V2C16 - Shifting Ground

Hearthlight Inn – Early Morning

The scent of bread and firewood filled the air as Lucen stirred. Thin light pushed past the curtains, painting long slivers across the wooden floor. It was still early—quiet, still. The kind of quiet that followed a day too big to process all at once.

Lucen sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair. His muscles ached in that deep, used kind of way—not sharp pain, just the fatigue of motion stacked over tension. He glanced at the Arcane Band on his wrist. It pulsed softly, tuned to his breathing.

Silver rank.

It still didn’t feel real.

He got dressed slowly. Tunic, light cloak, boots. The pouch with his coin remained untouched on the nightstand. He hadn’t decided yet what to spend it on. Not yet.

Outside his room, the hallway was empty. Nyari’s door was closed—but just as he passed it, it opened without a sound.

She stepped out, fully dressed, tail flicking lazily behind her.

“Morning,” she said, voice low but not groggy.

Lucen gave a small nod. “Did you sleep?”

“Eventually,” she said with a soft shrug. “You?”

“Enough.”

They walked downstairs together. Marella was already sweeping the hearth, nodding to them without a word. The fire hadn’t been relit yet, but the coals still glowed faintly.

Neither of them asked for food. Not yet.

“Back to the old man?” Nyari asked as they stepped out into the street.

Lucen adjusted the strap of his satchel. “He’s probably already waiting.”

“Then we better not make him wait too long. I like my eyebrows un-singed.”

They made their way through the morning streets—Falridge still quiet, the mist clinging to the rooftops and rolling down from the ridge. Birds were beginning to stir in the trees, and a few shopkeepers were unlocking their doors.

Lucen didn’t say much as they walked.

But Nyari stayed close beside him the whole way.

Veyren’s Clearing – Late Morning

The grass was damp beneath their boots when they stepped into the clearing again. Light filtered through the trees, casting slanted beams across the field. Dew clung to the grass, and the air smelled faintly of pine and something more arcane beneath it—like mana resting just under the soil.

Veyren stood exactly where they expected him—barefoot in the center of the clearing, arms folded, watching them approach.

“You’re late,” the old mage said flatly.

Nyari tilted her head. “We’re also not dead. That buys us a minute.”

He didn’t argue. Just turned and gestured to a ring of smooth earth surrounded by faded chalk lines.

Lucen stepped forward as Nyari stayed back, stretching her shoulders.

“No sparring today,” Veyren said. “You’re Silver now. No more hiding behind excuses. If you want to use Earth, you’ll learn what it means to listen to something that doesn’t move just because you want it to.”

Lucen nodded.

Veyren raised a brow. “Then prove it.”

Lucen knelt near the shaping circle, fingers brushing the soil. He let his breath settle, felt the Arcane Band pulse faintly against his skin—not surging, not glowing, just a stable hum. A guide. Not a crutch.

He pushed mana into the earth slowly.

A ripple. A swell.

Then—crack.

The shaping collapsed, and he nearly lost his balance.

“Too fast,” Veyren said instantly. “You forced it.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“You were.”

Lucen stood again, rubbing his wrist.

Nyari called from the side. “You’re still too tense.”

He muttered under his breath and tried again.

The second attempt lasted longer—a mound of soil lifted, trembled, then split unevenly and slumped.

Lucen growled in frustration. “It’s like trying to shape a mountain with bare hands.”

“Then stop using your hands,” Veyren said. “Use your spine. Your stillness. Earth does not bend. It waits.”

Lucen closed his eyes. Slower this time.

He inhaled. Exhaled.

The Arcane Band pulsed again—soft, steady, syncing to his breathing. The instability lessened, just slightly. Enough to help him feel the mana flow, not fight it.

And when he placed his palm flat against the soil…

He didn’t force it up.

He let it rise.

The shaping pulsed slowly beneath him—thick, grounded. The soil pushed upward, clean and intact. Not jagged. Not cracked. Just steady.

When he opened his eyes, a smooth arc of earth stood firm before him.

He stared at it.

Then at Veyren.

The old mage didn’t smile. But he nodded once.

“Better,” he said. Then, after a pause:

“You shaped it once before. I remember. Rough. Rushed. Barely held for seconds.”

Lucen stayed quiet.

“But this,” Veyren continued, voice even, “this came from stillness. Control. Not panic.”

He tapped the ground with his staff. “That’s the difference between having magic— and owning it.”

Lucen looked back at the shaping.

It wasn’t big. Wasn’t flashy.

But it was his.

For the first time… the earth had listened.

“Don’t forget how it felt.”

Veyren’s Clearing – Midday

Lucen sat on the edge of a large flat stone near the clearing’s edge, his cloak folded beneath him and his sleeves rolled back to his forearms. Sweat clung to his temples. His breathing had slowed, but the tension in his shoulders hadn’t fully left.

His fingers curled against his palm, still faintly tingling from the shaping.

It wasn’t much. But it held.

That mattered.

Nyari approached, tossing him a small cloth bundle.

He caught it on reflex, blinking as the linen unfolded—revealing a pair of lightly steamed buns and a small canteen.

He looked up. “Where did you get—?”

