The sound of steel on stone echoed across the cliffs.
Elio stood, breathing slow and steady, as Ronan walked a circle around him—wooden training sword in hand, tapping it against the rocky floor with each step.
"You've improved," Ronan said. "Your aura control has tightened. Your instincts have sharpened."
Elio remained silent, posture unshaken.
"But you're still predictable," Ronan muttered—and struck.
The wooden blade came low, angled for the knee. Elio shifted, deflecting. Another strike—high, then diagonal. He parried, twisted, countered.
Ronan's form blurred. The old warrior moved like a storm compressed into human shape.
Elio stood through all of it—calm, cold, coiled.
Until—
Crack.
Ronan's final strike slipped past his guard, grazing his ribs.
"Still too clean," Ronan said. "You fight like you're scared to be messy."
"I'm not," Elio said, breathing heavily. "I just don't need to be reckless."
Ronan's gaze darkened, not with anger—but memory.
"Someday, you'll face something you can't control. Something primal. And then what? Hold back and die?"
Elio didn't answer.
Because a part of him already knew.
Later, while cleaning up, Elio paused at the edge of the cliff. The valley below stretched endlessly—quiet villages, distant lights, forests swaying like sleeping titans.
And yet...
Something was wrong.
He could feel it—not in his mind, but in his bones. A prickling sensation beneath his skin. Like something watching him. Like a storm hiding behind a breath.
Then it passed.
Or pretended to.
Elsewhere
Inside a circular chamber deep beneath the continent's oldest city, seven figures sat cloaked in silence.
A black crystal pulsed at the center of the table.
A voice, ragged and dry, broke the quiet.
"The Hollow Flame has awakened."
Another voice replied, lower and older. "You're sure it's him?"
"Yes. The energy matches. Raw. Untethered. He's begun touching the first layer."
A pause. Then: "And the Sealed One?"
"Still dormant. But proximity changes everything."
The table fell still.
Until the eldest among them spoke again.
"Send an Unraveler. One of the Outer Rings. Watch. But do not engage."
"And if the boy shows signs of communion?"
The elder leaned forward, voice cold.
"Then burn the mountain."
Back at the Cliffs
Elio sat alone again—this time not in doubt, but in quiet reflection. He could feel his control deepening, his senses widening.
He still wasn't strong.
Not yet.
But he was no longer helpless.
Behind him, Ronan stepped forward.
"Tomorrow, we begin the real training."
Elio stood, brushing dust from his sleeve.
"What was all this, then?"
Ronan smirked. "That was just getting your soul to sit still."
He looked east, toward the horizon, where dark clouds were starting to form.
"You're going to learn what it means to be a Wielder, Elio. And what it costs."
In the darkness beyond nations and gods, something stirred.