusted on instinct, toes curling slightly, weight shifting before he consciously decided to move.
That was the strange part.
He was used to reacting fast. He was used to being aware. But lately, his body seemed to know things before he did.
"Again," Derek said calmly.
Bruce exhaled and moved.
The dagger in his hand flashed forward - not fast enough to blur, but clean. The blade stopped just short of the stake's surface, then shifted angles mid-motion as Bruce adjusted his wrist, slicing sideways instead of thrusting. He stepped back immediately, heart steady.
Derek nodded once. "You didn't overextend."
Bruce frowned. "I didn't think about it."
"That's the point."
Bruce looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers. There was no frost on the blade. No visible sign of his attribute at all. Just steel and skin.
It bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
He glanced toward the cave entrance, where Vernon sat cross-legged on a flat stone, a book open on his lap. Vernon wasn't reading - not really. His eyes were unfocused, attention split between the text and the quiet hum he'd begun to feel beneath everything.
Bruce sheathed his dagger and walked over.
"Hey," Bruce said. "Can I ask you something?"
Vernon looked up. "You're going to ask anyway."
Bruce scowled. "Why can you do things with your mana but I can't see anything with mine?"
Vernon blinked, then closed the book slowly. "That's... not a small question."
Bruce crossed his arms. "I don't mean big stuff. I don't want explosions. I just-" He hesitated. "I don't know what my ice is even for."
Vernon studied him for a moment, then gestured for Bruce to sit.
"Okay," Vernon said carefully. "Let's start somewhere simpler. What do you want it to do?"
Bruce opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Freeze things, I guess."
"That's an outcome," Vernon said. "Not a purpose."
Bruce frowned. "What's the difference?"
Vernon tapped the edge of the book against his knee. "Mana and Qi work differently, but they obey intent the same way. When I tried to manifest mana without knowing why, it failed every time."
Bruce looked unconvinced. "So what's ice for?"
Vernon thought for a moment. "Control. Denial. Preservation. Slowing things down. Protecting space. You don't burn problems away - you decide where they're allowed to exist."
Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly.
"That sounds..." He searched for the word. "Passive."
Vernon smiled faintly. "Flexible."
Bruce sighed. "So I can't just-" He mimed frost bursting from his hands. "Do that?"
"Not yet," Vernon said. "And probably not like that. You need to decide how ice fits into the way you already move."
Bruce stared at his hands again.
That afternoon, Derek adjusted the training without announcing it.
Instead of striking drills, he focused Bruce on footwork - short bursts of movement across uneven ground, sudden stops, pivots, low stances. Bruce stumbled at first, then corrected himself faster than he should've been able to.
Derek noticed.
"Your balance recovered early," Derek said.
Bruce wiped sweat from his brow. "It just... felt wrong where I was."
Derek hummed thoughtfully. "That's not instinct. That's adaptation."
Bruce tilted his head. "Is that bad?"
"No," Derek said. "It's rare."
From the edge of the clearing, Melian hovered low, her glow dim and quiet. She watched Bruce with open curiosity, head tilted as if listening to something beneath the surface of the world.
That night, while the others slept, she drifted deeper into the forest.
A large shape stirred near the trap line - a boar, heavy and curious. Melian didn't approach it directly. Instead, she let a thin ripple of mana wash outward, not threatening, not aggressive.
A warning.
The boar snorted, uneasy, then turned away.
Melian lingered for a moment longer, then returned to the camp before dawn.
Bruce noticed the change after a week.
Not all at once - just small things. His footsteps felt quieter. His movements more economical. When he trained, the air around his skin felt... cooler.
Not cold.
Controlled.
He brought it up to Vernon one evening.
"I think it's working," Bruce said. "But it's weird."
Vernon looked up from his notes. "Describe 'weird.'"
Bruce rolled his wrist, forming a shallow arc with his dagger. "It's like my body's deciding how much ice to use before I think about it."
Vernon froze.
"...That's not how it usually works," he said slowly.
Bruce frowned. "Is that bad?"
"No," Vernon said. "It means your innate trait is leading, not following."
Bruce stared. "That sounds dangerous."
Vernon nodded. "It can be. But it also means you'll adapt faster than anyone else - if you don't fight it."
Derek overheard them from the fire.
He didn't interrupt.
Two weeks later, Bruce managed it.
Not a burst.
Not a wave.
Just a thin sheen of frost along the edge of his dagger - barely visible, but unmistakably there. The metal cooled without cracking. The air around it stilled.
Bruce's breath caught.
"...I did it."
Vernon smiled, exhausted but proud. "You did."
Bruce swung experimentally.
The frost didn't spread outward. It followed the motion of his blade, clinging only where he directed it, subtly altering the way the dagger cut - not sharper, but heavier.
Derek stepped forward. "Again."
Bruce repeated the motion.
Better this time.
Derek exhaled slowly. "You're not forcing it."
Bruce grinned. "I didn't want to break it."
Derek nodded. "Good. Ice that shatters itself is useless."
That night, Bruce lay awake staring at the cave ceiling.
He didn't feel powerful.
He felt... ready.
And somewhere in the shadows near the entrance, Melian watched him with new interest - not as a curiosity, but as a possibility.