The training room was a windowless cube of a space underground, its walls covered in black sound-absorbing material that made every faint sound unnervingly clear. Feng stood at the center of the room in the school-issued training gear, his palms slightly sweaty.
Professor Schneider sat in a wheelchair by the wall, the steady mechanical sound of his breathing apparatus audible from beneath his mask. Even from a distance, Feng could feel the scrutiny in those grey eyes—not suspicion, but something heavier: understanding, and the caution that came with it.
"Semblance: 'Mirror's Eye'," Schneider's voice was especially raspy filtered through the mask. "Only three cases are recorded in the academy's archives. The most recent was in 1947, a specialist from the British branch. During a mission, he attempted to copy an enemy dragon's 'King's Domain'. His brain couldn't withstand the backlash. He's been in a vegetative state ever since."
Feng's throat felt dry.
"I'm not trying to scare you, Feng," Schneider wheeled closer. "Quite the opposite. I'm telling you this so you understand the importance of control. Your ability is not a toy, nor a simple tool. It's a double-edged sword. Held correctly, it can protect you. Held wrong—"
He didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.
"What should I do then?" Feng asked. This was his seventh day at Cassell College. He'd attended three theory classes and two physical training sessions, but he was still completely lost on how to control his ability.
Schneider took a tablet from a side pouch on his wheelchair and pulled up a chart. It displayed a series of waveform graphs, annotated with complex mathematical formulas and notes in Dragontongue.
"This is the energy fluctuation record of the Semblance 'Daylight'," Schneider said. "Your first training task is to learn to copy it—and not let yourself be drowned by the user's memories."
Feng stared at the waveforms. "Why 'Daylight'?"
"Because its energy pattern is relatively simple—pure light and heat conversion—with a relatively low emotional load." Schneider operated the tablet, and a metal door on one side of the training room slid open. "And your training partner has arrived."
A senior female student walked in. She had deep brown hair tied into a neat ponytail, her training suit sleeves rolled to the elbows revealing faint scars on her forearms. Most striking were her eyes—deep green, like the shade of a summer forest.
"Alice Chen, fourth year, holder of the Semblance 'Daylight', rated A." She gave Schneider a slight nod, then looked at Feng. "So you're the 'Mirror'?"
Her tone held no malice, only straightforward curiosity.
Feng nodded. "I'm Feng."
"Good." Alice walked to the other end of the training room, about fifteen meters from Feng. "Professor Schneider has briefed me. I'll release 'Daylight' at twenty percent power. You try to copy. Signal when you're ready."
Feng took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
He'd read a lot of material these past days: about Semblances, about dragon bloodlines, about the people called 'hybrids'. But theory was theory. When it came to actual practice, all he felt was a blank void. He didn't know *how* to 'copy', just like he didn't know how to make his heart stop beating—this ability seemed like some kind of instinct, and instinct was often the hardest to control.
"Relax," Schneider's voice came from the side. "Don't 'think' about copying. Try to feel the energy flow in the surrounding space, find that point of discordant frequency, then… adjust yourself to match it. Like tuning a radio."
Feng tried to follow. He tried to empty his mind, letting his awareness diffuse throughout the room. At first, there was only his own breathing, his heartbeat, the low hum of the air conditioning. Then, gradually, he felt something else—
A subtle tremor, coming from Alice's direction. It wasn't sound, nor light, but some more fundamental fluctuation, like an undercurrent beneath water. The fluctuation carried a specific rhythm: initiation, accumulation, release, dissipation, repeating.
"Now," Schneider said.
Feng opened his eyes, and at the same time did something instinctively—not an action born of thought, but a reflex, like a hand automatically pulling back from a flame.
He extended his consciousness outward, touched that fluctuation, and then—
The world suddenly changed color.
The training room lights dimmed, replaced by a sphere of light rising from Alice's palm. The light wasn't blinding, but it contained astonishing heat, like a miniature sun imprisoned in a human hand. The sphere rotated, its surface energy flowing like liquid gold, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
Feng felt something awaken within him. Not injected from outside, but awakened from deep within, like a dormant seed meeting the right temperature and water, beginning to break through the soil. His palms grew burning hot, and the edges of his vision tinged with a faint gold.
Then the memories came.
Not coherent narratives, but fragments, like a shattered mirror, each piece reflecting a different scene:
—A summer night, a little girl crouching in the backyard, carefully lighting a match, staring at the flame, her eyes reflecting the dancing light. Her father's voice called from inside: "Alice, time for bed!" She blew out the match, but the light in her eyes didn't extinguish.
—On a training field, sweat soaking her gear, her hands trying again and again to coalesce light and heat, always failing. On the thirteenth failure, she almost gave up, but the coach said: "One more time. Do you know why 'Daylight' is so difficult? Because it requires not anger, but focus. Pure, light-like focus."
—The first successful Semblance release was during a third-year combat exercise. A ghoul pounced from the shadows. She had no time to think, just instinctively raised her hand, and then light burst from her palm, turning the monster to ash. Afterwards, she vomited in the bathroom for half an hour, because it wasn't just victory; it was the first time she truly understood the power she held.
