The Sanctuary of Aeolus was a realm of stillness and shifting light. Beneath the ever-changing skies of Aetherius, James found himself wandering through crystalline halls and quiet courtyards that felt suspended between moments—neither fully here nor there. The strange energy that permeated the land tugged gently at his senses, a constant reminder that he was far from the world he knew.
Echo padded silently beside him, its gaze alert but calm, a comforting presence in this alien place. James's boots made soft sounds against the polished stone, each step grounding him despite the hum of power beneath his feet.
He paused at the edge of a small pool where liquid light shimmered and flowed like a living thing. Bending down, he cupped his hands and let the glowing water trickle through his fingers.
"This place..." James murmured, "It's not just a sanctuary. It feels alive."
A voice, calm and measured, came from behind.
"More than alive," Kaelen said, stepping into view. The elder's presence was like the earth itself—steady, ancient, and unyielding. "Aetherius is a living nexus. It responds to those who walk its paths."
James looked up, meeting Kaelen's steady gaze. "I'm still learning what that means—for me, for this power."
Kaelen nodded slowly. "Your power is unlike any we have seen here. Volatile, yes—but also a beacon. Dangerous, if left unchecked."
James swallowed, memories of his recent outburst flashing in his mind—the raw fury, the nearly uncontrollable energy that had threatened to rip everything apart.
Kaelen's gaze softened slightly. "You will need guidance. Not just in controlling your strength, but in understanding balance. This realm demands it."
James glanced around the quiet courtyard, the soft pulse of light beneath the crystalline floor matching the rhythm of his heartbeat.
"I'm ready to learn," he said quietly.
Kaelen's eyes held a hint of something unreadable. "Good. There is someone you should meet. My grandson—Taren."
James raised an eyebrow. "Taren?"
"A young man three years your senior. Blind, but with an extraordinary connection to this realm." Kaelen's voice carried the weight of years, wisdom born of hardship. "His other senses are sharp beyond most, and he carries a mark that has yet to awaken—his third eye."
James studied Kaelen, curiosity rising. "Blind? How can someone be so strong blind?"
Kaelen smiled faintly. "Strength here is not always what you see. Taren's strength comes from harmony with Aetherius, not from mere sight."
James felt a flicker of pride and skepticism. I should take it easy on a blind man… but I won't hold back.
Kaelen's gaze grew serious. "You will meet soon enough. But this is not a battle to be rushed. The lesson will come in time."
James nodded, the seeds of anticipation stirring within him.
For now, he would watch, learn, and prepare.
Echo gave a soft growl, sensing the quiet tension.
Kaelen gestured toward a path winding through a nearby grove of violet-leafed trees, their branches humming softly in the wind.
"When you are ready, follow the path to the Glade of Whispers. Taren waits there—not for a fight, but for understanding."
James took a deep breath, letting the calm of Aetherius wash over him.
The Glade of Whispers lived up to its name. The faint rustle of leaves above carried secrets on the wind, and the crystalline branches echoed with ancient murmurs only Aetherius could understand. Echo sat behind James now, alert but still, sensing that this moment was not one of danger — but of significance.
Taren stood at the center of the clearing, motionless, head slightly tilted as if listening to the wind speak. His eyes remained shut, not sealed by blindness but closed by choice — a choice of stillness, awareness, and discipline.
James stepped closer, the hush between them stretching longer.
"You always this dramatic when meeting people?" James finally asked, half-joking.
Taren gave a small, amused tilt of his head. "Only when they come carrying an ego loud enough to silence the forest."
James raised a brow. "You think I'm cocky?"
"I think you're angry," Taren replied coolly. "Angry at your own weakness. At being tossed into something bigger than yourself. At losing control when you thought you had it. And now, you hide it behind power. Behind flashes and explosions and raw potential."
James's expression hardened. "You don't know me."
"No," Taren admitted with a light shrug, "but I've known your kind. And I've seen what happens when people mistake strength for growth. You rely on instincts, on your gift. But instincts don't carry wisdom. And gifts… they rot when you think you've earned them before you've earned anything."
James folded his arms. "So what, you brought me out here to lecture me?"
Taren smirked. "I brought you here because you need to be heard. You don't listen to those who talk down to you. You don't trust those who try to guide you. So maybe, if you hear it from someone close enough in age to punch you in the face if you get stupid, it might stick."
There was a beat of silence before James let out a short laugh. "You know what? I kinda like you."
"I don't blame you," Taren said. "I'm charming."
James smirked. "And arrogant."
Taren nodded. "Which makes me qualified to talk to you."
He reached down and slowly drew two curved short swords from behind his back — blades of clear, shimmering aether-glass that reflected no light yet pulsed with the rhythm of the glade itself. He didn't brandish them. He simply held them, arms relaxed.
James's stance subtly shifted, more curious than defensive. "So what now? A duel?"
"No," Taren said, then tossed the swords into the ground with a thnk that echoed softly. "A mirror."
James blinked. "What?"
Taren reached into a satchel slung over his back and casually tossed a pair of wooden nunchaku toward James, who barely caught them.
"I want to see how you move," Taren said plainly. "With tools. With limitation. Without your familiar weapons or powers. Show me how adaptable you are."
James examined the unfamiliar weapon, weighing it in his hands.
"You're testing me," he muttered.
"I'm studying you," Taren replied. "You think combat is about domination. It's not. It's about communication. This," he gestured to the clearing, "is a conversation."
James gripped the nunchaku tighter. "And if I say the wrong thing?"
Taren smiled, eyes still shut. "Then I'll respond."
He stepped back, bare-handed, making no move to summon his own weapons again. His posture was fluid—balanced, like water mid-fall.
James rolled his shoulders, then raised the nunchaku in a rough stance, not fully confident. "So… I just attack you?"
"Not yet," Taren said softly. "First, tell me this—when you felt powerless, back in your world… when they mocked you for having nothing… did it ever cross your mind that maybe they were right?"
James flinched slightly. It wasn't the question—it was the way Taren asked it. Not cruelly. Not mockingly. Just… honestly.
"Yeah," James said, his voice low. "Every day."
Taren nodded slowly. "And now that you have power, you swing it around like it'll erase all of that. But it won't. Because the people who hurt you… they weren't afraid of your strength. They were afraid of what you might become without understanding."
A silence followed.
Then Taren raised his chin just slightly, the wind playing with his hair. "When you're ready, James... speak. But don't speak with rage. Speak with awareness."
James's grip on the nunchaku steadied, his gaze narrowing—not with fury, but with thought.
He stepped forward.
Not charging.
Not lunging.
Just… answering.