Days passed, and Lyssa didn't leave.
She became a familiar presence—one the villagers didn't quite know what to do with. She was polite, distant, and strangely graceful. People whispered about the "noble-looking woman" who shadowed Kael near the fields. Some assumed she was a royal tutor. Others thought she was his older sister.
Kael told them nothing.
That was easier.
They studied together in silence. Lyssa learned faster than most—her mind trained in combat, her senses tuned to Essence—but even she struggled with Kael's methodical breakdowns.
"This Weave's inner loop doesn't follow Pattern logic," she muttered one morning, frowning at the symbol traced in the dirt. "It contradicts itself."
Kael shook his head. "It contradicts divine logic. Not physical logic. You've been trained to obey form, not question outcome."
Lyssa exhaled through her nose. "You sound like a heretic."
Kael's eyes flicked toward her. "Maybe the gods deserve it."
She stared at him.
Then smiled faintly. "Careful. That sort of talk could get you killed."
Kael didn't smile back.
"I know."
---
It was during one of their sessions under the moonflower tree that Lyssa finally asked the question that had burned in her since the moment they met.
"Kael," she said softly, "how do you know all this?"
He looked up from his journal.
She didn't press—didn't demand. She was learning his pace. His quiet. His boundaries.
Still, he answered.
"I remember another life," he said.
Lyssa blinked.
"In that world," he continued, "we didn't have gods. Not real ones. Just laws. Math. Pattern. I was a physicist. I solved problems no one else could solve. And then I died."
His eyes stayed steady.
"And I woke up here."
Lyssa said nothing for a long time.
Then: "So you're not just building your own path—you're bringing an entire world's knowledge with you."
Kael shrugged. "A world that didn't have Essence. Or fire that listened to thought. But… yes."
She looked at him like he was a blade hidden in silk.
Not dangerous. But absolute.
"I think I was meant to meet you," she whispered.
Kael didn't respond.
But he didn't look away.
---
The High Families moved slowly—but they moved.
Far from the village, in the Crystal Citadel of House Alvaris, a meeting of five banners was called.
Each family brought a Talent. Each Talent bore a Myth-tier Pattern. Each one, when tested, had scorched the sky or crushed a mountain.
And yet, none of them could explain the signal.
"A Bearer," said one lord, eyes narrow. "No Pattern. No known bloodline."
"Impossible," said another. "Unless he's a Forged."
"No Forged survived the Purge."
"Then we missed one."
"Or something older is returning."
A shiver passed through the council.
The Talents said nothing.
But two of them exchanged a glance.
And both were afraid.
---
Back in the village, Kael ran his hands over a new structure—a Weave not of fire, but of movement. It shimmered faintly beneath his palm, unstable.
"This is a step beyond what I've taught you," he told Lyssa.
She leaned in. "Motion construct?"
He nodded. "Short-range pulse. Not destructive, but forceful. A shield. Or a push."
He activated it.
A ripple burst from his hand, pushing the nearby grass flat in a perfect circle.
Lyssa stared. "That's not a Talent technique. That's—"
"Engineered."
She stood slowly. "Kael, if you keep doing this…"
"They'll come."
"They already are."
He turned toward her.
"Then let them."
---
That night, the village square stood empty. But above the moonflower tree, two silhouettes watched from the ridge. Cloaked. Silent. Marked by divine insignia.
"He's building illegal Weaves," one said, voice a whisper laced with tension.
"He's a Bearer," said the other. "He shouldn't be capable of it."
"But he is."
The first figure stepped forward. "Should we report?"
The second hesitated.
Then: "No. We watch. We learn. And if he threatens the Balance…"
Their eyes gleamed gold beneath their hoods.
"…we end him."