—A certain dusk, a corner of the library, studying an ancient text with her partner. Sunlight through stained glass windows cast dappled light on her partner's profile. The partner told some joke, she laughed, and then suddenly realized: the feeling in her heart when looking at this person was as warm as the 'Daylight' in her palm.
Images kept coming, more and more, faster and faster: the late-night mission briefing room, a pursuit in a rainstorm, the smell of disinfectant in the medical department after an injury, the badge presented by the Headmaster himself at graduation, and… the heavy coffin at her partner's funeral.
Sorrow. Vast, dull, heavy sorrow, flooding over him like a tide.
"Stop!" Schneider's sharp shout cut through like a blade, severing the connecting threads.
Feng staggered back, almost falling. He braced against the wall, gasping for breath, sweat beading on his forehead. The light sphere in the training room had vanished, the lights back to normal, but the burning sensation in his palms remained, and the sorrow that wasn't his, weighing heavily on his heart.
Alice quickly walked over. Her face was also a bit pale. "Are you alright?"
Feng shook his head, then nodded, unable to articulate it himself. The feeling was too strange—he clearly knew those memories weren't his, knew the person in that coffin wasn't someone he knew, but the sorrow was real, the pain was real, like someone had branded a red-hot iron onto his soul.
"Duration: eight seconds," Schneider looked at the data log on his tablet. "Backlash intensity forty percent higher than expected. You not only copied the Semblance, but deeply linked with the user's emotional memories."
"I… couldn't control it," Feng said with difficulty. "Those images… they just poured in."
"That's the key," Schneider wheeled closer to Feng. "You must learn to build dams. Not to block the connection, but to control its depth and direction. Your ability is like a water pipe without a valve. Now you need to install one."
Alice handed him a bottle of water. Feng took it and drank a few sips. The cold water temporarily soothed the burning in his throat.
"Those memories just now…" Alice hesitated. "How much did you see?"
"From your first time lighting a match, to…" Feng paused. "To your partner's funeral."
Alice's eyes darkened for a moment, but soon regained composure. "That was two years ago. His name was Li. We got separated during a mission pursuing an out-of-control hybrid. By the time I found him, it was too late." She looked directly into Feng's eyes. "But you felt it, right? Not just the sorrow. Something else."
Feng recalled the memory fragments. Yes, not just sorrow, but also… resolve. A nearly stubborn resolve, like someone making a vow amidst ruins: *This won't happen again. No one will die because I'm not strong enough.*
"I saw it," he said.
Alice nodded, took a step back, and resumed her ready stance. "Again. This time, try not to 'see' my memories. Only 'see' the Semblance itself. Imagine you are a mirror, reflecting only the light, not the things the light illuminates."
Schneider gave an approving glance. "Good analogy. Begin the second attempt."
This time, Feng was prepared. When the light sphere bloomed in Alice's palm again, he actively met the fluctuation, but this time he tried to separate—to split the energy frequency from the ripples of memory, like separating different colors from a stream of water.
It was difficult. Memory and Semblance were like vines twisted together, their roots deep in the soil of the soul. But he forced himself to focus on the pure energy form: fluctuation frequency, energy density, conversion efficiency. He imagined himself a scientist observing a natural phenomenon, not an intruder peeking into someone else's life.
The burning sensation rose in his palms again, but this time unaccompanied by images. Only pure light and heat flowed in his blood, like sunlight injected into his veins. He raised his hand. A much smaller light sphere, only the size of a tennis ball and much dimmer, coalesced in his palm.
"Twelve percent replication efficiency," Schneider read the data. "But memory backlash index down seventy percent. Good. That's progress."
The light sphere in Feng's hand lasted about five seconds before bursting like a soap bubble, dissipating into the air. A wave of intense weakness hit him; he almost couldn't stand steady.
"High energy consumption," Alice said. "'Daylight' is already a high-consumption Semblance. Your body isn't used to that kind of output yet."
Training continued all morning. Feng attempted six times. His best reached eighteen percent replication efficiency, successfully blocking most memory backlash. But after each attempt, he felt a strange emptiness—like seeing someone else's face in a mirror, then that face vanishing, leaving the mirror surface blank.
"We'll stop here for today," Schneider announced at noon. "Feng, you did better than expected. But remember, this is just the beginning. The real danger isn't low-tier Semblances, but those high-tier abilities carrying strong emotions or will. Until you learn complete control, do not attempt to copy any Semblance rated B or above."
Feng nodded to show he understood. His shirt was soaked with sweat, his palms still slightly stinging with pain.
As he was leaving the training room, Alice called out to him. "Feng."
He turned.
"Those memories…" she chose her words carefully. "They're a part of you now too, right? Even if just fragments."
Feng thought for a moment, then nodded.
"Then live well carrying them," Alice said. "Li used to say that memories aren't a burden; they're fuel. Burned well, they can illuminate a long road."
