The night's frost had not yet broken when Kel opened his eyes.
The air in his room was cold enough that breath immediately formed pale trails. He lay still for a moment, studying the ceiling—stone carved with the stern linear designs common to old northern manors. His heartbeat was even. Aura flow stable.
Sairen lingered at the edges of his consciousness.
Not sleeping again?
I did. Just not long.
He sat up, the thin linen of his nightshirt shifting against skin that still remembered the steady burn of yesterday's exertion. Pain pulsed subtly across his shoulders and arms. He rolled them—slowly—allowing the ache to surface before forcing it back into rhythm.
No medication.
No aura threading for pain relief.
He needed to feel the threshold today.
He pushed aside the sheets.
Feet touched the cold stone.
He dressed simply—dark training clothes, sleeves bound at the wrist, collar low. The silence of the manor in early dawn was deep. Thick. Not empty—but holding.
He stepped into the courtyard.
Aura Training – Two Hours Before Light
Winter breathed across the flagstones, frost crackling faintly beneath his boots. Dawn had not yet cut the sky; the horizon shimmered on the cusp of grey.
Kel breathed in.
Then out.
He lowered into stance.
His fingers spread.
Aura shifted.
[Anomalous Aura Core – Red Irregular]
Stabilizing… Expanding…
Wind around him stilled.
Mist began to coil from his footprint outward.
He focused on the root—letting his core unfurl like a slow tide, spiraling outward in concentric rings.
Not too fast.
He had learned from pain.
Now, he learned from control.
The air trembled.
Snowflakes caught in the pressure before falling.
His aura sphere expanded—one meter, two, three—then stabilized. Raw power threatened the boundary. He suppressed it.
One percent.
Only one.
Enough to strengthen flows but not breach structural tolerance.
His breath moved in controlled sequence.
Inhale – accept.
Hold – weigh.
Exhale – release.
The second hour came as pale light climbed over the horizon. A raven landed on the courtyard wall, watched him, and flew away.
Kel drew in his aura.
It obeyed sharply.
He opened his eyes.
Breath revealed a faint chill.
Training complete.
Morning Routine
He returned inside. Washed. Changed into fresh attire: black lined coat, high collar, subtle silver fastenings—practical, elegant, formal enough for presence among nobles.
He arrived at breakfast table with five minutes to spare.
Everyone was quiet.
Lysenne sat upright—hair tied today, expression composed despite the faint stiffness around her eyes. Pain. Expected.
Kel's attention lingered only a heartbeat.
He began eating.
Sera watched with narrowed gaze.
Reina measured him the way a soldier measures battlefield conditions.
Landon ate with steady calm.
Malloren kept silent.
Count Vanhart's eyes flickered between Kel and his daughter's slight improvements.
No one mentioned treatment.
The room felt different.
Quieter not out of discomfort.
Out of awareness.
After breakfast, Kel stood.
No one stopped him.
Four Hours in the Field
Mist still clung low to the soil when he arrived.
Harlroot sprouts had begun piercing the ground with reddish-green shoots. Workers knelt in clusters, murmuring quietly.
Kel walked the rows.
Stopped at the third section.
Knelt.
Pressing two fingers gently to a leaf.
Moisture retention improved.
Color saturation higher.
Root expansion active.
He took a small knife and carefully parted soil around one stalk. Root length exceeded expectation by 12%.
Promising.
He spoke briefly with the field overseer—fast, direct, no room for uncertainty.
"Utilize melted snow only in isolation trays. Do not apply to main bed until tomorrow morning. Redirect more heat stones to eastern edge."
The overseer nodded rapidly.
"Y-Yes, young master!"
Kel looked over field again.
Not at what had grown.
At what would grow.
Then he left.
Alchemy Chamber
He descended three levels within the estate to reach the old alchemic room. Dust coated shelves here, but ingredients were well-preserved.
He donned gloves.
Opened the first crate.
Crushed harlroot threads into distilled snow-water.
Added sparkleaf as medium stabilizer.
He simmered the mixture over slow alchemical flame, stirring clockwise twelve times—counterclockwise thrice.
The potion shifted from clear to translucent red.
Growth accelerator achieved.
He corked it.
Set it aside.
Then turned to the more delicate process.
Lysenne's treatment oil.
He measured moon-lotus resin.
Mixed with trace amounts of scarder lake water—only three drops from the reserve vial stored deep in his inventory.
Added warming agents.
And—
He extended a finger.
Let a whisper of aura seep in.
Not raw.
Not aggressive.
Calibrated.
The oil shimmered.
A faint light, like breath blooming through frost, rippled through it.
He stopped before equilibrium could be lost.
Sairen's voice drifted.
Careful.
I know.
You're tired.
I know.
Silence.
Then—
_I see.*
He knew she understood.
He sealed the vial.
Three hours had passed.
He removed his gloves.
Treatment – Day Two
Lysenne sat waiting when he arrived.
No flush this time.
Just resolve.
Pain lined her brow.
He noted it.
"Today will be sharper," he said. "The nerves are returning."
She nodded once.
No fear.
Kel knelt.
Again.
Applied the oil to his palms.
It warmed his skin.
Then he placed his hands on her legs.
Gently.
Pressure accumulated.
Her breath caught.
And as aura activated through the oil—for the first time—Kel mirrored her breathing pace.
Slow.
Measured.
Her eyes snapped to his.
He spoke softly.
"Breathe."
She mirrored him.
Her veins trembled beneath his fingers.
Pain lanced.
Her fingers curled at her sides.
She didn't scream.
He didn't stop.
For two hours, his hands worked—pressure, pulse, alignment, stabilizing blood channels.
Sairen's healing resonance guided the deepest threads.
The oil acted as conduit.
Lysenne's breath followed his rhythm.
Her shoulders relaxed.
Her eyes—though wet—remained open.
By the end of the second hour—
she whispered, voice uneven.
"…I can feel my toes."
Kel paused.
Just once.
Then nodded.
"Good."
He removed his hands.
She sagged against the chair.
Not broken.
Adapted.
Kel stood.
Weary.
But steady.
Then—as before—
he lifted her.
Lysenne did not protest.
Only held her breath.
Dinner
When he entered the hall again, carrying her—
there wasn't shock this time.
Reina folded her arms loosely.
Sera's expression softened without permission.
Landon nodded once.
Slightly.
Malloren looked at Kel.
Not as at a gamble.
As at the person holding what mattered most to him.
Kel lowered Lysenne into her seat.
Her fingers brushed his sleeve briefly.
He let go.
Then took his own place.
He ate with proper noble manner.
Not rushed.
But every motion was precise—energy calculated.
Outside, winter wind howled against the shutters.
Inside, the quiet felt less heavy.
Not because pressure had lowered.
Because direction had been set.
Kel raised his teacup.
Lysenne spoke quietly for the first time.
"…See you tomorrow morning."
He inclined his head.
No smile.
"…Yes."
He drank.
The air shifted.
A pulse.
Only he could see it.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
Treatment Progress: 21% Stability: Increased
Risk: 47% → 41% Insight Reached: "Movement is remembrance.
Pain is return. Breath is anchor." Adaptation unlocked.
Kel raised his gaze to the window.
Outside—
snow began falling again.