Zane and Lyra moved through the sleeping corridors of the Sanctuary, their silence broken only by the soft tap-tap of their feet on the cold stone. The Codex was tucked securely under Zane's arm. As they neared the hot spring grotto, the air grew warmer, the scent of minerals and damp earth more pronounced.
The grotto was utterly still. Steam rose lazily from the shimmering, dark water, caught in the faint, ethereal light filtering from above. It was their sanctuary within the Sanctuary.
They stopped at the water's edge. Lyra immediately knelt, trailing her fingers in the warm water. "We need to start with the emotional stillness Salena mentioned," she murmured, looking up at Zane. "If your power is rage's puppet, we have to cut the strings. I'm the medium. I need to be completely calm to draw the chaos out of your blood, and you need to be calm enough to let me."
Zane stripped off his tunic and sat down on the stone bench next to her, his focus entirely on the task. "How do we start?"
Lyra took a deep breath. "First, no blood manipulation. Just raw emotion. I want you to close your eyes, Zane. Think back to the courtyard. Feel the rage, but don't act on it. Contain it. Let it rise, but hold it in your chest."
Zane closed his eyes, instantly recalling the sickening smack that silenced Elias, the sight of Kaelen crashing to the floor. The cold, murderous fury surged back, hotter and more potent than before. His heart hammered against his ribs, his muscles coiled, and he felt the familiar, dangerous tingling under his skin—the sensation of his own blood mobilizing. He gritted his teeth, locking the energy down.
"Good," Lyra whispered, sensing the internal shift. "Now, hold that feeling. Acknowledge it. It's valid. But it's not you. Now, open your eyes."
Zane opened them. His vision felt sharper, edged with a residual crimson intensity. Lyra was kneeling, completely still. She didn't look scared. Her purple eyes were fixed on him, radiating an unwavering calm.
"Now, put your hands in the water," she instructed. "Let the water touch the part of you that's currently on fire."
Zane slowly immersed his hands into the hot spring. The warmth was immediate and enveloping. As the water covered his skin, Lyra reached out, gently placing her hands over his. Her small, cool hands rested on top of his larger, tense ones, submerged in the water.
Lyra closed her eyes, and a faint, soft blue glow began to emanate from her skin, a barely perceptible shimmer that infused the water surrounding their joined hands. The water itself began to subtly ripple and pull toward her.
"Breathe with me, Zane," she instructed, her voice a low, steady drone. "In for four. Hold for four. Out for eight."
He followed her, the deep, measured rhythm fighting against the erratic, high tempo of his adrenaline-fueled pulse. As they continued the breathing, Zane felt an extraordinary sensation: the rage, the hot, sharp fury he had trapped in his chest, felt like a dense, heavy cloud, and he could feel Lyra's power gently tugging at it. It was as if the water, now energized by her Hydrokinesis, was acting as a drain, slowly pulling the volatile emotion out through his hands.
The relief was immediate, palpable. The tightness in his chest eased, the pounding in his head subsided, and the dangerous crimson energy that had been buzzing under his skin began to recede, settling back into his core. It wasn't the sudden, exhausting crash he experienced after a blood-fueled rampage; it was a controlled, smooth dissipation.
After several minutes, the blue glow around Lyra's hands faded. She opened her eyes, a weariness lining her features.
"How does that feel?" she asked.
"Empty," Zane admitted, flexing his fingers. "But not weak. Clean."
Lyra smiled faintly. "That's the stabilizing medium working. It's using the water to draw out the emotional residue that powers your uncontrolled rage. But it takes a lot out of me. We can't rely on me to constantly fix you, Zane. You have to learn to stop the flow yourself."
"The Codex," Zane said, retrieving the book and flipping it to his section. "It says the same thing. I have to channel the external environment through the blood. How do I do that without losing control?"
"You try to do something non-violent," Lyra suggested. "Something subtle. The ultimate expression of control is subtlety. You need to prove you can use your power without turning it into a hammer."
Zane pulled his hands from the water. He focused his mind, recalling the familiar surge of energy, but this time, he didn't lace it with rage. He focused on the memory of the water, the calm Lyra had shared, the feeling of the Codex in his hand.
He felt the blood mobilize, but he didn't let it burst forth. Instead, with immense concentration, he directed the power not outward, but inward. He focused on a small, fresh gash on his forearm from a glancing blow during his fight with Xavier.
He held his breath. The faint crimson glow began to trace the line of the cut, his blood—his power—no longer forming a wicked blade, but a network of minuscule, healing filaments. The cut, which had been stinging moments before, began to knit together. The process was slow, painstaking, and required absolute concentration, but it was working. He was using his power not to destroy, but to heal.
Lyra watched, her eyes wide with amazement. "You're… healing yourself," she whispered. "That's incredible, Zane. That's true control."
Zane let out his breath, the subtle crimson light receding. The gash was gone, replaced by a thin line of fresh, pink skin. He was exhausted, but a profound, quiet satisfaction settled over him.
"It works," he confirmed, flexing his newly healed arm. "The focus... the calmness. It changes the power's intent."
"This is how we fight them," Lyra declared, her voice resolute. "They want the brute. We give them the healer. They want the monster. We give them the protector. We spend the rest of the night practicing. We work on maintaining that stillness, Zane. We work on the slow build, the precise control."
They spent the rest of the dark hours in the hot spring grotto. Zane would focus on channeling his power for healing, mending old cuts and bruises, pushing the boundaries of subtle control. Whenever the emotional strain caused his focus to waver, and the slightest hint of crimson flared around his hands, Lyra was there, her hands gently covering his in the water, the stabilizing medium pulling the chaos back.
As the first faint light of dawn began to pierce the grotto, Zane felt a fundamental shift within himself. The terrifying instability was still there, a constant threat, but now, he had tools to manage it, a technique to follow, and a partner to rely on.
He looked at Lyra, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, her beautiful red hair damp from the steam. "We should rest now," he said gently. "You've expended too much energy."
Lyra nodded, leaning her head on his shoulder. "We have a long day ahead. The Kinetic Faction won't wait for Xavier to wake up. They'll be making their moves now."
Zane put his arm around her, the Codex still clutched in his other hand. The cold war had begun, and their training was only just starting. But now, he was ready to face the challenge, not with reckless fury, but with controlled strength and unwavering resolve. He was a target, yes, but he was no longer alone, and he was no longer just a weapon. He was the protector.