Charlie returned not long after I had finished placing the egg carefully beside the great tree at the center of our home.
"Young master," he called gently as he stepped inside, brushing a thin layer of dust from his sleeves. His gaze immediately found me, then drifted toward the large shape resting beside the trunk. "What did the Elder say?"
I turned toward him, unable to suppress the small smile forming on my face. "She agreed."
I looked back at the egg, my eyes following the delicate scale-like ridges that curved along its surface. "Where did Vaela go?"
"She had some other work to attend to," Charlie replied. "So she left after submitting the beasts."
I nodded absently, my attention already returning to the egg. Sunlight slipped between the leaves overhead and fell across the shell, making certain lines shimmer faintly as though something lived just beneath the surface. The warmth I had felt earlier seemed to linger, subtle yet steady.
It felt strange having something so rare and dangerous resting quietly in our home.
Charlie watched me for a moment, then shook his head lightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips as if amused by my fascination.
The next morning arrived quietly.
I completed my cultivation beneath the tree as usual, guiding nature energy through my body in steady cycles. When I finally opened my eyes, I exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.
Charlie stepped toward me from the small adjoining hall, a wooden bowl cradled carefully in his hands. Steam curled upward in thin white spirals, carrying a warm, savory scent that instantly stirred something familiar inside me. He stopped in front of me and held it out.
"Young master," he said, and there was an unusual gentleness in his voice, one that did not often surface. "I made your favorite soup today. To congratulate you on awakening your ability."
Warmth spread quietly through my chest.
"Thank you, Charlie," I replied, accepting the bowl with both hands. The wood was warm against my palms. The rich aroma rose stronger now, thick with herbs and slow-cooked broth, grounding and comforting in a way nothing else could be.
I lifted it carefully and took a slow sip. The heat slid down my throat and settled into my stomach, easing the lingering tension in my body.
As I continued eating, Charlie remained standing nearby, watching me in quiet contemplation. He did not rush to speak, as if weighing his words carefully before allowing them to surface.
After a moment, he asked, "Young master, is your ability a shield?"
I glanced up at him, swallowing before answering. "Yes. I think so." Even as I said it, I replayed the image of the curved shield in my mind.
Charlie gave a small nod, but his gaze drifted slightly past me, unfocused. There was something thoughtful in his expression, something deeper than simple curiosity.
I lowered the bowl slowly. "What is wrong, Charlie?"
He blinked once, as if returning from a distant thought. "Nothing, young master," he replied, though his tone carried quiet reflection. "I simply assumed you might awaken a psychic ability, like the Patriarch."
For a brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine it. A psychic ability like the father's. The power to influence, to command, to bend things without ever lifting a hand. What would that have felt like? Would it have made things easier? Would it have made me stronger?
The thought lingered only a second before I dismissed it.
"That is fine, Charlie," I said quietly. "With this ability, I can at least protect you and the people I care about."
The words felt simple, but they were honest. After everything I had lost, the idea of protection mattered more to me than power.
Charlie's expression softened at that, yet something heavier flickered in his eyes.
"Young master… I am sorry."
I frowned slightly, confused by the sudden shift. "Why are you apologizing?"
He held my gaze longer than usual, as if searching for the right words and finding none that were enough. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady.
"I am sorry for everything that happened to you. You are truly a kind child."
The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard. I had expected advice, perhaps criticism, not an apology.
"Charlie, what happened to you suddenly?" I asked, half suspicious, half concerned.
He shook his head slowly, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. "Nothing." After a brief pause, he added more firmly, "Young master, make sure you perfect your control over your ability. A defensive power is only as strong as the one who shapes it."
I studied him for another second, sensing there was more beneath his calm exterior. But I chose not to press him. Whatever weighed on him, he would speak of it when he was ready.
Instead, I gave a small nod and lifted the bowl again, finishing the rest of the soup in quiet thought.
After finishing the soup, I retrieved the ancient book from inside the house and slipped it carefully beneath my shirt, pressing it flat against my chest.
Charlie and I then stepped outside toward the open space beside the pond. The morning air was cool and fresh, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and water. The pond's surface lay smooth and undisturbed, reflecting the pale sky above like a sheet of glass.
We took our positions on the flattened patch of earth near the water. We stood facing one another with enough distance to react but close enough for controlled practice. The ground still bore faint marks from previous training sessions.
Charlie lifted his hands slowly. Small flames bloomed to life within his palms, their light flickering against his steady expression.
"Are you ready, young master?" he asked.
I inhaled once and nodded. Raising one hand, I focused inward. I reached toward the now-familiar sensation behind my forehead, toward the small black dot that pulsed faintly whenever I called upon it.
As I concentrated, I felt it again... that subtle connection. An invisible thread stretched between the black dot and the book resting against my chest.
Charlie flicked his wrist.
A small burst of fire shot toward me, not fast enough to overwhelm but quick enough to demand attention.
I gathered the energy and shaped it deliberately in front of me, keeping the image steady in my mind. The connection between the black dot and the book tightened further, and I guided that flow outward through my raised hand.
A translucent shield curved into existence just as the flame reached me. It formed with a faint shimmer, its surface slightly arched, like a clear pane of hardened glass bent by unseen hands.
The fire struck it with a sharp burst of orange light. For a split second, the surface rippled where the impact landed, tiny waves of energy spreading outward across the barrier. Then the flame lost its force, breaking apart into thin strands of smoke that drifted harmlessly into the cool morning air.
The shield remained intact.
Charlie observed the first exchange carefully, then lifted his hand again. This time, the flame that gathered in his palm burned brighter, thicker, more concentrated. When he released it, the stream of fire that surged toward me carried far more weight than before.
The thicker stream of flame collided with the shield in a burst of heat and light. The surface rippled violently under the pressure. I felt the impact inside my head as a sharp pulse. For a brief second, shield and fire held against one another in resistance.
Then both gave way at the same time.
The flame scattered outward into smoke and sparks, and the translucent barrier fractured into fading shards of light before dissolving completely.
Charlie did not allow a pause.
Another burst came, then another... shorter, quicker shots, testing my reaction rather than brute strength.
I responded in rhythm, forming shield after shield, sometimes just a heartbeat before the flames reached me. The translucent barriers shimmered into existence more quickly now, each one shaped with less hesitation than the last. The motion began to feel less like forcing and more like guiding.
Then Charlie shifted tactics.
He aimed not only at me but at the surrounding area. A flicker of flame shot toward a nearby tree. I reacted quickly, placing a shield between the bark and the fire, saving it. Another shot veered toward the pond, hissing as it approached the water. I managed to intercept that one as well.
But when two came at once from different angles, I faltered. One shield formed too slowly, and a patch of grass at the edge of the clearing blackened before I could extinguish it.
We continued like that, pushing the pace steadily.
Each time I formed a shield, a faint pressure built behind my eyes. The more complex the angle or the faster the response, the sharper the sensation became. I forced myself to maintain focus, adjusting the curvature and size of each barrier, experimenting with how quickly I could shape it.
A sharp pulse suddenly pierced through my skull. My vision blurred for a fraction of a second, and my balance wavered.
I staggered half a step, lowering my raised hand as the shield dissolved before it could fully form.
Charlie extinguished the flames immediately. The fire in his palms vanished without a trace, leaving only faint wisps of heat in the air.
"That is enough," he said calmly, though his eyes were already assessing me carefully.
I pressed my fingers against my temple, drawing in slow, steady breaths. The pain pulsed once more before gradually settling into a dull, lingering throb behind my eyes. It was not unbearable, but it was a clear warning.
I had reached my limit for now.