Kyomisu's air had turned volatile.
The day after the oceans of rain met the lingering fires, nothing felt still. Winds circled restlessly through the streets, the ground vibrated faintly beneath every step, and the clouds above burned faint traces of red even before sunset.
Kevin felt it first. Every time he drew breath, his Ryuma flared and cooled at once, as if something inside warred for dominance. During meditation, his body glowed faintly between blue and gold, shifting too fast for him to catch control.
Kris's fists steamed every time he struck the training slab—each impact sending both dust and droplets spiraling. Dylan's problem came stranger still: when he ran through kata positions, lightning fizzled out of rhythm, sometimes striking with water's cool luminescence instead of heat. None of it obeyed logic, only emotion.
Kelivin watched from the shadows of the courtyard, arms folded, eyes sharp. "You're not fighting wrong," he said at last. "You're forgetting to breathe between contradiction."
Kris frowned. "Breathe between—what's that even mean?"
"It means your hearts beat in two realms at once," Kelivin said. "Flame is impulse; water is reflection. One burns forward, one folds back. If you rush, you ignite. If you hesitate, you sink."
He stepped forward and placed a talisman stone at their feet, engraved with both sigils—flame's curl and water's spiral intertwined. "Your task is to find the stillness where opposites hold each other's edge."
Fragmented Harmony
At his word, the brothers took formation. Kevin in center, Kris on his right, Dylan on the left. The air around them shimmered. Heat rose from Kevin's palms as blue vapor gathered around Kris, and threads of static light crackled along Dylan's arms.
Their father's voice cut through the hum. "Keep rhythm."
They inhaled together.
For a heartbeat, balance seemed possible. The water cooled the fire, the storm aligned their timing. Each pulse matched.
Then Dylan twitched—a thought, an emotion—his lightning flared, too quick. The harmony snapped.
Flame erupted inward. Water surged outward. The collision burst like thunder contained in a room.
Kris shielded his brothers with instinct, drawing earth energy into his skin from the ground, absorbing part of the blast. Steam blanketed the courtyard in seconds. When it cleared, the training stones lay cracked and smoking.
Dylan coughed. "That definitely wasn't stillness."
Kelivin approached them silently, unfazed by the heat still licking at the air. "Failure is a part of rhythm. You'll never master duality through caution. Try again—but slow."
The Second Attempt
They tried until the light shifted toward dusk. Meditation became their only weapon.
Kevin lowered his breathing until his Ryuma settled, shaping small flame flickers over calm water illusions. He imagined each breath turning into reflections—burning ripples. The conflict softened.
Kris found his focus through compression. He slammed his fists together once and then once more until the glow steadied, no longer bursting outward with every strike. "Control isn't restraint," he muttered. "It's weight where it matters."
Dylan watched them both and forced himself to stop moving. For the first time that day, he let lightning crawl over him without reacting to it. Sparks hissed and then curved back into gentle light around his wrists.
As their rhythm aligned again, their marks pulsed collectively. Water cooled fire; sparks steamed. The air in the courtyard swirled slowly, like the first breath of a storm waiting for command.
Father's Lesson
Kelivin stood by the training slab, shadows shifting slightly at his feet. "Good," he said. "But harmony doesn't stay in one place. What happens when movement breaks it?"
He drew his sword, its edge glowing with faint silver lines. "Defend yourselves."
Kevin barely reacted before the blade shouted through the air. They scattered, instincts sparking. Kris caught the strike with braced forearms, his Ryuma hardening the stone beneath to absorb the impact. Dylan's lightning shield sparked prematurely; water flare hissed across it, dampening the charge.
Kelivin's attack came again, this time sweeping airborne. He wasn't testing strength—he was testing rhythm. Each strike struck between their pulses, forcing them to adapt without losing control of their dual energy.
Kevin shouted the command they didn't realize he'd given until it worked: "Together!"
Their energies met mid‑air—flame and water fusing into vapor illuminated by lightning. The shockwave rushed outward, then folded back inward like a massive pulse of breath.
This time, the world didn't shatter—it sang. A vibration rang through the courtyard, soft but resonant, echoing down through the mountain until Lady Ai and Saya in the shrine below felt it beneath their feet.
Kelivin lowered his weapon. "That's the sound of understanding."
Dylan grinned, exhausted. "You could have just said hit in rhythm."
Kelivin's expression softened. "You wouldn't have listened."
Aftermath
Night descended quietly. The courtyard glowed faintly from their spent energy, steam rising from cracks in the stone. The brothers sat collapsed across scattered steps, too tired even to joke.
Kris glanced at his palm, where droplets shimmered without evaporating. "Feels like the water and the fire finally agreed on something."
Kevin nodded weakly. "That we're still alive."
Above them, clouds drifted into strange formations—rings of light weaving through deep gray. Each pulse reflected the double rhythm of the Heart Seal below: fire's warmth inside water's calm.
Kelivin watched the sky from the veranda. His expression carried pride, but also the quiet gravity of foresight.
"You've balanced two," he murmured. "But storm does not negotiate—it commands. What you built today must survive what's coming."
The wind answered in low growls, distant thunder rolling from beyond the eastern horizon.
Inside the shrine, the Heart Seal glowed in perfect scarlet blue—until a crackling line of silver light split through it like a pulse of heartbeat thunder, flashing once, twice, before fading.
Kelivin turned his gaze eastward. "The storm hears you."
He didn't voice the rest. And it's coming fast.