V2C17 - Flow and Fracture

Hearthlight Inn – Morning Light

Lucen stirred beneath the inn’s soft sheets as a faint golden glow leaked through the curtains. The room was still, silent save for the occasional creak of timber and the muffled footsteps of Marella beginning her morning sweep downstairs.

He blinked against the sunlight and sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. His body ached in that dull, honest way training always left behind—not pain, just proof that he was doing the work.

His hand drifted to the Arcane Band on his wrist.

No pulse. No shimmer.

But something about it felt warmer now. Like the mana within him had settled into a deeper rhythm.

He remembered the way the spring had rippled under his fingers. The way the water hadn’t fought back. The flicker of blue light on the glyph—brief, but real.

A knock at his door would’ve startled him, but none came.

She’d already brought him sweetbread the night before. He doubted she’d double up on kindness.

He stood, stretched, and got dressed slowly—simple layers, nothing heavy. His sword belt felt a little lighter than usual, but not in a bad way.

Downstairs, the common room was already glowing with the fire newly lit. Marella nodded to him from behind the counter, setting out plates.

Nyari was already at a table in the corner—legs crossed up on the bench, biting into a warm roll like she’d owned the place for years. Her tail flicked idly behind her as she glanced up, eyes narrowing.

“You sleep in or just taking your time being dramatic?”

Lucen smirked and slid into the seat across from her. “Can’t I do both?”

She pushed a plate toward him with a half-shrug. “Saved you one. Might’ve nibbled it, though. Quality check.”

“Of course you did.”

They ate in easy quiet for a few minutes, just the crackle of fire and the soft sounds of Marella bustling nearby. Outside, morning light spilled across the cobblestones.

After the last bite of food disappeared, Nyari stretched and stood.

“Come on. Old man’s probably pacing by now.”

Lucen stood and slung his cloak over his shoulder. “Think he’s gonna push Water today?”

Nyari grinned. “I think he’s gonna glare, say nothing, and then make you look like an idiot until the magic works.”

Lucen exhaled a slow breath, then followed her out into the light.

The day had begun.

Falridge – Morning Streets

The streets of Falridge were just beginning to stir as Lucen and Nyari stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The sky above was still brushed with soft lavender and pale gold, the last traces of dawn fading into day. Chimney smoke curled lazily upward from rooftops, and somewhere nearby, a baker was setting out trays of honeyed bread that made Lucen’s stomach twitch with regret for not grabbing a second bite.

They walked side by side, boots tapping lightly over worn stone paths, the kind that had been shaped by years of adventurers, travelers, and carts.

“Think Veyren’s actually awake before the sun, or does he just rise out of the dirt like some magical weed?” Nyari mused, arms tucked behind her head.

Lucen chuckled. “He’s probably been glaring at a rock for three hours already, waiting for it to do something interesting.”

“I feel like if you glared hard enough, your magic would work faster.”

“I’ve tried. All I got was a headache.”

Nyari snorted. “Figures.”

They passed the central fountain square—a wide open area where market stalls were still being set up. Vendors hauled crates and hung banners with sleepy determination. A small group of kids ran through the street kicking a bundled rag ball, laughing too loudly for how early it was.

Lucen caught himself smiling.

It was strange how normal things felt after everything. The Hollowmaw. The glyph flickering. The promotion. And yet… the world still moved on. Like it always had.

A gust of wind pushed at his cloak. He adjusted it, then glanced at Nyari’s Arcane Band as it shimmered faintly at her wrist, catching a bit of morning light.

She noticed and raised an eyebrow. “Checking out my wrist now? Getting bold.”

Lucen shook his head. “Just wondering if yours feels different too.”

Nyari held it up and flexed her fingers. “Kinda. Like it’s waiting to prove something.”

Lucen hummed. “Like you?”

She grinned. “Exactly like me.”

They turned off the main road, following the narrower path that led toward the outer woods. The trees grew denser ahead, their branches still slick with dew. Birds stirred overhead, fluttering from canopy to canopy with chirps that echoed between trunks.

As they passed the wooden fence line that marked the edge of the city’s patrol boundary, Lucen slowed for a moment and glanced back.

Falridge looked quiet. Peaceful.

But only from a distance.

He turned back around, following Nyari as she ducked under a low-hanging branch.

“You really think Veyren’s gonna make me control water today?” he asked after a moment.

Nyari’s voice drifted back, light and teasing. “If we’re lucky, he’ll only drown you a little.”

“Encouraging.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a while after that, following the winding dirt path deeper into the woods. Sunlight spilled in broken patches through the leaves above, dappling the trail with shifting gold.

The birdsong softened.

The path narrowed.

And somewhere up ahead, Lucen could already feel it—the faint buzz of ambient mana, the subtle pressure in the air that always meant Veyren’s presence wasn’t far.

Veyren’s Clearing – Mid-Morning

The trees parted ahead like curtains as they stepped into the clearing, and as always, it felt like walking into a different world.

