After our practice ended, Charlie slowly lowered his hands, and the small embers still dancing around his palms flickered out one by one. The warmth in the air faded, replaced by the cool stillness of the morning. A faint scent of scorched earth lingered between us before the breeze carried it away.
He studied me carefully for a moment, then satisfied with what he saw, he gave a small nod of approval.
"You are improving, young master," he said simply.
Without further comment, he gave me a small nod. "I will take care of the house chores," he said, informing me before turning away.
He then walked back toward the house, his steps unhurried but purposeful. Even after training, even after battle, he never allowed routine to slip.
I remained outside near the pond after Charlie went in.
The air was calm, quiet except for the distant rustle of foliage and the faint ripple of water when the wind brushed across it. A gentle breeze disturbed the pond just enough to blur my reflection, turning my mirrored image into a wavering silhouette.
The strain from training lingered at the center of my forehead, a dull reminder of the limits I had reached. It was no longer sharp, but it pulsed faintly whenever I focused too hard. I lowered myself to sit near the water's edge, resting my forearms loosely on my knees.
The book beneath my shirt radiated a soft, steady warmth against my chest. It did not pulse or stir. It simply existed, quiet and constant, like a silent companion.
Gradually, the cool air and the gentle rhythm of the surroundings began to ease the tension in my body. My breathing slowed. My shoulders loosened. The steady hush of the pond and the shade of the great tree wrapped around me, and without intending to, I allowed my eyes to close.
I must have drifted into a light sleep without realizing it.
---
"Arthur… Arthur."
The voice reached me faintly at first, distant and softened, as if carried across the surface of the pond. It wove gently into my awareness, tugging at the edges of my thoughts.
I stirred slightly, my brows knitting together as I blinked against the lingering haze of sleep. The light around me had changed. The sky above was no longer as bright as before, the angle of the sun shifted enough to tell me some time had passed.
"Arthur."
This time the voice was clearer, closer.
I inhaled sharply and straightened at once, pushing myself upright. A familiar figure stood a short distance away near the edge of the open space. Elder Thryssa's braided hair shifted slightly in the breeze, the leather and fur lining of her attire moving subtly as she regarded me with calm, steady eyes. The tribal markings along her arms were visible beneath the afternoon light, giving her presence the same grounded authority it always carried.
I rose quickly to my feet, brushing stray dust from my clothes.
"Greetings, Elder," I said respectfully, inclining my head.
She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, a faint smile resting at the corner of her lips. There was something unusually light in her expression, a quiet amusement that did not often surface when she spoke about cultivation or discipline.
"Elder, what happened?" I asked, still unsure why she had come in person.
She brought her hands together calmly before her, studying me for a brief moment. Then her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and her tone shifted into something almost playful.
"I am very disappointed with you, Arthur."
The words struck me harder than I expected. I blinked, completely caught off guard.
"Elder… may I ask why?" I said cautiously.
"You always come to me when there is a problem," she replied, her voice light but deliberate. "Yet when you awaken your ability, you do not come to share the good news."
Realization slowly dawned on me.
Her gaze remained steady, but there was no true reprimand in it. Only teasing.
I blinked, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or confused.
"And yesterday," she continued, her tone still light, "you came to ask permission for the egg. Yet you still did not mention that you had awakened."
The weight of her words settled in slowly.
I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly, avoiding her gaze for a moment. "Sorry, Elder."
A soft laugh escaped her, low and genuine. It was not something I heard from her often.
"I am only teasing you, Arthur," she said.
I looked up again, studying her more carefully. Her posture remained composed as always, but there was a subtle warmth in her expression that had not been there during our earlier discussions about cultivation. I had grown used to her steady seriousness, her measured tone when explaining techniques or correcting mistakes.
Today felt different.
"I think you are in a good mood," I said before I could stop myself.
The moment the words left my mouth, I wondered if I had overstepped. But she only regarded me with that same faint, knowing smile.
After a brief pause, I gathered myself and asked, "Elder, you could have sent word through Vaela. Why did you come personally?"
"I was passing by," she replied calmly. "I thought I would congratulate you on the way."
I rubbed the back of my neck again, a habit I seemed unable to control around her. "Thank you, Elder."
Her attention shifted past me toward the house, toward the massive trunk rising through the roof. "Where did you keep the egg?"
"It is inside," I answered. "Near the great tree."
She nodded slowly, considering that. "Make sure it receives sunlight from time to time. Natural warmth is important for such eggs. The forest would have provided that."
"I understand," I said, straightening slightly. "I will make sure of it."
She gave a final, approving nod. "Very well. I shall take my leave. And Arthur," she added, her gaze sharpening just a little, "do not slack off with your training."
"I will not," I replied firmly.
She turned without further words and began walking away at an unhurried pace. Her steps were steady, confident, as though she carried the quiet authority of the village with her wherever she went. I watched her figure move along the narrow path that curved between the houses, gradually blending into the distance until she was no longer visible.
I remained standing for a moment after she disappeared, replaying the brief exchange in my mind.
A faint smile tugged at my lips before I let out a slow breath and lowered myself back down beside the pond. The water had grown calmer again, its surface reflecting the shifting light of the afternoon.
There was still time left before evening. No reason to waste it.
I straightened my posture, placed my hands on my knees, and closed my eyes. The faint warmth of the book rested steadily against my chest as I guided my focus inward.
Once more, I began cultivating.
The days that followed settled into a steady rhythm, each one flowing into the next with quiet discipline.
I cultivated every morning before the sun rose fully above the rooftops, drawing in nature energy while the village was still wrapped in early silence. By midday, I practiced with Charlie beside the pond, refining my control over the shield and testing its limits. Whenever there was time between chores and cultivation, I took up my sword, repeating the same movements again and again until my arms burned and my footing felt instinctive.
The routine was simple, but it anchored me.
With each session, the shield responded more quickly to my will. The connection between the black dot in my forehead and the book against my chest felt more stable, the invisible thread tightening without as much hesitation as before. I no longer needed to panic to summon it. I could shape it deliberately.
Yet the dull ache behind my eyes remained.
It surfaced whenever I pushed too far, a steady reminder that my body had not yet caught up to my ambition. No matter how smoothly the shield formed, there was still a boundary I could not cross without consequence.
And even when it responded perfectly, I knew the truth.
It was still weak.
Against Charlie's controlled flames, it held. Against moderate force, it could endure for a moment. But I had not forgotten the forest. I had not forgotten how easily the black beast had shattered layer after layer. If I faced something like that alone, this shield would not last long.
The realization did not discourage me.
It sharpened me.
If my ability was meant to protect, then it had to become strong enough to withstand more than simple training. And until that day came, I would continue refining it, one disciplined breath at a time.