Yig sat on the peaceful hills of Moonset, among the fields where Blū and Oy used to train. He held blades of grass in each hand, carefully maneuvering mana around his body. As it reached one hand, it tickled like static, and the blades began to bend and fold. Then he pulled the mana back, letting the grass open until it returned to its original shape, before moving on to the other hand.

  While Yig repeated the process, Oy stood a few feet away, punching the air, his bulky arms straining with each strike. Every swing landed like a clap, as if he were hitting the sky itself. The sound was far from relaxing, but in a strange way, it helped Yig maintain his patience. He breathed in, then out, letting mana trickle from one arm to the other, coursing into his hands. In… and out. In… and—

  “Shut up with the punches!” Yig yelled.

  Oy struck forward one last time, grinning in smug satisfaction. “Something a bother?”

  Yig growled. “Why do you have to punch so loud? You weren’t even hitting anything.” A spike of pain ran down his back as he shouted. He winced. The push-up strain had left its mark.

  “I put some aura in the air and punched that,” Oy replied, cracking his fingers as he gestured with his knuckles.

  “What’s even the point of that? Trying to show off?”

  “I want to get it to the point where the wind carries my punch.” Without much warning, Oy punched forward in Yig’s direction, sending a harsh breeze across the few feet between them. It struck Yig like a shove from a young adult, nearly toppling him.

  Oy sighed. “See? But I haven’t quite got the hang of it.”

  Yig patted himself down and picked up more grass. “Sorry. I lost the flow and got annoyed. It’s more frustrating because I have directed mana to my hands before.”

  “With a punch or a swing?”

  “Yeah…”

  “There are two good reasons not to get upset about that. One: basic mana control can come easier in heated exchanges, but it’s not reliable. And two: moving large amounts of mana quickly feels more natural to beginners training in Exure.”

  Still frustrated, Yig began focusing on his aura again. He sat cross-legged, eyes on his palm, waiting as one might wait for the warmth of a campfire to reach their hand. The grass twitched slightly, as if trying to move on its own. He could feel it—the mana trembling in his fingertips, its power surging outward—

  A sudden breeze passed over him, catching the blades of grass and blowing them into a spiral that drifted into the sky. Oy snorted, barely holding back laughter. Yig hopped up, planting his mana-charged fists half a foot into the ground. Spartan leaped up, quickly glancing around before calming down. Less alarmed now, she waddled to the shade of a bush and curled up, hoping for less excitement.

  Oy looked to Yig, waiting for his temper to cool. Yig slumped down onto the ground with a bump and sighed.

  “Let it out?”

  Yig sighed again. “So much of Exure seems to be sitting around, looking at things, and focusing really hard.”

  “And you're too irritable for that?” Oy chuckled.

  “Maybe… but it’s not like I don’t want to do it. I just don’t get why I can’t practice it by sparring instead.”

  Oy thought that over. “Training through combat can do amazing things. But the more you practice these exercises, the better your control will be in the heat of the moment. These methods actually enhance combat training.”

  Yig sighed again.

  “Say, have you ever tried proper meditation?” Oy asked.

  Tilting his head up, Yig thought for a moment. “Probably not.”

  “Getting used to it will make you more patient with most things. At least, that’s the effect it had on me.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Yig shrugged. “If you say so.” Then he stood and walked to higher ground.

  “Don’t think it’s that simple,” Oy called out. “You have to be fully willing to find peace the moment you sit and close your eyes.”

  “You’re going to keep training here?” Yig asked. He wasn’t sure how he felt about sitting exposed with his eyes closed.

  “Yeah, don’t worry. You can trust me to keep an eye out.”

  Reaching the peak of a hill on the mountain, Yig raised a hand to shade his eyes and took in the view of Moonset. He sat down, crossing his legs. The breeze flowed over the grass like a wave, brushing gently against him. He rested his wrists on his knees, turned his palms to the sky, and breathed in.

  The world disappeared.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  Blū gently pushed open the door to Silver’s study or at least, what Silver called his study. It had always been hard to tell what he was reading, or why. Was it for pleasure? Or maybe even he, a master of Exure, still had so much to learn that he could read for hours every day.

