Lux's control still wasn't where he wanted it to be.
The awareness came easily now—too easily, almost. He could feel the Hlyr within him with a clarity that bordered on intrusive, like a second pulse layered beneath his own heartbeat. It moved when he breathed, shifted when his focus sharpened, flared faintly when frustration crept in. But directing it—guiding its flow with intention rather than instinct—remained elusive.
It slipped when he pushed. Stagnated when he hesitated. And resisted him outright when he tried to force it.
By the time Caelis called the session, Lux was flat on his back on the frost-dusted stone, chest heaving, hair plastered damply to his forehead. Sweat clung to him despite the cold, soaked into his clothes until the fabric felt heavier than it had any right to be. His limbs burned—not the sharp pain of injury, but the deep, exhausting ache of muscles pushed past their comfort and left there too long.
Lux stared up at the sky.
They were using the training grounds outside to so he could see the sky clearly. The clouds above the estate were thin today, stretched into pale streaks that let through just enough light to make the gentle snow gleam without blinding. It was the kind of sky that felt undecided—neither promising warmth nor threatening storm. Just… calm.
"Up," Caelis said, though there was no urgency in it.
Lux tried to sit, failed, and let himself fall back again with a frustrated exhale. "I can keep going."
"I know," Caelis replied.
Lux frowned. He turned his head slightly, squinting at the instructor through the corner of his vision. Caelis stood a few steps away, arms folded loosely, posture relaxed in a way Lux had learned meant the session was already over.
"Then why stop?" Lux asked.
Caelis didn't answer immediately. He crouched instead, resting one forearm against his knee as he looked down at Lux—not critically, not dismissively, but with the same measured attention he gave everything.
Lux frowned deeper. "I almost had it today."
He pushed himself upright despite the protest of his arms. He sat there, breathing hard, hands planted against the stone.
"I felt it," he insisted. "The way it moved when—"
"When you stopped thinking," Caelis finished. "Yes. I saw."
Lux blinked. "Then—"
"Then you rest," Caelis said simply. "Training ends early today."
Lux's instinctive response was immediate. "I don't need—"
Caelis raised a hand, not sharply, just enough to cut him off.
"Rest is is also apart of training," he said. "It's a stage of integration. What you're doing now isn't discipline—it's compulsion."
Lux clenched his jaw.
"I'm not slacking," he said.
"I know," Caelis replied. "You're overreaching."
The words landed differently than a reprimand would have. Lux exhaled slowly, his frustration ebbing—not disappearing, but losing its edge.
"You've been pushing yourself harder today."
Lux didn't deny it.
"I met the Patriarch yesterday and I felt it," Lux said quietly. "Just a fraction of it. I think… I think I'm close to understanding something."
Caelis studied him for a moment, then nodded once. "Perhaps. But understanding doesn't arrive when the body is screaming."
He straightened. "You have the afternoon. Use it properly."
"And by 'properly,' you mean…?" Lux asked.
Caelis's mouth twitched. "Anything that doesn't involve collapsing on stone."
Lux let out a quiet sigh of reluctant amusement.
"Dismissed," Caelis added, already turning away.
Lux remained seated for a moment longer, letting his breathing settle. His muscles still trembled faintly beneath his skin, but the exhaustion felt… clean. Earned. Not the hollow depletion he'd grown up with.
For the first time since arriving at the estate, Lux realized something.
He had nowhere he had to be.
The Achrion Estate was vast in a way Lux hadn't truly comprehended before.
Not sprawling chaos, but intentional immensity. Everything had been placed with purpose, distances measured not just for function but for effect. From above, Lux suspected the estate would resemble a carefully planned city more than a single residence—structures radiating outward from a central core, connected by corridors, courtyards, and open spans designed to guide movement rather than restrict it.
He'd overheard Geltry mention once—casually, as if discussing the weather—that the estate covered several square kilometers of elevated land, reinforced and terraced to withstand the cold and the weight of centuries. Lux hadn't known what to do with that information at the time nor did he completely understand what it meant.
