The days bled into one another, each one carrying the weight of repetition, the slow but steady carving of skill into flesh and spirit. Time moved not in sharp, distinct moments, but in an unbroken stream, like the tides themselves, pushing and pulling, eroding away the weak edges of those who still struggled to grasp the essence of their power.
Kaien had learned to embrace the monotony.
There was no sudden revelation, no single defining moment of understanding—only the gradual accumulation of skill, layered upon itself like sediment settling at the ocean floor. Every morning, every afternoon, every evening, the students gathered at the training grounds, their hands calloused, their breaths steady, their movements more refined than the day before.
Each morning, the students assembled at the training grounds before dawn. The air was crisp, the scent of salt heavy, carried inland by the persistent whispers of the sea. The only light came from the moon, still lingering in the sky, and the distant glow of the torches lining the walls of their training grounds.
There were no words exchanged. No greetings, no idle chatter. Only silent acknowledgments, nods given between individuals who had come to recognize one another through shared struggle.
Their routine was simple. Deceptively so.
First, they practiced stilling themselves.
They would sit, legs crossed, hands resting on their knees, their eyes closed as they reached inward. It was not mere meditation, nor was it simple relaxation—it was an effort to become water. To synchronize their breathing with the rhythm of the tide, to match their pulse with the sea itself.
At first, Kaien had struggled with this. His mind had always been too restless, too prone to wandering. But as the days passed, he found that he no longer had to force himself into stillness. It came naturally, slipping over him like the embrace of cool water.
After that, they moved to their physical training.
Running. Climbing. Swimming. Every muscle forced to adapt, to strengthen, to endure. They trained with sand beneath their feet, the shifting ground forcing them to maintain balance, to move with deliberation rather than reckless force. They swam against the currents, their bodies aching as they struggled to cut through the water with efficiency rather than brute strength.
No one spoke during these exercises. There was no need. The training was self-driven. Each student pushed themselves as hard as they could—sometimes harder than they should.
Aedric did not guide them through this. He did not stand before them with instructions, nor did he call out corrections.
He simply watched.
His presence was felt in the unspoken expectations, in the knowledge that he would only intervene if he deemed it necessary. If a student faltered, it was up to them to recover. If they pushed too far and collapsed from exhaustion, they were left where they fell until they could rise again.
Lyra was among those who struggled most.
She was determined, that much was clear. But determination alone was not enough. She lacked control, wasting her energy in bursts of power instead of steady endurance. More than once, Kaien saw her fall behind in their swims, her strokes becoming sloppy, her breath ragged.
And yet, she never allowed herself to stop.
Kaien respected that.
He saw it in others too. Some were naturally gifted, progressing quickly, adapting to the rhythm of training as if they had been born for it. Others lagged behind, constantly fighting against their own limitations.
One student—Rhen—nearly drowned on the tenth day. He had pushed too far, refusing to accept that his lungs were weaker than the rest. When the current caught him and dragged him under, it was not Aedric who saved him.
It was Kaien.
He hadn't hesitated. The moment he saw the panic in Rhen's eyes, he had moved, cutting through the water with effortless strokes. When he pulled Rhen to the shore, coughing and gasping, Aedric was there, watching with that same unreadable expression.
The master had said nothing. Had not praised nor scolded. He had only watched.
And Kaien had understood.
This training was about more than mastering their own power. It was about understanding others. Understanding the tide, and how it shaped not only themselves but those around them.
By the third week, the students had moved beyond mere endurance. Now, they trained their control over their Inner Tide.
The drills were relentless. They would stand in the shallows, ankle-deep in the water, and practice shifting the tide around them. Aedric had instructed them to start small—ripples, barely noticeable movements.
But control was difficult. Finesse was difficult.
More than once, Kaien saw students attempting to force their power, treating it as something to be commanded rather than something to be guided. The result was the same every time—wild, untamed bursts of movement that crashed into the shore like broken waves.
Kaien, however, had learned patience.
He did not rush. Did not force. He simply let himself sink into the rhythm, feeling the pull, the movement, the quiet hum of the tide in his veins. And when he moved his hands, the water followed, responding not to strength, but to intent.
Aedric had watched this as well.
And for the first second time, Kaien saw something in his eyes that might have been approval.
Each night, after training ended and the students retreated to their quarters, Kaien remained by the shore.
He would stand in the shallow water, feeling the coolness against his skin, watching the moonlight dance across the surface. And he would think.
Of the power he had stolen.
Of the progress he had made.
Of the strange, unshakable feeling that something within him had changed irreversibly.
The tide was his now. But was it truly his?
Or was he simply riding a current that did not belong to him?
These thoughts haunted him.
But he did not speak them aloud.
Not yet.
When the month ended, Aedric finally spoke.
He gathered them once more in the training grounds, his gaze sweeping across them, assessing.
"You have all taken your first steps," he said. "You are no longer aimless. No longer unshaped."
His eyes lingered on Kaien for a moment before moving on.
"You are all now Initiates."
The words felt heavy. Not because they were unexpected, but because they marked the end of something. The end of the beginning.
Kaien knew, deep in his bones, that the real training—the training that would break them or forge them—had yet to begin.
And when it did…
He would be ready.
Or he would drown.