She turned and left, her ponytail swaying gently behind her.
Feng stood there, pondering the words. *Memories are fuel.* What about his own memories? Those shrouded in mist, what kind of fuel would they be? What road would they illuminate?
There was no training scheduled for the afternoon. Feng went to the library. It was the place he frequented most on campus, not because he loved reading, but because the quiet and order here gave him a sense of peace. Rows of bookshelves stood like silent guards, protecting millennia of knowledge, and also sheltering temporarily homeless souls.
He walked to the Dragon Genealogy section, randomly pulling out a heavy illustrated volume. The pages were yellowed, the illustrations hand-drawn dragon forms annotated with ancient script for names and characteristics.
Turning to a certain page, his fingers stopped.
The page depicted a giant dragon coiled around the burning World Tree. The dragon's body was covered in black scales, each one seeming forged from night itself. Its eyes were the color of molten gold; even as a painting, they seemed to stare into the viewer's soul through the paper.
The caption read: *Nidhogg, the Black King, Progenitor of Dragons, the End and Beginning of the World.*
Feng stared at the painting and suddenly felt a violent headache.
Not physical pain, but a deeper tearing sensation, as if a seal on his memories had been forcibly pried open a crack. He saw fire, endless fire, devouring sky and earth; heard a sound, like thousands of voices chanting simultaneously, or a dying beast's lament; smelled sulfur and blood, so strong it almost made him vomit.
He staggered back, his back hitting a bookshelf. Several books slid to the floor with dull thuds. The headache receded like a tide, leaving tinnitus and exhaustion.
"Are you alright?"
A calm voice came from beside him. Feng looked up to see Chu Zihang standing a few steps away, holding a book on alchemical matrices. The president of the Lionheart Society always appeared like this, soundlessly, like a shadow.
"I'm… fine," Feng straightened up with effort. "Just a bit dizzy."
Chu Zihang glanced at the books on the floor, then at Feng's pale face, but didn't press. He simply bent down, picked up the books, and placed them back on the shelf.
"There's a medical station on the library's third underground level," he said. "If you need it."
Feng shook his head. "Thank you, no need."
Chu Zihang nodded, about to leave, but before turning, he said, "Professor Schneider's training is effective. Your energy fluctuations in the training room today were forty percent more stable than three days ago."
Feng was taken aback. "How do you know?"
"I'm the Lionheart Society president. I have clearance to review training data." Chu Zihang's tone held no hint of boastfulness, just stating a fact. "Keep working. An uncontrolled ability only harms yourself and those around you."
He left, leaving Feng alone among the bookshelves.
Sunlight slanted in through the window, casting long patches of light on the wooden floor. Feng looked at the illustration of Nidhogg. This time there was no headache, only a strange sense of resonance, as if his body recognized some long-unseen symbol.
He closed the book and returned it to the shelf.
Leaving the library, he ran into Lu Mingfei at the entrance. His guardian was carrying an armful of snacks, looking like he'd just raided the cafeteria's convenience store.
"Hey, studying hard?" Lu Mingfei shoved a bag of chips at Feng. "Replenish some energy. You look pale."
Feng took the chips and tore open the bag. The salty flavor spread on his tongue, oddly alleviating his earlier discomfort.
"Lu Mingfei," he asked as they walked. "If you had the ability to see others' memories, would you use it?"
Lu Mingfei was silent for a few seconds, stuffing a piece of chocolate into his mouth. "Depends on the situation. If it was something important, to protect someone, I might. But if it was just for casual looking… better not."
"Why?"
"Because everyone has things in their memories they don't want others to see," Lu Mingfei said, his voice unusually serious. "And sometimes, those are things even they themselves don't want to see."
Feng thought of the funeral in Alice's memories, the sorrow and resolve. Indeed, those were things he shouldn't have seen. But having seen them, he couldn't pretend he hadn't.
"What if you've already seen them?" he asked.
Lu Mingfei stopped walking, looking at Feng. There was a light of understanding in his eyes. "Then live carrying them. Memories—the more you run from them, the more they chase. Better to turn around and tell them, 'I know. You stay right there. Don't get in the way.'"
Feng couldn't help but smile. That was so Lu Mingfei—using the most irreverent way to speak the most serious truths.
"Thanks," he said.
"Don't mention it." Lu Mingfei resumed his lazy demeanor. "By the way, movie night in the dorm tonight. Old films Finn dug up. Coming? There's popcorn."
Feng thought for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."
The setting sun stretched their shadows long. As he walked, Feng felt the faint, residual warmth of 'Daylight' lingering in his palms. That warmth was fading, like damp sand left behind after the tide recedes.
But something remained.
*Memories are fuel*, Alice said.
Perhaps. But Feng still didn't know how to ignite them, nor which road they should illuminate.
All he could do was keep building dams, keep learning to control this overly sensitive mirror. In the mirror, he saw others' faces, others' light, others' flames.
And what he had to do was, among all these reflections, find the outline that belonged to him.
Even if, for now, that outline was still just a blurry shadow.