Now, walking alone through one of its lesser-used corridors, he began to feel it.
The path he followed sloped gently downward, transitioning from polished stone floors to textured walkways designed for traction. Tall windows lined one side, their thick panes framing the outside world like paintings—snow-laden trees, distant structures softened by frost, the faint glow of the city far below.
Lux slowed his pace without realizing it.
He passed rooms he'd never seen before. Some were clearly administrative—long tables, stacked documents, softly glowing panels recessed into the walls. Others were stranger. Observation chambers. Quiet lounges with seats arranged not for conversation but contemplation. Narrow bridges spanning open spaces that dropped several stories down into courtyards filled with sculpted ice and stone.
Everything smelled… clean.
Not sterile. Just maintained. There was a faint scent of metal and cold stone beneath it all, but also something else—pine, maybe, or treated wood. A smell that stirred something in Lux's chest, vague and unplaceable. Like a memory he'd never actually lived.
He followed that scent without thinking.
The corridor opened into a broad archway, and beyond it—
The garden
Lux didn't realize he had stopped walking.
The garden opened further the deeper he went, the paths widening as if rewarding curiosity. Stone gave way to pale gravel, then to smooth earth warmed subtly from beneath. The air here was different—still cold, yes, but gentler. It carried the scent of living things nurtured carefully against the winter's will. Evergreen leaves dusted with frost. Something faintly floral beneath it, restrained rather than fragrant.
He passed beneath a series of curved stone arches half-swallowed by climbing vines that refused to die. Beyond them lay the heart of the garden.
A shallow stream cut through the space like a deliberate incision, its surface broken in places where warm water surfaced from below. Steam curled upward in thin, lazy ribbons. Trees stood arranged not in symmetry but in balance, their branches forming a loose canopy overhead that filtered the pale light into something softer, almost intimate.
At the far end of the garden stood a raised platform of white stone, partially enclosed by trailing greenery and flowering branches—a canopy grown rather than built.
Lux stepped closer.
That was when the breeze moved.
It came gently, weaving through the trees, stirring the vines, brushing against Lux's skin—and then it parted the curtain of leaves ahead.
He saw her.
She sat beneath the canopy, legs crossed neatly at the ankles, a porcelain cup resting lightly between her fingers. Steam rose from the tea in delicate spirals, catching the light as if afraid to linger too long.
She was tall, even seated—her posture effortless, unforced. Silver hair flowed freely down her back, long and smooth, stirred gently by the passing air like silk drawn through water. It caught the light in a way Lux couldn't place, neither bright nor dull, but something in between—refined, restrained, deliberate.
Her skin was olive-toned yet so clear it seemed unreal, like glass shaped into human form. Not fragile but definite. As if every line of her had been considered before being allowed to exist. She wore a simple sundress, pale and unadorned, its fabric moving softly with the breeze. It wasn't ostentatious. It didn't need to be. The way it fell against her frame was enough.
Simply calling her beautiful felt… insufficient.
Even with her eyes closed, her face held a quiet perfection that made Lux's chest tighten. Not sharp beauty. Not overwhelming. But something deeper—something that made the world around her feel suddenly less complete by comparison.
Lux hadn't meant to stare.
But he couldn't look away.
She lifted the cup to her lips and took a slow sip, unhurried, as if time behaved differently beneath that canopy. The steam brushed against her face, briefly obscuring her features before drifting away.
Her eyes opened.
They met Lux's.
And in that instant, the garden seemed to fall silent.
The wind stilled. The stream's murmur dulled. Even Lux's breath caught mid-rise, his body forgetting what it was meant to do.
Her gaze wasn't startled. Nor curious. It was the look of someone when they received something unexpected but welcome. Her soft colorless eyes looked like they could hold th entire world within them.
She tilted her head just slightly, silver hair slipping forward over one shoulder.
Lux felt something in him shift. Before he could speak—before he could even decide what he would say—She smiled.