  Inside, Blū saw a dusty room lit by a single beam of light, with specks of dust dancing chaotically. The walls were hidden behind tightly packed bookshelves, and the floor was similarly buried beneath towers of literature the unfortunate tomes deemed unworthy of display.

  Beneath the beam of light, right foot resting on his left knee, Silver sat leisurely. His hair was tied up to keep it out of his eyes as he flipped slowly through old pages, paying little mind to his student’s entrance.

  “Master?”

  Silver looked up. He slipped a velvet strip between the pages and closed the book, caught off guard but still willing to listen. “You have a problem?”

  Blū closed the door gently behind him. “Just some questions.”

  “Go on.”

  “I had that same dream again.”

  “Did it tell you anything new?”

  “No. But I think it says something about where my mind is at.”

  “What did you dream?”

  “My home burning. I couldn’t see it, but I felt the emotion of it. And I remember my mother walking me far away, toward the horizon. I still can’t remember her face.”

  “I never saw her the way you did. She was long gone by the time I knew what had happened.”

  “Can’t you remember the color of her hair, or the clothes she wore?”

  “No.”

  “She’d walked straight for thirty miles on foot,” the men who found Blū had said. “Never drank, never ate, nor bathed. Only when she saw a sign of help did she stop. She was dead by the time the villagers reached her. Her skin had shriveled, her humanity stolen from her... with the sole exception being the smile she gave once we’d given her baby a drink.”

  That was all he knew.

  Blū sat down on a short desk, knocking over a pile of books with his back. He raised a hand and rubbed the base of his thumb under his nose, then stared into the dusty, dark crevices of the bookcases.

  “You finally thinking of leaving?” Silver asked, his tone sounding like judgment.

  “I could do it. I will.”

  Silver scoffed and met his student’s eyes. Then, with a look of doubt, he seemed to quickly regret the attitude he’d taken.

  “Boy, you haven’t left my side since the day I took you in. Sure, maybe you ran off for a few days, even weeks, and came home proud of how you’d handled the outside world—but you always returned. You yelled and complained whenever I said I was moving, as if I’d forced you to come along, because in your mind, that’s exactly how it felt. If I left, you knew no other idea than to follow.

  So yes, I believe you have the capacity to be independent. But I don’t believe you want to walk alone.”

  Blū took a moment to think, redirecting his gaze to the bookshelf. He didn’t want to meet his master’s eyes and searched for anything to change the subject.

  “The blonde man… what do you make of him?”

  Silver grinned. “I figured he was on your mind.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “What is there to make of him? An arrogant hero with wild dreams. A penny for every one of them these days. All in it for the money. Don’t you think?”

  “His religion—the goddesses and the gates—you’ve spoken of similar things before.”

  “You know, he doesn’t strike me as a religious man. He’s far too spiritual for that.”

  Blū tried to bite his tongue, not wanting to sound foolish. “Do you know for sure that the gates are real?”

  “Oh yes, of course.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think? Experience. Evidence through my own senses. Memories full of emotion, still clear to me even now—ones that could never be conveyed in words. But others have their faith.”

  “You fully believe there is paradise?”

  “Completely. Though likely not in the ways most imagine. But why does that matter to us? Do you plan on opening the gates anytime soon?”

  “Do you think… my mother was religious?”

  “You’re talking about the pendant she left you? Like I’ve said before, there’s not much I can say since I never saw it in person. If you recall our trip back to that place, they said those who found you and your mother lost it in the scramble to save you. It was probably stolen, sold, or smelted.”

  Hearing that still hurt Blū’s heart. He remembered how the men had described it: a tree. It could have meant many things. But he had a theory he felt confident in.

  “…Perhaps she thought similarly to this man, Yig,” Blū chuckled, amused by the image of his mother, just as joyful as their visitor. “Opening the gates. So foolish.”

  “Some would agree.”

  “Say, Master—where do you draw the line between stupidity and bravery?”

  “One’s point of view… and, more importantly, results. Yet of course, none of us have seen the future.”

  Blū drifted into thought, gazing again at the bookshelf.

  Silver smiled. “Going out there—it’ll be more rewarding than boring yourself with all these books.”

  Blū pictured it, and liked what he saw.

  But even so, he decided this would not be the time.