The rain had been falling since morning.
Not heavy. Not violent. Just steady, endless sheets of water sliding down stone and earth, turning the training grounds into dark mirrors that reflected the grey sky above. Most students avoided days like this. Wet clothes, slippery footing, dull visibility—nothing about it felt useful for combat.
But Phael stood alone in the open courtyard, letting the rain soak through his hair and down his back.
He did not call fire.
He did not move.
He simply stood there, eyes closed, feeling every drop strike his skin.
Behind him, at the edge of the courtyard, Aelira watched in silence.
She had said nothing when he came here before dawn.
She said nothing now.
Because this was not a lesson she could teach.
Phael had tried everything.
Control.
Precision.
Visualization.
Breath patterns.
Mana cycling.
He had treated water the same way he had treated fire: as something to be shaped, sharpened, directed.
And every time, it had failed him when it mattered most.
It had saved him once or twice.
But it had never answered him.
Not truly.
He raised his hand slowly.
Mana flowed.
Water gathered in the air above his palm, trembling, forming a thin ribbon that twisted uncertainly in the rain.
"Stay…" he whispered.
The moment he tried to hold it—
The flow collapsed.
The water fell back into the rain as if it had never been there at all.
His jaw tightened.
He let his hand fall to his side.
Inside him, fire burned steadily, familiar and obedient.
Water remained distant.
Unreachable.
"Why won't you listen…" he murmured.
Aelira finally spoke.
"Because you are still asking it to obey."
He did not turn.
"I'm trying to guide it."
"No," she said calmly. "You are trying to replace its nature with your own."
He clenched his fists.
"I can't just… do nothing."
Aelira walked closer, stopping beside him.
"Then that," she said softly, "is your greatest weakness."
That night, after training had ended and the academy grounds had emptied, Phael did not return to the dorm.
He went to the old reservoir beyond the eastern wall.
It was a quiet place. Forgotten. A massive circular basin carved into the rock, once used to regulate water flow for the academy. Rainwater gathered there now, filling it with dark, still depths that reflected the night sky.
He stood at the edge for a long time.
No fire.
No summoning.
No techniques.
Just the sound of rain striking the surface below.
He remembered something from his old life.
Not a technique.
Not a form.
A feeling.
The moment when movement stopped being effort and became instinct.
When the body no longer fought gravity…
…but moved with it.
He stepped forward.
And let himself fall.
Cold.
The water swallowed him instantly, shock biting into his skin as the weight of the reservoir closed around his body. His lungs burned as he sank beneath the surface, the world above turning into distant light.
Instinct screamed.
Breathe. Move. Fight.
Fire surged within him reflexively.
He forced it down.
If he burned the water away, if he forced himself back to the surface with power…
He would learn nothing.
His body struggled.
Muscles tensed.
The Draconic Frame resisted the pressure, keeping him from being crushed, but it could not give him air.
His chest tightened.
Pain flared.
Panic crept in.
Not fear of death.
Fear of failure.
"Let go…"
The words were not spoken.
They came from somewhere deeper.
He stopped trying to swim.
Stopped trying to rise.
Stopped trying to control.
And for the first time…
He let himself sink.
The water did not fight him.
It did not press harder.
It did not reject him.
It simply held him.
His body drifted.
The tension in his muscles eased.
The burning in his chest did not disappear—but it no longer felt like an enemy.
The world grew quiet.
Not empty.
Still.
For the first time since unlocking his second element, Phael did not feel like an outsider inside water.
He felt… included.
Not dominating it.
Not shaping it.
Just existing within it.
Mana shifted inside him.
Not forcefully.
Not urgently.
It followed the same rhythm as the water around him.
Slow.
Endless.
Connected.
Something inside him aligned.
Not power.
Perspective.
He raised his hand beneath the surface.
And this time…
The water did not collapse.
It moved.
Not because he commanded it.
But because he moved with it.
The current curved around his fingers, responding not to intent, but to presence.
Not shaping.
Flowing.
A faint blue light pulsed through the water.
Not dramatic.
Not explosive.
But real.
For the first time—
Water answered.
He did not know how long he remained there.
Seconds.
Minutes.
An eternity.
Only when the burning in his chest returned did he finally push himself upward, breaking the surface with a gasp as cold night air filled his lungs.
He collapsed at the edge of the reservoir, soaked, shaking, breathing hard.
But something had changed.
Not in his body.
Not in his level.
In how the world felt.
Aelira stood nearby, her silhouette still against the rain.
"You did not conquer it," she said quietly.
"No," he replied, voice rough.
He looked down at his trembling hand.
"…I stopped trying to."
She nodded once.
"That is the beginning."
The next day, he returned to the training hall.
Rielle watched from the side as he stood before the basin once more.
He raised his hand.
No tension.
No force.
Mana flowed gently.
The water lifted.
Not in sharp arcs.
Not in rigid shapes.
It curved.
Wrapped.
Moved like a living thing responding to a familiar presence.
A thin veil of water formed around his arm, flowing rather than holding.
Rielle's eyes widened.
"Phael…"
He focused.
And instead of trying to hold it—
He moved.
The water moved with him.
Not perfect.
Not stable for long.
But real.
It did not collapse immediately.
It did not reject him.
It responded.
Aelira observed in silence.
Then finally said, "You have not mastered water."
Phael lowered his arm, breathing steadily.
"I know."
She met his eyes.
"But you have stopped fighting it."
That was not praise.
That was truth.
And it was enough.
That evening, the group gathered in their small guild quarters.
Ryn leaned back in his chair. "So? Did you finally make water listen?"
Phael shook his head. "No."
Soren raised an eyebrow. "Then what changed?"
He thought for a moment.
"I stopped asking it to."
Rielle smiled softly.
"You're not forcing it anymore."
He met her gaze.
"For the first time… it didn't feel like a weapon."
Darian studied him. "That kind of shift doesn't come from training alone."
Myra nodded. "It comes from understanding."
Aeris looked relieved. "Does that mean it won't fail you again?"
Phael did not answer immediately.
"No," he said honestly. "It still can."
Then he looked at them.
"But now… I know why."
Rielle reached for his hand without thinking.
And he did not pull away.
High above the academy, in the quiet of her private chamber, Aelira watched the rain through a narrow window.
"So," she murmured to herself, "you've learned how to listen."
She turned away.
"The wall is still ahead of you."
But for the first time since she had begun training him…
She believed he could reach it.
Phael lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling of the dorm.
Water still felt new.
Unstable.
Far from mastered.
But no longer foreign.
He had not gained a new technique.
He had not grown stronger.
Yet somehow…
He had taken his first true step toward the next threshold.
Level Thirty was still distant.
But now…
He could see the path.