One month.
That was all it took for everything to change—and not nearly enough for Lunaria.
The valley no longer screamed when they trained.
It listened.
Where once their berserk states had torn the land apart in blind fury, now the scars were cleaner—precise fractures, controlled shockwaves, trees split instead of obliterated. Power still surged, but it no longer spilled uselessly into the world.
Ash felt it most clearly in himself.
The rage still came. The sorrow. The fear that clenched his chest and threatened to drown him in memories of failure and loss.
But now—
Now it answered him.
He could step into it like crossing a threshold, feel the heat flood his veins, sharpen his senses, quicken his pulse—and still think.
That alone felt impossible a month ago.
Across the clearing, Kael stood breathing slowly, lightning crawling over his skin in disciplined arcs instead of wild eruptions. His eyes burned with intensity, but they were clear.
Riven moved like a shadow carved from steel, killing intent wrapped tightly around his body instead of leaking outward. Even in berserk, his mind remained frighteningly sharp.
Juno's chains hummed softly around him, no longer lashing out in panic. They obeyed him completely now—even when his emotions threatened to spiral.
They had done it.
They had grasped their berserk states.
And they had done so without losing themselves.
Lunaria stood before them, hands behind his back, silver hair unmoving in the gentle breeze. His expression was calm—too calm.
"Again," he said.
Ash nodded and stepped forward.
The moment he crossed the invisible line between restraint and release, the world sharpened. Colors deepened. Sound narrowed. His killing intent flared—but remained contained.
He attacked.
Lunaria moved.
Ash followed.
Not blindly.
He tracked Lunaria's shoulder, anticipated the pivot, adjusted mid-strike. His blade grazed Lunaria's sleeve—close enough to feel the displaced air against his knuckles.
Kael joined next, timing his charge perfectly, berserk strength layered atop refined technique. Riven cut off Lunaria's retreat. Juno anchored the space.
For three heartbeats—
They pressed Lunaria.
Not dominated.
Not overwhelmed.
But forced him to respond.
Then Lunaria stepped back, raising a hand.
"Enough."
They froze instantly, pulling themselves out of berserk with disciplined breaths. Their hearts pounded, sweat soaked their clothes, but their eyes were steady.
Lunaria looked at them for a long moment.
"You've achieved it," he said.
No praise.
No flourish.
Just truth.
Ash exhaled slowly. "So… what's next?"
Lunaria's gaze sharpened.
"You maintain it," he replied. "Under pressure. Under fatigue. Under fear."
Riven frowned. "We've been doing that."
"Yes," Lunaria said. "Against me."
He turned away, looking toward the distant mountains.
"But not against yourselves."
They exchanged glances.
Kael tilted his head. "Meaning?"
"Berserk is a blade," Lunaria said calmly. "You've learned to grip the handle without cutting off your hand."
He paused.
"But you still haven't learned why I can't enter it."
That caught their attention.
Ash frowned. "You can," he said slowly. "You just don't."
Lunaria's eyes flickered.
"No," he corrected. "I can't."
Silence fell.
Juno hesitated. "Why?"
Lunaria didn't answer immediately.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than they had ever heard it.
"Because berserk requires surrender," he said. "And there is nothing left in me to surrender."
The words settled heavily.
Ash felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"You accessed our fears," Ash said carefully. "Our regrets. Our sorrow. Don't tell me you don't have those."
Lunaria looked back at him.
"I do," he said. "Too many."
He stepped forward, stopping just a few paces away.
"But berserk draws power from the part of you that still resists the world," Lunaria continued. "The part that screams, this isn't enough, this isn't fair, this must change."
His silver eyes were unreadable.
"I passed that point long ago."
Kael clenched his fists. "So what does that make you?"
Lunaria's answer came without hesitation.
"Overdrive."
The word hit them harder than any blow.
Ash swallowed. "Then… we'll never reach you."
Lunaria shook his head.
"No," he said. "You'll reach me differently."
He gestured toward them.
"You've learned controlled berserk. Power born of emotion, sharpened by will."
Then he tapped his own chest.
"I am power born of acceptance."
The valley was silent except for the distant waterfall.
Riven spoke softly. "Which one is stronger?"
Lunaria met his gaze.
"That," he said, "depends on who breaks first."
He turned away once more.
"Rest today," Lunaria ordered. "You've earned it."
Ash watched him walk toward the edge of the clearing, back straight, presence absolute even without aura.
They had mastered berserk.
All of them—
Except Lunaria.
And somehow, that frightened Ash more than if Lunaria had mastered it too.
Because it meant there was still a wall between them.
Not of power.
But of something far deeper—
A calm so absolute that even rage could not reach it.