“It’s getting late,” Lathandre said at last. His tone was calm, even, but not dismissive. “And this day has clearly asked much of you.”

  Adlet nodded. Only now did he feel it—how tightly his muscles were wound, how his thoughts still raced ahead of him, refusing to settle. The forest felt quieter than before, as if evening were slowly pressing its palm against the world.

  “I will not burden you with instruction tonight,” the master continued. “What you experienced needs time to settle.”

  A brief pause.

  “But before we part, I would like to see something.”

  Adlet looked up.

  “The place where you encountered the beetle,” Lathandre said. “Show me.”

  “Yes,” Adlet answered at once.

  He turned and began to retrace his steps, following the familiar pull of memory rather than any marked trail. Excitement stirred beneath his fatigue, subtle but insistent. This place—this moment—no longer belonged to him alone.

  They moved in silence.

  The forest thinned as they approached the deforested stretch near the boundary wall. Even from there, the waterfall announced itself—first as a low, constant presence, then as a pale vertical veil glimpsed between trunks and stone. The air grew cooler, heavier with moisture.

  Adlet became aware of Lathandre’s presence behind him not through sound, but through its absence. No branches snapped. No grass whispered underfoot. When Adlet glanced back, the man was simply there, cloak shifting softly, stride unhurried and precise.

  They reached the base of the falls quickly.

  Mist clung to the air, coating skin and fabric alike. The roar of water filled every gap, swallowing lesser sounds, making speech feel unnecessary. Moss darkened the stone beneath their feet, slick and alive.

  Adlet raised his arm and pointed.

  “Behind the waterfall,” he said. “There’s a cave.”

  Lathandre stepped forward without comment and passed through the curtain of falling water.

  He did not hesitate.

  The darkness beyond did not seem to slow him, as though the absence of light held no meaning. Adlet remained near the entrance, the cold spray dampening his hair and shoulders as he listened.

  Muted sounds reached him from within—boots on stone, the scrape of fabric against rock, measured and controlled.

  Then—

  A sharp, resonant impact.

  The sound cracked through the cavern, startling in its violence. Stone fractured overhead. A cascade of rock thundered down, the ground shuddering as dust and debris burst outward from the cave’s mouth.

  Adlet recoiled instinctively, heart leaping into his throat.

  “What was that?” he called out, voice nearly lost beneath the roar of the falls.

  Moments later, Lathandre emerged from the darkness, brushing fine stone dust from his sleeve as though it were little more than an inconvenience.

  He looked up at the ceiling behind the waterfall, expression thoughtful.

  “It appears there was a beetle nest,” the man said, his voice even.

  He looked up toward the rock face behind the waterfall, his expression momentarily distant.

  “It appears there was a beetle nest,” the man said, his voice steady.

  Adlet followed his gaze. From where he stood, the cascade hid almost everything—only the restless curtain of water, the slick stone behind it, and the constant roar filling the air.

  But something had changed.

  A faint tremor still lingered beneath his feet. Dust drifted lazily from the stone above the spray, catching the light before dissolving into mist. The sound of the water itself felt different—muted, heavier, as though the hollow space behind it no longer answered.

  “I sealed the entrance,” the man continued. “In case another individual appears.”

  Adlet swallowed. The ease with which it had been done unsettled him far more than the creature itself.

  After a brief silence, Lathandre turned away from the waterfall, the mist catching in the folds of his cloak.

  “It is time for you to return,” he said. “I will meet you tomorrow morning. At the edge of the village—where you first approached me.”

  “Yes, Master,” Adlet replied.

  He took a step back… then stopped.

  The words pressed against his chest, demanding to be spoken before the moment slipped away.

  “May I ask one last question?” he said.

  Lathandre paused, then inclined his head slightly.

  “Go on.”

  Adlet chose his words carefully.

  “I told you about Pami. And about the beetle,” he said. “But… what is your Guardian?”

  For the first time since their meeting, Lathandre did not answer immediately.

  He studied Adlet in silence, as though weighing more than the question itself. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm—but firm, closing a door without slamming it.

  “I understand your curiosity,” he said. “But I cannot answer that.”

  Adlet’s expression fell before he could stop it.

  “Not yet,” Lathandre added.

