The following days passed without ceremony.
There was no clear milestone, no moment when Damon could say, "Now I know." There was only repetition, error, pain, and small victories that only made sense when accumulated.
The forest became his testing ground.
Each morning began the same way: Ester was already there, motionless, spear planted in the ground; Lily appeared next, always with some new provocation; and Damon arrived last, carrying in his body the weariness of the previous day… and in his mind, a perception that never completely switched off.
"How many presences today?" Ester would invariably ask, before any warm-up.
At first, Damon would get it terribly wrong.
"Many…?" he would answer, uncertain.
"Quantify it," she demanded.
He would close his eyes, breathe, feel his Qi like a second skin.
"Thirty-and… no, thirty-four. No. Thirty-two."
"Wrong," Ester said. "Start over."
