Breaking the Limit

Dawn bit gently at the eastern courtyard. Light fell in diagonals through the arches, igniting the dew that clung to ropes and chimes as though someone had strung constellations across the ground. The pond—the small fountain—breathed cold mist.

Asori arrived dragging his feet, his shirt clinging with the sweat of nights half-slept, haunted by his moment alone with Blair. His body ached in places he hadn’t known had muscles. Yet in the hardened lines of his face there was something new: a stubborn determination, the memory of a promise made through tears and honeyed bread.

Eryndor stood by the stone pillar, bamboo staff resting on his shoulder. Four jugs waited at the edge of the pond, and beyond them, the maze of chimes the sage had been making harder day after day.

—You’ve come —said Eryndor, as though recording the hour to the wind.

—I came yesterday, and today… I’ll try to come again tomorrow. —Asori tried to smile; it broke halfway.

—Then it’s time. We take the next step.

Asori frowned.
—More ropes? More chimes? More “be water, be a leaf, be silence”?

—Transform at will —said Eryndor, plain. The courtyard itself seemed to hush.

Asori’s heart lurched.
—That… —he swallowed—. It only happened when I was about to die.

—The edge of death is the Orb’s favorite threshold —Eryndor admitted—. But it cannot be your only teacher. You’ll learn to open that door without hanging over the abyss.

Asori looked at the water, where his reflection trembled.
—And if I can’t?

—Then you’ll fall —Eryndor said without drama—. And you’ll learn to rise again in base form. No sane warrior lives transformed. The body must be home, not trench. But today… today we’ll force the lock, so you feel Astral in another way.

He lifted a jug, poured it into the pond, let the water ripple. Then tilted another only slightly, a thread falling like a liquid rope.
—Think of Astral as this pond. It’s everything flowing through Ventos: the brush of air, sap, tides, the invisible murmur among beings. And think of each living thing as this spout. Some open just a crack: their Astral flows in a thin trickle. Others open wide: they channel more without breaking. Training is widening the spout without shattering the vessel.

Asori folded his arms, attentive.
—And transformation?

Eryndor upended the jug, all at once. A splash. Drops everywhere.
—Transformation breaks the limit. It tells your body: “For a moment, endure more than you should.” It lends you wider walls… at a price.

—My dignity? —Asori guessed.

—Crippling fatigue —Eryndor replied—. And clumsiness, if you don’t regulate. It can take you out in a breath. That’s why, even if I teach you to open the door, never forget: home is base form. You train here; in battle, you answer.

Asori nodded, no jokes. He had understood. He wanted to.

—Blair told me something similar —he admitted—. About how bearers can… change. That not all can control it.

Curiosity flickered across Eryndor’s face.
—What exactly did she say?

The day before, under a bougainvillea shadow, Blair had shared bread still too hot and a truth still half-raw.
—Bearers —she explained, breaking the crust with slim fingers— have something others don’t. There are Astral masters without Orbs, strong and fearsome, who can control on a smaller scale. But we can change. Not just in strength, but in how Astral flows within us and manifests outside. People call it “transformation,” “Awakening”… whatever you like. It’s our trump card.

Asori had listened with the distracted attention of someone watching another’s lips too long. She noticed, smirked, and went on.

—I don’t… —she looked away—. When I transform… there’s a power I can’t control. It’s not me. I’m afraid of hurting someone. —Then, shaking it off—. But with you it’ll be different. That only happens to me. If it happens to you, I know Eryndor and I will be there.

—Jason can transform? —Asori had asked, sincere… and with something hidden.

Blair nodded.
—Yes. That’s why he went to Donner—to master it. Just as you will, someday.

Asori cleared his throat.
—Jason… your… —he scratched his neck— …ex.

Blair fell quiet, staring at the bread. A blush rose faintly to her cheeks.
—It was arranged —she said honestly—. He never saw me as… —she bit the word and smiled with sadness that asked for no pity— Doesn’t matter.

Asori tilted his head, irony aimed at the ground so it wouldn’t cut.
—Are you sure he didn’t…? —He cut himself, clumsy.

Blair shot him a glance, a spark no longer painful.
—Are you jealous?

—I don’t transform out of jealousy.

She laughed, and so did he. The pull of the Sweet Kiss warmed, like an ember under bread.

—Then I want to try —Asori said now, returning from the memory. His eyes carried that stubborn light Eryndor was beginning to recognize.

—Good. —The sage pointed to the pond’s center—. Close your eyes, breathe as you’ve learned. Four in, six out. Don’t seek force; seek form. Feel Astral on your skin, tongue, nape, between your toes. When you hear it clearly… open the spout of the Orb. Don’t rip it. Don’t shout. Open.

Asori obeyed. The world lost its edges. The water smelled of clean stone; a chime tickled his left ear; an insect brushed his calf. His breathing began to rhyme with the courtyard. Four. Six. Four. Six.

Astral was background at first. Then a thread. Then a lake. When his body whispered now, something in his chest clicked like a lock giving way.

And then, the Sweet Kiss decided to interfere.

A flash not his own flared behind his eyes. Blair, in her chamber, standing by a chest, hair loose, dressed only in underclothes. Pale skin in the half-light, back arched as she pulled off her cloak; the jewel-flower in her hair glowing faintly. She froze, as if she had felt someone… watching.

—Eh?! —Asori’s eyes flew open, crimson to his ears—. I didn’t—! I’m not seeing anything! —he defended himself to the air, as though there were witnesses.

—Who told you to see anything but Astral? —Eryndor’s tone was as patient as a mill—. Close your eyes. The bond is not a toy.