  The disappointment lingered only a moment. Adlet straightened, then bowed—measured, sincere.

  “Very well, Master,” he said. “Then I will do everything I can to become worthy of that answer.”

  A pause.

  Lathandre watched him, something unreadable passing briefly through his gaze.

  “We will speak again tomorrow,” he said.

  Adlet nodded.

  As he turned to leave, the roar of the waterfall swallowed the space between them once more—leaving behind sealed stone, unanswered questions… and the quiet weight of what had just begun.

  Adlet ran all the way home.

  His thoughts wouldn’t slow down, because staying still felt impossible after what he had just heard. Each step carried the same idea forward, again and again, beating in time with his pulse.

  He could become a Protector.

  The forest rushed past him, familiar and blurred, the scent of pine and damp earth filling his lungs. Branches brushed his sleeves, roots flashed beneath his feet, but his stride never faltered. He barely noticed the distance shrinking.

  When his house came into view, he slowed and stopped near the edge of the clearing.

  Only then did he realize.

  His breathing was steady.

  Deep—but not strained.

  He waited a second longer, expecting the fatigue to catch up with him.

  It didn’t.

  No burning in his legs. No heaviness in his chest. His heart beat fast, yes—but cleanly, without distress.

  Adlet stood there, frowning slightly.

  That run should have left him tired.

  Instead, he felt… fine.

  The thought lingered, unsettling and impossible to ignore, but he pushed it aside. There would be time to think about it later.

  Right now, everything felt too close, too fragile to examine.

  He went inside.

  The evening passed quietly. He washed, changed, and joined his parents for dinner. He listened, answered when spoken to, smiled when expected. The day’s events stayed locked behind his teeth, unspoken.

  Later, alone in his room, the tension finally loosened. His body relaxed as sleep took him quickly, almost greedily.

  But even as rest claimed him, a faint echo remained—

  the memory of a run that should have cost him more than it had.

  Morning came quietly.

  Adlet woke before the village did, heart already awake long before his body caught up. The familiar shapes of his room emerged slowly in the dim light, the steady presence of the world grounding him after a night too short to dull his anticipation.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  For a brief moment, he focused inward.

  Pami remained silent, coiled within him.

  That didn’t trouble him.

  Today wasn’t about answers.

  It was about what came next.

  He dressed quickly, hands moving with restless precision, and stepped outside. The air was cool, crisp enough to sharpen his thoughts. Eos lay half-asleep behind him as he set off, boots striking the ground in a rhythm that matched the pulse in his chest.

  By the time he reached the meeting point, his breath had quickened—not from the run, but from expectation.

  Lathandre was already there.

  He stood exactly where he had said he would, posture relaxed, weight evenly balanced, gaze resting somewhere ahead of him—not fixed on anything in particular. He did not shift when Adlet approached. Did not turn immediately. As if movement itself waited for his permission.

  Adlet slowed, suddenly aware of his own energy in contrast.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, Master,” he said, still slightly breathless.

  Lathandre turned then, calm as ever.

  “You are on time,” he replied simply.

  He looked past Adlet, toward the forest path.

  “Come,” he continued. “I have found a place suited for your first trial.”

  Adlet’s pulse jumped.

  Without another word, Lathandre stepped forward—and the path ahead opened.

  They crossed the open fields at a steady pace.

  Wheat bent in slow waves beneath the wind, brushing softly against Adlet’s legs as wildflowers dotted the path with splashes of color. The air smelled clean—earth, pollen, distant grass warmed by light. It should have felt peaceful.

  It didn’t.

  Adlet had to lengthen his stride just to keep up. Lathandre did not walk faster—his pace simply never changed. Each step was placed with quiet certainty, as though the ground itself adjusted to him. No wasted movement. No hesitation. The kind of ease that came not from effort, but from mastery.

  Adlet focused on breathing. On matching the rhythm. On not falling behind.

  After what felt like far longer than it truly was, Lathandre stopped.

  “We have arrived.”

  Before them stretched a modest meadow, tucked between gently swaying fields. The grass there was shorter, softer, brushed by a constant breeze that carried the faint sound of insects. Somewhere nearby, birds sang—distant enough not to intrude, close enough to remind Adlet that life continued as normal.