The air was thicker here. Not heavy—but charged. Lucen could feel the shift in pressure the moment his boots hit the grass. The mana in the soil hummed just beneath the surface, a low, constant rhythm he’d learned to recognize over the last few weeks.

Veyren stood in his usual spot—back straight, coat half-unbuttoned, hands behind his back like he’d been waiting all morning. He said nothing when they entered.

He rarely did.

The old mage’s eyes swept over them once. No smile. Just a raised brow.

Nyari dropped her cloak near the edge of the field and stretched her arms overhead. “Don’t mind me,” she called out, already walking toward the training dummies lined up near the far treeline. “I’m warming up with my new toy.”

Lucen raised an eyebrow. “Pretty confident, aren’t you?”

She gave him a sideways smirk. “Silver band, silver rank. Gotta live up to the sparkle, right?”

She snapped her Arcane Band into place with a quick flick of her wrist, and the glow along the metal lines pulsed briefly—almost like it was waking up.

Lucen watched as she squared her stance. The dummies were set in staggered formation, with old scarring and blunt cracks from past sessions. Nyari’s fingers twitched once, and a soft gust of wind stirred the grass around her feet.

Then she vanished.

To Lucen’s eyes, it was almost a blur—just a flicker of movement and then the sharp thock-thock-thock of three quick strikes. Her daggers cut across the wooden frames in a rapid diagonal, followed by a sharp pivot and a second burst of movement as she launched herself sideways to strike another dummy’s neck joint with a sweeping spin.

The Arcane Band shimmered faintly with each movement—subtle pulses syncing to her mana flow, like it was guiding her rhythm, not just amplifying it.

Lucen blinked. “She’s faster.”

Veyren’s voice hummed behind him, low and dry. “Of course she is. The band doesn’t make her stronger. It simply lets her body keep up with what her mana was already trying to do.”

Lucen glanced over his shoulder. “Then what does mine do?”

Veyren gave him a look. “We’ll see. When you stop waiting for the water to ask permission.”

Lucen’s mouth opened to respond—then shut again.

Typical.

He turned back toward the spring-fed pool near the edge of the clearing. The water shimmered softly in the sunlight, rippling from a slow underground source. It wasn’t deep, but it was clear—and familiar.

Lucen exhaled through his nose and walked toward it.

Behind him, the sharp bursts of wind and movement from Nyari’s sparring continued—punctuated by the occasional grunt, laugh, or muttered curse when she missed by a hair.

They were training separately.

But he could still feel her nearby.

Always.

Lucen knelt near the shallow spring, the cool water catching threads of sunlight between slow, steady ripples. He placed a hand just above the surface, letting his fingers hover—not quite touching.

Veyren stood behind him, silent.

The mage hadn’t said anything else since his cryptic remark about water not asking permission. He didn’t need to. The silence itself felt like part of the training. Like Lucen wasn’t just meant to listen to him, but to everything around him.

The soft trickle of water from the rocks.

The gentle creak of wind brushing the trees.

And Nyari.

He could hear her breath rhythm from across the field—short, sharp exhales as she struck a dummy’s midsection, then spun low and swept into a shoulder slash. He didn’t need to look. He knew how she moved. Knew the way her boots barely scuffed the ground when she pivoted.

He could almost picture it—tail curled, hair flaring, grin on her face between hits.

Lucen closed his eyes.

Focus.

The Arcane Band pulsed faintly on his wrist as he reached inside himself—not to force mana through, but to offer it. He didn’t try to command the water. Just let it feel him.

And the water moved.

Only slightly. A swirl—small, but responsive—traced beneath his palm. It didn’t leap. It didn’t splash. It just answered.

He opened his eyes.

A small spiral rotated gently beneath the surface—still whole, unbroken.

He extended his fingers slowly and coaxed mana into them. A ribbon of water lifted, trembling at first, like it wasn’t sure if it trusted him.

Veyren finally spoke, low and quiet behind him.

“Water doesn’t obey the loud. It listens to the patient.”

Lucen steadied his breathing, keeping the flow intact.

Then behind him, a gust of wind rushed past with a sharp thock as Nyari slammed one dagger into the skull of the final dummy, her movement trailing with precision like a ribbon caught in motion.

Lucen glanced back.

She stood over the dummy, panting, shoulders rising and falling. Her Arcane Band flickered softly at her wrist.

Then she turned, eyes immediately scanning toward him.

Their gazes met.

She didn’t smile.

But she tilted her head, just slightly, her eyes shifting toward the floating ribbon of water still curling above Lucen’s palm.

Lucen blinked. His concentration faltered—

Splash.

The water dropped, soaking his leg.

Nyari snorted and turned away, already heading toward the dummy to reset it. “Maybe next time, don’t make eye contact while trying to impress the water.”

Lucen groaned. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

Veyren said nothing, but Lucen could hear him suppressing a sigh behind him.