“Stole them from Marella’s early tray. Left a coin. I’m not that savage.” She flopped down beside him, cross-legged on the grass, tail swaying once before curling around her side. “Thought you’d need it.”

Lucen stared at the food for a moment longer, then nodded. “Thanks.”

She reached over and flicked his Arcane Band lightly. “So. Dirt didn’t punch you back this time.”

He smirked, chewing slowly. “Nope. I think I finally whispered the right apology.”

Nyari leaned back on her hands, face tilted toward the sunlight. “You’re still too stiff with it. You think too much.”

“I was trying not to trip on my own magic. That takes focus.”

“You looked like you were meditating inside a thunderstorm.”

He gave a soft laugh and took another bite.

They sat in silence for a while—just long enough for the sounds of the forest to settle back in. Birds chirped distantly. The breeze carried the faint scent of bark and wet moss.

Lucen broke the quiet first. “It felt different this time.”

She looked over at him.

“I didn’t feel like I was pushing it anymore. Just… waiting with it.”

Nyari tilted her head. “Earth doesn’t care if you’re ready. It waits. That’s why you hate it.”

Lucen blinked. “What?”

“You’re impatient,” she said simply. “You try to fight like you’re proving something. But Earth doesn’t care about what you want. It only answers when you’re still enough to hear it.”

Lucen opened his mouth, then shut it.

She grinned faintly. “See? I can be wise.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Lucen chuckled again, the tension finally softening at the edges.

Then Nyari shifted slightly, pulling one leg up and resting her chin on her knee. Her voice dropped—just a little.

“You did good,” she said quietly. “You looked like yourself again. The you that keeps getting back up even when it sucks.”

Lucen blinked, caught off guard by the softness in her tone.

He smiled—small, honest. “Thanks.”

Nyari immediately stretched, yawned, and waved a hand. “But don’t let it go to your head. Still plenty of dirt out here waiting to trip you.”

Lucen raised a brow. “Should I expect more motivational abuse?”

She smirked. “Only if you earn it.”

Forest Spring – Late Afternoon 

Later that day, Veyren led them deeper into the forest—past the usual clearing, beyond the training rings, and down into a narrow grove framed by moss-covered stones.

At its center, a spring bubbled quietly from a shallow rock shelf. The water was crystal clear, rippling gently across the surface like it was breathing. The air here was cooler. Still. Every sound felt distant.

Lucen stepped closer, boots brushing over soft moss.

“Why here?” he asked.

Veyren stopped at the edge of the spring and sat cross-legged on a flat stone, letting his staff rest beside him. “Because this isn’t just about shaping dirt or dodging fire.”

He motioned toward the spring.

“You’ve stabilized one element. Now I want to see if you can feel another.”

Lucen frowned. “You mean… water?”

Veyren didn’t answer.

Nyari sat near a tree, legs stretched out, watching quietly. She didn’t interrupt.

Lucen knelt by the spring. The surface was smooth—just faint ripples from the source. He dipped his fingers in, and the chill bit gently at his skin.

It was cold. But not unpleasant.

The Arcane Band on his wrist pulsed softly—acknowledging the shift in ambient mana. Slower. Quieter. The flow around him felt different here.

He closed his eyes.

His breathing slowed.

And something beneath the surface of the water pulsed—once.

It wasn’t mana. Not exactly. It was like… awareness.

The spring didn’t resist him. It didn’t push or pull.

It just was.

For a moment, Lucen let his thoughts go still. Not trying to shape anything. Not searching for control.

Just listening.

A small ripple moved across the surface where his fingers touched. No spell. No chant.

Just contact.

And the water answered.

Lucen kept his fingers resting just beneath the surface of the spring. The water wasn’t just cold—it was alive. Not in the way flame danced or wind howled, but in a quiet, steady rhythm. It flowed around him, not retreating, not resisting.

For the first time in a while, he didn’t feel like he had to do anything.

He could just exist—still, quiet, enough.

The Arcane Band on his wrist pulsed gently—once, then again. Not like Earth’s hum. Not like Fire’s surge.

This was different.

Cool. Steady. Almost… gentle.

He opened his eyes.

The spring’s surface rippled outward from his fingers. No mana surge. No visible cast. Just a calm pulse that seemed to echo something within rather than around him.

Behind him, Nyari tilted her head. “You alright?”

Lucen nodded slowly. “Yeah. I just…”

He trailed off.

The glyph embedded in his Arcane Band flickered briefly. A faint shimmer of blue light, barely visible, pulsed across the edge of the sigil display—then vanished before he could get a clear look.

He blinked, but said nothing.

Veyren, still seated on the stone, opened one eye.

But he didn’t speak.

Lucen pulled his hand from the water, the coolness clinging to his skin like a whisper.

He didn’t understand it fully.

But he felt it.

Behind him, Veyren stood slowly, brushing off his coat as he stepped closer.

“It stirred for you,” the old mage said simply, watching the spring. “That’s enough for today.”

Lucen looked up at him.

Veyren’s gaze didn’t shift from the rippling water. “Next time, we’ll see if it listens again. And if you can do more than just feel it.”

He turned without another word and walked calmly back toward the path.