  Lathandre moved to the shade of a lone tree and sat, folding his cloak beneath him with practiced care.

  “Since yesterday,” he said, “have you noticed anything unusual?”

  Adlet didn’t answer immediately. He searched himself—his body, his breath, the strange lightness he still hadn’t fully processed.

  “My physical abilities,” he said at last. “They feel… better.”

  “Only that?”

  Adlet hesitated, then shook his head. “Nothing else, Master.”

  Lathandre nodded, unsurprised.

  “That increase is passive,” he said. “A Guardian’s spiritual body reinforces yours from within. It strengthens what already exists.”

  He lifted his gaze to Adlet.

  “Using Aura actively is something else entirely. It means manifesting that spiritual presence outward. Giving form to what is normally unseen.”

  Adlet swallowed. “I understand the idea,” he said carefully. “But how do I actually do it?”

  Lathandre was quiet for a moment.

  “You must learn to think like an animal,” he said. “Not abandon reason—but temper it with instinct. The greatest Protectors do not choose between the two. They balance them.”

  He rose smoothly to his feet and turned toward Adlet.

  “Right now,” he continued, “you are a fledgling.”

  Adlet stiffened.

  “You have wings,” Lathandre said. “But no sense of how to use them.”

  The old man took a step closer.

  “It is my role to push you from the nest.”

  Lathandre raised his hand.

  Slowly.

  Too slowly.

  Adlet’s attention locked onto the movement without him realizing it. The air around Lathandre’s palm seemed to thicken, as though something invisible were gathering there. A faint reddish veil unfurled, controlled, restrained—nothing violent, yet undeniably present.

  Adlet’s breath caught.

  The Aura did not rush. It did not flare.

  It waited.

  A deep, irrational unease crept into his chest. His instincts screamed, not in panic, but in warning—sharp, insistent, impossible to ignore.

  Don’t look away.

  Lathandre’s hand shifted.

  Not a strike.

  Not an attack.

  Just a small, deliberate motion through the air—like a slow slap cutting across space itself.

  The impact came a heartbeat later.

  Adlet felt it before he understood it—a sudden pressure, a force that shoved him backward as though the wind itself had struck him solidly. Panic surged.

  His body reacted on its own.

  Arms crossed. Muscles locked.

  The force hit—

  And stopped.

  Adlet slid back several steps, boots carving shallow lines through the grass. His balance held—but barely. A thin, translucent layer of dark energy clung to his forearms, rippling like liquid shadow, absorbing what should have sent him flying.

  Silence followed.

  Adlet’s heart hammered. His skin buzzed, alive with unfamiliar sensation.

  Lathandre lowered his hand.

  “This,” he said calmly, “is Aura.”

  Adlet stared at his arms, breath uneven.

  “Remember that feeling,” Lathandre continued. “Not the motion. Not the result. The instinct that summoned it. That is your first step toward calling it forth at will.”

  Adlet nodded, still processing.

  “Well done,” Lathandre said. “That was instinct.”

  Adlet let out a slow breath, shoulders still tense.

  “But instinct alone won’t carry you far,” Lathandre continued. “That was only the first step.”

  Adlet looked up at him, attentive.

  “The second,” Lathandre went on, “is understanding what you wield.”

  He let the words settle.

  “An Aura is not just strength,” he said calmly. “It reflects the nature of its source. Until you grasp that nature, you will only scratch stone instead of moving mountains.”

  Adlet’s gaze drifted back to the marked rock.

  Understanding…

  Something clicked—not fully, but enough to make the question form.

  “My Guardian,” he said slowly. “The beetle.”

  Lathandre’s mouth twitched, just slightly.

  “Now you’re listening.”

  Adlet closed his eyes.

  He turned his attention inward, searching for that dense presence beneath his skin—the weight that had answered him instinctively before. He tried to guide it, to feel its shape, its intent.

  Nothing answered.

  Only quiet.

  Frustration crept in, sharp and unwelcome.

  He opened his eyes and stared at the rock he had struck moments earlier. The shallow mark stared back at him, unimpressed.

  It’s not about hitting harder.

  His thoughts slowed.

  It’s about understanding it.

