Chapter 19
The courtyard shimmered under the late morning sun. Ethan had almost drifted back to sleep when a shadow cut across his face.
He squinted up—and froze.
Maximiliano Zoltan stood over him, coat fluttering lightly in the breeze, hands buried in his pockets.
"Hey, kid," Zoltan said, voice as calm as a still pond. "Shall we take a walk?"
Ethan blinked at him, half-convinced this was a fever dream. "Am I in trouble again, or is this just a weirdly specific kidnapping?"
Zoltan smirked faintly. "Neither. You looked like you could use some air."
They walked in silence for a while—past training fields, under the tall glass arches of the academy walkways. Students passing by slowed, whispering, their eyes flicking between them. It wasn't every day the top-ranked ghost hunter strolled beside a bruised-up first-year.
Zoltan spoke first.
"How've you been coping since your little clash yesterday?"
Ethan snorted. "Coping? That's a generous word. I've been mentally replaying the fight on loop—like a bad movie I can't stop watching. Every time I think I've improved, someone stronger folds me in half."
Zoltan chuckled softly. "That's one way to measure progress."
"I'm serious," Ethan said, eyes on the cobblestones. "Since I got here, I've barely caught a break. I'm just praying for one win—just one—to prove I'm not a walking punchline."
Zoltan raised a brow. "So you're looking for validation."
"I'm looking for oxygen," Ethan muttered. "You wouldn't get it anyway. You've probably never lost a fight in your life."
Zoltan hummed. "You're right. I can't relate in a million years."
Ethan glanced sideways, catching the faintest smile tugging at the man's mouth. "Thanks. Really comforting."
They reached the edge of the northern gardens, where a narrow path wound down to a tranquil lake. The water glimmered like glass, the far shore lined with pines swaying in rhythm to the wind.
Ethan blinked. "You brought me to… a lake?"
"I meditate here," Zoltan said simply. "Figured it's about time you learned that strength isn't all screaming and swinging."
Zoltan motioned toward a sturdy oak tree nearby. "Go on—give it a hit."
Ethan frowned but stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. His fist connected with a solid thud, shaking the bark slightly.
Zoltan nodded. "Again."
Ethan repeated the motion, stronger this time. The tree trembled, dust fluttering from its bark.
"Again."
This time, Ethan swung harder. The impact rattled up his arm, and a few leaves scattered down like applause.
Zoltan folded his arms. "Yup. Just as I thought."
Ethan straightened, a small grin creeping onto his face. "What? Don't tell me I'm secretly some powerhouse in disguise."
Zoltan met his hopeful look with deadpan calm. "You're a completely average ghost hunter."
Ethan blinked. "…I'm sorry, what?"
"Average," Zoltan repeated. "Not bad. Not prodigious. Just somewhere in the lukewarm middle."
The silence that followed was long enough for a bird to chirp, fly off, and still feel awkward about it.
Ethan exhaled slowly. "Wow. You really know how to ruin a guy's morning."
"Reality check," Zoltan said, tone still mild. "You rely too much on willpower and not enough on control. You've got raw spirit, but your magic leaks like a cracked bottle. You're wasting half your energy every time you move."
"So… what, I'm inefficient?" Ethan said flatly.
"In every measurable way."
Ethan ran a hand through his hair, grumbling. "You could've just said that without demolishing my self-esteem."
Zoltan turned toward the lake. "Sit. Edge of the water. Cross your legs."
Ethan hesitated, then sighed and obeyed. "If this ends with me levitating, I'm suing the academy."
Zoltan didn't respond. He stood behind him, hands clasped behind his back, his reflection clear in the water.
"Close your eyes," he said quietly. "Forget the noise, the crowd, even me. Dull every sense until it's just you and the air around you. Then… feel your magic pulsing through your body. Don't force it. Just listen."
Ethan frowned, focusing. The breeze shifted; somewhere a bird called, faint and far away. His breath evened out.
Zoltan's voice was soft, distant. "Think of it like this—right now, you are the only person in the world. Nothing else exists. Only the current inside you."
Ethan inhaled slowly. The world seemed to dim.
For a second, he thought he felt it—something faint, flickering under his skin, like warmth flowing through unseen veins.
He opened his eyes slightly—only to see a thin, pale shimmer around his hands.
Zoltan's expression didn't change, but there was a quiet satisfaction in his eyes.
"Good," he murmured. "Now… latch onto it. Trace how it flows. That current is your thread—follow it."
Ethan focused on the faint shimmer around his hands. It flickered like candlelight—there one moment, gone the next. Every time he tried to hold it, it slipped away, as if mocking his effort.
His jaw clenched. Figures. Even my magic's got commitment issues.
"Don't chase it," Zoltan's voice cut through his thoughts. Calm. Grounded. "You'll never catch it that way. Let it come to you."
Ethan exhaled slowly. He stopped trying to grab the feeling and instead… waited. The air cooled around him. The usual noise in his head—the sarcasm, the frustration, the endless self-doubt—faded into a quiet hum.
And then he felt it again. Stronger this time. A steady rhythm, almost like a heartbeat that wasn't his own, pulsing through every nerve.
Zoltan crouched beside him, his tone barely above a whisper. "That's your flow. The foundation of everything we do. The thread that ties spirit to strength."
Ethan opened his eyes. The world looked sharper somehow—the ripples in the lake, the drifting pollen, even the faint movement of Zoltan's coat in the breeze.
It wasn't power. Not yet. But it was something.