Lucen stood there a moment longer—watching the water smooth itself out, until it reflected only sky.

Then he followed.

Clearing Path – Early Evening

They walked in silence for a while, retracing the trail toward the edge of the grove. The light had started to shift, casting warm golds and long shadows through the trees.

Nyari glanced over, arms folded behind her head. “You looked peaceful back there.”

Lucen exhaled through his nose. “That’s a first.”

She smirked. “Didn’t even flinch. I was waiting for a dramatic splash.”

“Disappointed?”

“Only slightly. I was kind of hoping to see you fall in.”

He laughed under his breath. “Next time, maybe.”

A pause. Then her voice softened.

“Whatever you did back there… it looked right.”

Lucen looked down at his hand. Still faintly damp. Still tingling.

“I don’t know what I did.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

She nudged his arm with her elbow. “For what it’s worth… I think water likes you more than the dirt did.”

Lucen gave a small smile.

Maybe it did.

Forest Path – Twilight

The trees rustled quietly overhead as they walked, golden light spilling through the canopy in long, dappled streaks. The scent of moss and damp leaves lingered on the breeze, and beneath their boots, the trail softened with fallen needles.

Lucen walked a step behind Veyren, but a little ahead of Nyari.

Not by design—just by rhythm.

His hand drifted down to brush the surface of his Arcane Band. It had gone quiet again. No pulses. No flickers. But the memory of the water’s stillness still lingered in his chest.

Nyari caught up beside him, walking in reverse for a few steps, arms crossed behind her head.

“You’ve got that look again.”

Lucen raised an eyebrow. “What look?”

“The one you get when something made you feel something, and now you’re trying to pretend it didn’t.”

He snorted. “That’s very specific.”

“I’m very observant.”

Lucen didn’t respond right away. His thoughts were still swimming.

Finally, he said, “It didn’t feel like casting. Not really. Just… like something responded without me asking it to.”

Nyari’s voice was quieter now. “Maybe that’s why it worked.”

He glanced sideways at her.

She smiled—but not her usual smug smirk. Just something small. Tired. Kind.

“You’re finally learning,” she said, “you don’t have to fight everything.”

Lucen let the words settle before nodding. “It’s hard not to.”

“I know.”

They walked in silence again for a while—longer this time. Not awkward. Just thoughtful.

Veyren eventually slowed ahead, glancing back over his shoulder. “We’re done for today.”

Lucen stopped beside Nyari, flexing his fingers once. “So… we just head back?”

“You do,” Veyren said, already turning into a side path that curved deeper into the trees. “You’ll know when to return. Let the new magic breathe before you strangle it.”

And just like that, he vanished through the underbrush, not waiting for a reply.

Lucen blinked. “…I’ll never understand that man.”

Nyari stretched, arms overhead with a satisfied sigh. “You don’t have to. Just learn what you can before he disappears again for six months.”

Lucen smirked and nodded once. “Back to the inn, then?”

“Mmhm,” she said, falling into step beside him. “Unless you’d rather sit by the river and contemplate life again.”

He chuckled. “Think I’ve done enough reflecting for one day.”

As they walked down the trail toward the town, the last light of day caught the edge of their Arcane Bands—two faint glints of silver moving through the fading trees.

Hearthlight Inn – Nightfall

By the time they reached the inn, the lanterns outside were already lit, casting golden pools of light onto the stone path. The warm scent of roasted herbs and baking bread drifted from the kitchen, wrapping around them like a blanket.

Lucen pushed open the front doors, and the familiar creak greeted him.

Inside, the common room was quieter than usual. A few travelers lingered over dinner, Marella was wiping down tables, and the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

Home—for now.

Nyari peeled off her cloak near the front and let out a long stretch, tail flicking lazily.

“I’m grabbing something sweet,” she mumbled. “That spring was way too peaceful. Threw off my entire blood sugar balance.”

Lucen chuckled and made his way up the stairs. The ache in his body had settled into a dull heaviness—nothing urgent, just the weight of a long day.

He reached his room, stepped inside, and shut the door gently behind him.

The light through the window was fading to dusky blue. He didn’t bother lighting a lamp. The dimness felt right.

He set his gear aside. Sat on the edge of the bed. Let out a long breath.

His hand drifted once more to the Arcane Band.

No glow. No pulses.

Just quiet.

But this time, it didn’t feel like emptiness.

It felt like still water.

He leaned back on his palms, eyes tracing the ceiling. Thoughts drifting—but not heavy this time. Just… floating.

A knock came at the door.

He sat up. “Yeah?”

Nyari’s voice came through, muffled. “You left your bread from earlier, you dummy.”

Lucen stood and opened the door.

She stood there holding a small plate. Two slices of warm sweetbread, lightly glazed, already slightly uneven from where she’d clearly picked at one.

Lucen raised an eyebrow. “Generous.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. You’ll burn out your last two brain cells thinking I’m nice.”

But her tone was soft. Her smile was… real.

He took the plate, fingers brushing hers briefly.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t read into it,” she muttered.

He didn’t.

But the door lingered open for just a second longer than it needed to before he stepped back and gently closed it.