Lucen wiped water off his pants with a mutter. Still, despite the failure, he couldn’t stop the faint grin tugging at his lips.

It was progress.

And she’d noticed.

Veyren’s Clearing – Midday

Lucen exhaled slowly, both palms resting near the edge of the spring. His pant leg was still damp from the earlier splash, but he didn’t care anymore. The sun had climbed higher overhead, casting speckled shadows across the clearing.

His breathing had settled into a steady rhythm—inhale, exhale, mana flow.

This time, he didn’t overthink it.

He just let his fingers glide above the surface, gently drawing mana into the water again. A soft ripple formed, then twisted upward in a coiling motion—slow, fluid. It hovered for a moment, no longer shaking like it had before.

He shaped it—barely—into a shallow arc.

It wasn’t much. Maybe enough to deflect a small projectile. But it held.

His Arcane Band pulsed in sync with the water’s movement—faint and steady. Not pushing him, just helping his focus stay smooth.

Behind him, Veyren sat on a nearby stone, eyes half-closed.

“You’re beginning to sync,” he murmured. “It’s still shallow. But you’re not dragging it now. It’s moving with you.”

Lucen nodded slightly. He didn’t speak—not yet. He didn’t want to break the rhythm.

The water hovered longer this time, curling like a ribbon between his fingers. He tried to move it forward—slowly—and it drifted a few inches before finally falling back with a quiet splash.

He didn’t groan. Didn’t sigh.

He just sat back on his heels and let the water settle again.

It was still progress.

And this time, it felt like his.

Veyren’s Clearing – Moments Later

Nyari had finished resetting the dummies and now leaned against one lazily, arms crossed. Her tail swayed behind her in slow, absent loops as she sipped from a small leather water flask.

Lucen walked over, wiping his face with the edge of his sleeve. His boots were muddy now, and the edges of his tunic clung damply to his sides.

Nyari offered the flask without a word.

He took it and drank. The water was cool, slightly herbal. Probably something Marella had slipped into their supply kits for stamina.

“You’re dripping,” Nyari said, tilting her head.

“You’re panting.”

“I was moving.”

“I was shaping.”

She grinned faintly. “Oh, so now you’re a shaper.”

Lucen handed the flask back and sat on the grass nearby, stretching one leg out with a quiet wince. “Almost made it dance.”

“Almost. I’d say it limped politely.”

He gave her a look. “Pretty sure I saw your last spin go wide.”

Nyari smirked. “I was being kind to the dummy. You wouldn’t understand.”

They sat like that for a few moments—quiet, wind brushing gently across the clearing. The birds had settled into their midday stillness, and the sun filtered warmly through the leaves above.

Lucen glanced over at her.

Nyari’s eyes were closed now, her arms still folded but relaxed. Her chest rose and fell slowly, not quite sleeping—just unwinding.

He looked away again.

But not before she opened one eye and caught him staring.

“What,” she said, lips curling into a lazy smirk, “falling in love with my sweat-stained form?”

Lucen scoffed. “More like wondering how you haven’t passed out yet.”

“Cat stamina,” she said, smug. “It’s a genetic gift.”

He chuckled softly, leaning back on his elbows. “You’re not tired?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Then, in a softer tone, she said, “Tired… yeah. But not bad tired. It’s a good kind of tired. Like we’re actually getting somewhere.”

Lucen nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

Another quiet pause.

Then Nyari asked, eyes still closed, “You gonna get that water ribbon to dance tomorrow?”

Lucen smirked to himself. “I’ll make it waltz.”

She chuckled. “I’ll bring the applause.”

Veyren’s Clearing – Late Afternoon

The sun had shifted by the time they rose again. Shadows stretched longer across the clearing now, and the warmth in the air had started to fade—softly, almost imperceptibly.

Lucen rolled his shoulders once and stepped back toward the spring to retrieve his satchel. The grass beneath his boots had dried from earlier, but the scent of damp earth and water still clung to him.

Veyren stood a short distance away now, leaning on his staff as he stared up at the sky.

“Not bad,” he said quietly, not turning. “You’ve moved from brute force to patience. That’s more than most.”

Lucen adjusted the strap of his gear, glancing over. “Didn’t feel like much.”

“It never does, when it’s real.”

Nyari gave a small snort behind him. “I’ll remind you of that next time he faceplants into the water.”

Veyren smiled faintly—just at the corner of his mouth.

Then, in a quieter tone: “Water listens. Earth resists. Wind dances. Fire devours.”

He turned and finally looked at Lucen.

“You’ll find each element asks something different from you. Not strength. Not technique.”

Lucen tilted his head slightly. “Then what?”

“Something deeper.” Veyren’s eyes narrowed, not unkind. “Each one peels away who you think you are.”

Lucen didn’t answer. He didn’t really have one.

But something in the old mage’s words clung to him even as they stepped toward the path that led back to Falridge.

The wind had picked up now—gentle, cool.

And somewhere behind him, the spring rippled once more.