  The beetle.

  The way it moved. The way it endured.

  To understand that… I’d need to observe it again.

  The realization settled—then immediately faltered.

  “I can’t,” Adlet said, frowning. “The nest is sealed. Even the smaller ones…”

  He shook his head. “There shouldn’t be any of that species left nearby.”

  Lathandre remained silent.

  Adlet’s gaze drifted across the meadow, unfocused at first—then narrowing.

  “…But there are other scarab beetles here,” he said slowly. “Not the same kind. But close enough. Cousins.”

  He straightened slightly.

  “Maybe that’s enough.”

  Lathandre inclined his head.

  “A reasonable assumption,” he said. “Observation is the beginning of mastery.”

  He walked a short distance away and crouched near the edge of the grass, eyes scanning the ground. After a moment, he spotted one—a common beetle, dark-shelled, moving awkwardly between blades of grass.

  He watched it.

  It stumbled over uneven ground. Hesitated. Changed direction twice for no apparent reason.

  Adlet tilted his head.

  “That’s it?” he murmured. “It doesn’t look fast. Or agile. Or… impressive.”

  The beetle reached a patch of dead wood—an old, splintered branch, dry and heavy. Without ceremony, it braced itself and began to move it.

  The branch shifted.

  Adlet blinked.

  The insect adjusted its grip and dragged the wood forward—slowly, steadily—despite the branch being several times its own size.

  No struggle.

  No pause.

  Just persistence.

  Adlet’s eyes widened slightly.

  “…Strength,” he whispered.

  He straightened and returned to the rock, planting his feet.

  This time, he focused—not on speed, not on impact, but on drawing that dense, grounded sensation into his arm. He struck again.

  Nothing.

  The rock didn’t even flinch.

  Adlet stared at it.

  He tried again.

  And again.

  Each blow was controlled. Protected. Precise.

  Useless.

  A quiet voice cut in behind him.

  “Are you finished tormenting that rock?”

  Adlet jumped, then scowled.

  “I’m serious,” he said, turning to Lathandre. “I saw it. That beetle moved something way heavier than itself. It was strong. Really strong.”

  He gestured at the stone.

  “This thing’s just… mocking me.”

  Lathandre raised an eyebrow.

  “Or,” he said mildly, “perhaps it’s teaching you something.”

  Adlet hesitated.

  “You are confusing strength with striking power,” Lathandre continued. “They are not the same.”

  Realization hit.

  Adlet’s shoulders slumped slightly.

  “…Right,” he muttered. “That was obvious.”

  He repositioned himself, crouched, and placed both hands beneath the rock.

  He lifted.

  The stone rose.

  Not slowly.

  Not with effort.

  It rose cleanly—until it hovered nearly a meter above his head.

  Adlet’s mouth fell open.

  He lowered it.

  Lifted it again.

  Higher.

  Easier.

  A grin broke across his face.

  “That’s more like it,” Lathandre said, resting a hand briefly on his shoulder. “Well done.”

  Adlet laughed under his breath. “Guess I picked a stubborn rival.”

  “Be careful,” Lathandre replied dryly. “Rocks are known for holding grudges.”

  Adlet snorted.

  “You learn quickly,” Lathandre continued. “At this pace, Darwin Academy may accept you.”

  “The Academy?” Adlet asked, excitement flashing through him. “You won’t keep training me?”

  “I cannot guide you forever,” Lathandre said. “Progress must become your own. The Academy evaluates rank—and prepares you for the world beyond this place.”

  Adlet nodded, the weight of it settling in.

  “I won’t waste this,” he said quietly.

  “That is the correct mindset,” Lathandre replied. “The next intake is in six months.”

  He paused.

  “But first—you must survive the Dark Woods.”

  A shiver ran through Adlet.

  Then, unmistakably, excitement followed.

  “I won’t back down,” he said, fists tightening.

  Lathandre’s lips curved faintly.

  “Good,” he said. “The Dark Woods punish hesitation.”

  He met Adlet’s gaze.

  “But you,” he added, “now have a chance. Use it.”

  Adlet drew a slow breath.

  Aura hummed beneath his skin.

  He was ready.

  https://discord.gg/7YP8MUcKjY