The next day's training passed in fragments.
Louis went through the motions—laps, drills, practice swings—but his attention lagged just enough to notice. His form held, his timing didn't falter, yet everything felt slightly out of sync, as though his thoughts were arriving a moment too late.
It wasn't distraction.
It was restraint.
Natasha was present during the session, the same way she often was—moving between tasks, occasionally stopping to observe, then returning to her notes. There was nothing unusual about it. Nothing that drew attention.
And still, Louis found himself aware of her in the same way one becomes aware of a loose thread: not urgent, but impossible to ignore once noticed.
He knew why.
That knowledge sat heavier than expected.
Louis tightened his grip on the sword and finished the routine without complaint. When training concluded, he realized he couldn't clearly remember the last set—only the dull ache in his arms and the quiet persistence of his thoughts.
The rest of the day passed without incident.
Evening lectures came and went. He listened, took notes, and responded when spoken to. Outwardly, nothing had changed. Inwardly, the question remained, turning slowly, refusing to settle.
How do you approach someone who already thinks they understand you?
By the time the lecture hall began to empty, Louis exhaled and stood.
This wasn't something he could solve by thinking harder.
There was no need for long explanations. No rehearsed justifications. That had never been his way—and it had never worked when he tried.
If he was going to say something, he would say it plainly.
If it went nowhere, then it went nowhere.
The decision loosened something in his chest.
Routine, at least, remained intact.
And this time, he knew why he was going.
After the evening classes ended, Louis made his way to the library as he had every other night that week.
The space was quieter than usual. Lamps burned low between towering shelves, their light softened by distance and dust. Natasha was already there, seated at one of the long tables, a stack of books arranged neatly at her side.
Louis paused only briefly before approaching.
"Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from her.
She looked up from her notes, studied him for a moment, then nodded.
They sat across from each other in the quiet of the library, the low lamplight stretching their shadows across the table.
Louis was still sorting through his thoughts when Natasha spoke first.
"I accept your apology."
Her voice was calm.
Almost smug.
Louis looked up, caught off guard. "Which apology?"
She didn't answer immediately.
"I heard everything," she said instead. "Your entire conversation with Seraphel."
The words landed heavier than he expected.
Louis froze. "You—"
"That's why he hesitated," she continued, cutting him off. "Before explaining my background. In a normal circumstance, he would have rejected you outright."
She met his eyes.
"But I was there. Listening. So he hesitated."
Louis exhaled slowly, realization settling in.
She tilted her head slightly. "Now bring your mind back."
Then, plainly, "You called me out there. You came looking for me to use me, didn't you?"
He frowned. "That's a harsh way to put it."
"I prefer accurate," she replied. Then, without missing a beat, "That said, I have a request of my own."
His frown deepened.
Seeing it, she raised her hand. "Relax. It's nothing beyond you. Nothing difficult."
She paused just long enough to make sure he was listening.
"I want you to use your position as a Hero," she said, "to summon the only noble in the Empire who reached the rank of Expert and unlocked the Beast Path within the druid class."
Louis paused.
Not long. Just enough for the weight of her request to settle.
He wasn't shocked. If anything, curiosity rose faster than surprise. From what little he had learned about her—her posture, her choices, the way she carried herself—he had already guessed she was strong-willed, independent. Someone who didn't wait for permission unless there was no other option left.
That, more than the request itself, made him wonder why she needed him.
She noticed the pause.
"Do you understand ranks and paths?" she asked, cutting straight to it.
Louis nodded once and answered without embellishment.
"Ranks represent mastery, not growth. Most people mistake them for levels, but they're different." He paused briefly, then continued, listing them calmly.
"Initiate. Novice. Practitioner. Adept. Expert. Master. Grandmaster. And beyond that—Transcendence."
""As for paths," Louis went on, "they're specializations. Directions a class can evolve into, once certain conditions are met. Every class has them. Whether someone unlocks one depends on compatibility, aptitude, and circumstance. Most never do."
She listened without interrupting.
"And you understand," he added, "that unlocking a path isn't mandatory. Some never do."
She nodded once, satisfied.
"Then tell me," she said, "how often do you think druids—or nobles—successfully qualify for the Beast Path?"
Louis went quiet.
She didn't wait for an answer.
"Very rarely," she said. "Even among druids as a whole."
She leaned back slightly, her tone turning measured, almost academic.
"Most druids never even meet the first requirement. Completing all five is… exceptional. That's why those who succeed are remembered."
She continued, calm but firm.
"Historically, the Druid Path favors two races. Elves, and beastkin."
Louis listened closely.
"Elves," she said, "almost always gravitate toward the Plant Path, the Moon Path, or Spirit-based branches. Their affinity is stable, refined, long-lived. Even when an elven druid qualifies for the Beast Path, it's rarely their first choice."
She paused, then continued.
"Beastkin are different. Their bodies and instincts align more naturally with it. For them, the Beast Path is easier—relatively speaking."
She emphasized the word.
"But even then," she said quietly, "it is still difficult."
Louis nodded slowly as she finished explaining why the Beast Path so often favored elves and beastkin.
That alone answered more questions than he had expected.
"So that's why," he said after a brief pause, eyes lowering in thought, "we need him."
She looked at him.
"The old noble," Louis continued, choosing his words carefully. "To ask how he did it. How he met the requirements. What he understood that others didn't."
Her lips curved upward almost immediately.
"Exactly," she said, smug satisfaction clear in her tone.
She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. "And it wouldn't just benefit me."
Louis raised an eyebrow.
"It would benefit you as well," she added. "You're walking a druid's path without precedent. Any information matters—especially from someone who reached Expert and still went further."
He hummed quietly, then looked at her again.
"I'll do it," he said. "On one condition."
That finally caught her off guard.
She straightened. "A condition?"
"You teach me," Louis said. "Everything you know about the Plant Path. How to unlock it. How to walk it properly."
For a moment, she simply stared at him.
"…That surprises you?" he asked calmly. "From everything you've said, you already unlocked it, didn't you?"
She hesitated.
Then she exhaled through her nose, clicking her tongue.
"I assumed," she admitted, "that you'd want to focus on a single specialization. Like most do."
Louis coughed lightly, turning his face away.
"If I'm going to be a druid," he said, voice smug, "then… might as well go all in."