Zoltan stood, clasping his hands behind his back. "Remember this feeling. You'll lose it again. Many times. But each time you find it, you'll hold on a little longer."
Ethan looked up at him. "And what happens when I can hold it forever?"
Zoltan gave a faint smile. "Then you won't need me to tell you what comes next."
Ethan snorted lightly. "You really love your cryptic mentor lines, huh?"
"Part of the job description," Zoltan said. Then his expression hardened slightly. "But remember—discipline isn't a hobby here. It's survival. The field doesn't forgive clumsy hands or loud hearts."
He took a step toward the water's edge, his reflection rippling beside Ethan's.
"There's a reason I brought you here," he continued. "It's quiet. Still. That stillness is what separates a hunter from a fighter. You can swing all you want—but if you can't listen, you'll die loud."
Ethan frowned. "That's… darkly poetic."
"It's also true."
A long silence settled between them. The lake shimmered, the breeze whispering through the pines. Ethan's hands trembled slightly, but the glow still lingered—thin, uncertain, yet undeniably alive.
After a moment, Zoltan straightened. "That's enough for today."
"Already?" Ethan blinked. "I was just starting to feel something."
"That's exactly why we stop now," Zoltan said. "You learn more from restraint than exhaustion. Push too far, and the thread snaps."
He turned to leave, his steps measured, voice calm but carrying weight.
"One last thing," he added. "Don't mistake progress for mastery. The world's full of corpses who thought they were ready."
Ethan raised a brow. "Inspirational as always."
Zoltan looked back over his shoulder, faint amusement in his eyes. "You'll thank me later—if you survive long enough."
And with that, he walked off, coat brushing the grass, leaving Ethan by the lake with the faint shimmer fading from his hands.
Ethan stared down at the rippling water, watching his reflection distort.
Average, huh? he thought.
A slow grin crept across his face. Then I'll just have to ruin the scale.
He closed his eyes again, reaching for that flicker one more time.
The days bled together after that.
Morning drills, late-night runs, bruises that refused to fade. Ethan found himself returning to the lake more often than he'd admit—sitting on the same rock, eyes closed, chasing that quiet rhythm beneath his skin. Sometimes he caught it. Sometimes it slipped away. But each time, he felt it linger a second longer.
And slowly, something changed.
His punches landed cleaner. His breathing steadier. His mind quieter. The sarcastic thoughts still came, sure—but now they came with focus instead of frustration.
Across campus, life at Arcanis rolled on.
Sage was the first to crawl back into the gym after her defeat, towel draped over her face as she groaned at the ceiling.
Luna sat beside her, arms crossed. "Is all this really worth it? Beating yourself up just to lose again?"
Sage peeled the towel off and glared. "It's called getting stronger. You wouldn't get it sitting pretty with your nose in books."
Luna sighed. "I just think there's easier ways to get concussions."
"Not for me," Sage said simply, dropping the towel back over her face. "Losing's just a reminder I'm not done yet."
Luna watched her quietly, the corners of her mouth softening. I wish I could feel like that, she thought. Like every scar meant progress.
Elsewhere, the world kept moving.
Freddie buried himself in the library, surrounded by open tomes and quiet muttering fifth-years. Eric occasionally looked up from his own reading to offer a dry comment that Freddie pretended not to hear.
Cassie trained her squad of fifth-years with relentless precision.
William, naturally, was back to his favorite extracurricular—gambling. His laughter echoed from a corner table as a stack of poker chips changed hands.
Warren flirted and failed spectacularly with a pair of second-years.
Sebastian napped through half the afternoon.
And Zoltan? Zoltan played chess in the courtyard, effortlessly checkmating one student after another while pretending not to notice the small crowd that gathered around him.
It was life at Arcanis in its strange, relentless rhythm—grind, chaos, recovery, repeat.
Then, one morning, the air shifted.
The courtyard was alive again, sunlight bright and the smell of spring heavy in the air.
Sage stood in the center of the sparring court, a confident smirk curling her lips as she cracked her neck. Two students were already on the ground in front of her, groaning.
"Finally got my edge back!" she shouted, tossing her hair back. "Anyone else wanna test their luck?"
From the crowd, a familiar voice called out.
"Been a while since I sparred too. Let's see what a month of self-loathing and tree punching's done for me."
Sage turned. Ethan stood there—smirking, casual, eyes sharper than before. His aura wasn't loud, but it carried weight now.
"Oh, look who found his spine," Sage said, rolling her shoulders. "Don't expect me to go easy."
"I'd be insulted if you did," Ethan shot back, cracking his knuckles.
The tension was playful, electric.
Then Warren's voice cut through the crowd.
"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite underdogs," he drawled, sauntering in with a grin. "Mind if I join? Been dying to test out a new move."
Freddie, who'd been watching from the edge, sighed and closed his book. "Like hell I'm letting you start trouble again."
"Oh?" Warren grinned. "Then make it interesting. Me and Sage versus you and that brat Ethan."
Ethan's eyebrow twitched. "You've got about three seconds to rephrase that."
"Guess that's a no."
The four of them squared off in the ring. Dust shimmered in the sunlight. The crowd leaned in.
Freddie glanced sideways at Ethan. "You sure about this?"
Ethan's grin widened. "Nope. But let's see how 'average' holds up today."
Sage cracked her knuckles. Warren smirked.
And as a student acting as the referee raised a hand to signal the start, the courtyard once again held its breath.