The change did not announce itself.
There was no sudden surge of power, no visible aura, no moment where Arav felt "stronger." If anything, he felt lighter—as if excess effort had been peeled away, leaving only what was necessary.
The perception fragment had settled.
Now something else followed.
It began during routine weapon drills.
Arav stood alone in the estate's lower training court, spear in hand, facing a row of inert practice constructs. They were simple—stone frames reinforced with minor formation cores. Enough to register impact and trajectory, nothing more.
He did not ignite his fire.
He did not circulate aether deliberately.
He moved.
The first thrust landed cleanly at the construct's centerline. The second followed without pause, not faster, but earlier—arriving at the precise moment the construct's balance shifted.
Stone cracked.
Arav frowned.
He adjusted his stance and tried again.
This time, he paid attention not to the target—but to himself.
How his feet connected to the ground.
How force traveled from heel to hip, shoulder to wrist.
How the spear did not need to be swung—only placed where resistance would fail.
The third construct shattered with half the effort of the first.
Arav stopped.
This wasn't technique in the traditional sense.
It was structure.
Later that day, Meghala observed from the edge of the court, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"You're not hitting harder," she said finally. "You're hitting… correctly."
Arav nodded once. "I think I was wasting motion before."
Meghala's gaze sharpened. "Most people do. They compensate with power."
Arav did not respond.
That night, the sensation returned.
The same subtle pressure behind awareness. The same guiding presence—not commanding, not instructing, but aligning.
The sealed scripture shifted again.
> [System Notification]
> Condition Met.
> Combat Framework Identified.
> ??? — Early Fragment Unlocked.
Still no name.
Still no explanation.
But when Arav stood, he felt it immediately.
His body no longer questioned how to move.
Every stance felt intentional.
Every step had purpose.
Every strike knew where it was meant to end.
Over the following months, Arav tested the change carefully.
He sparred without flame.
He sparred without speed.
He sparred without force.
And still, he won.
Not decisively.
Not overwhelmingly.
But consistently.
Against faster opponents, he was already where they needed to strike.
Against stronger ones, he let their own force unbalance them.
Against multiple targets, he broke spacing rather than guarding angles.
The spear became an extension of that logic.
Not a weapon of reach—but of inevitability.
By the time Arav entered another E-rank dungeon chamber months later, he understood the difference clearly.
Before, he fought to survive.
Now, he fought to conclude.
When the corrupted beast lunged, Arav did not dodge fully.
He stepped half a pace.
The spear moved once.
The fight ended.
No injury.
No exhaustion.
No lingering threat.
As Arav withdrew the weapon and exhaled, he felt the truth settle in his chest.
Dungeon training was no longer forging him.
It was confirming him.
He had reached the edge of what repetition could teach.
Beyond this point, growth would demand opposition.
Peers.
Pressure.
Conflict that thought back.
Arav looked toward the distant horizon beyond the estate walls, spear resting easily at his side.
Somewhere ahead lay the academy.
And with it—
A generation that would not fall so easily.