In the north wing, Blair froze, corset half-laced.
—…Asori? —she whispered, covering her face—. Idiot! —Her blush rose like fire—. Don’t look! —she hurled through the bond, as if she could clap a hand over his eyes with a thought.

—I don’t want to! —he shot back, defensive, mortified.

—Then don’t think of me! —Blair snapped—the most impossible order she’d ever spoken.

—How can I not think of you when you’re shouting in my head?! —Asori squeezed his eyes shut like he could truly turn her off.

Eryndor cleared his throat, ceremonial.
—When you two finish being adolescents on the inside —he announced—, we’ll return to transformation.

An awkward silence lasted three beats. Blair, still scarlet, tied her corset tight, pulled on her robe in clumsy haste, and bit her lip as she whispered sorry… which the bond carried as raw shame.

Asori exhaled hard.
—I’m ready —he said, steadier.

—Again —ordered Eryndor—. Open.

The courtyard grew vast once more. Astral returned as a lake. This time, when the inner spout opened, there was no shock—only vertigo.

A soft light—clear, not blinding—began to shine from Asori’s skin, as if the air had remembered his true shape. His shirt gleamed white, blue trim curling from the armpits to hem; above it, a high collar rose; beneath, a black undershirt pulled tight across his chest. His trousers widened slightly, black and elastic, built to move. His boots hardened like leather tempered by storm. Gloves appeared with plain wrist-guards. His hair lifted, ruffled as though by invisible hands. When his eyes opened, they were blue, cold as a winter sky.

A white aura wrapped him, not violent but alive, a second skin. The air seemed to accept him at last.

Asori stared at his hands, half-panicked, half in awe. Astral no longer felt like a river dragging him—it was a river he could guide.
—…Sorry for taking so long —he murmured, even his voice resonating differently.

—Welcome —Eryndor said, the faintest proud curve on his lips—. Now move.

He struck the bamboo staff. The corridor of chimes stirred, sacks of sand swaying at waist and head height. The same gauntlet that had once left Asori bruised and breathless.

—Run.

Asori leapt forward without thinking.

The wind spoke before it struck: a shift in pressure left meant a sack from the right; a chime’s flicker meant a countercurrent ahead. Where once there had been collisions and corrections, now there was choice. He vaulted two sacks diagonally, dipped his shoulder beneath another, threaded through the chimes without a single sound. His body felt light, sharp; his feet precise. For a heartbeat, he believed he could fly.

—Jugs —warned Eryndor.

Four curtains of water fell from the cardinal points. Asori tilted his head, tensed Astral along his forearm, and let the water slip aside. Not a drop in his eyes. Not a drop in his mouth.

—Leaf.

A swirl of dry leaves lifted. Asori hopped onto the low pillar of the pond, barefoot, and caught one between his toes without breaking it—like holding a promise without crushing it.

Eryndor lowered the staff. For a heartbeat, the courtyard applauded in silence.
—Enough.

Asori turned, aura still aglow, smiling with a pure joy he hadn’t felt in years. He took two steps toward the sage and, on the third, the world collapsed on him. The aura vanished like a snuffed lamp.

—What’s… happening… —he managed before falling unconscious.

The tug of the bond shifted in the north wing. Blair, fastening her robe (still blushing for reasons unspoken), felt Asori’s body lose tone, soft as wet clay. She didn’t think—she ran.

She tore down corridors, cloak flying, stormed two flights of stairs, and reached the eastern courtyard gasping, heart in her throat.

Eryndor was already kneeling beside the boy, who lay on his side, breathing deep like someone returned from far away. The sage checked his pulse, and smiled with the pride old men keep hidden.
—He’s fine —he said before Blair could ask—. He did it.

Blair dropped to her knees, hands trembling over him, afraid to touch as if he were glass. She caught, for a moment, the trace of change in his clothes: the high collar, the fading blue trim, eyes returning from impossible blue to their usual dark.

—Truly…? —she whispered, searching Eryndor’s gaze.

—He opened the spout without breaking the vessel —the sage glowed with pride—. And passed every trial as if the wind had been born in him. —Then, grave—. Now he pays the price. Exhaustion. Take him to his room. Let him sleep, feed him salt when he wakes. Tomorrow, we train base form. No transformation.

Blair nodded. Eryndor helped her lift him. She swung him onto her back with practiced ease—it wasn’t the first time she carried someone she cared for. Even unconscious, Asori seemed to recognize the scent of bread, of lavender, the rhythm of her steps.

—Thank you —Blair said, the words heavy with many unspoken thanks.

—Thank the wind —Eryndor corrected with a slight bow—. And yourselves, for finally beginning to listen.

Asori’s room was warm. Blair laid him gently on the rug, propped his head, and, without overthinking, sat on the floor, her back to the bed, offering her lap as pillow. She brushed his forehead—lightly—as though erasing a nightmare.

Through the Sweet Kiss, his exhaustion weighed on her like a damp blanket. She closed her eyes, aware of her own breathing, of the shared heartbeat. For the first time in days, the feeling didn’t frighten her. It gave her peace.

It took time for Asori to return.

When he opened his eyes, the ceiling was blurred. He blinked. Saw, below, black fabric, white fabric, and Blair’s nervous fingers playing with the edge of her cloak. He looked up. She was watching him, serious, a half-smile on her lips, her wine-red eyes moist not from tears, but relief.

—Hello, sleeping beauty —she whispered.

Asori rubbed the back of his neck.
—Did I pass? —he asked, hoarse.

—You passed —Blair nodded with theatrical solemnity—. And then you went… —she mimed with her hand— …plop.

He laughed, half-cough.
—Sorry for the show —he said—. I think… I saw you for a second. —And he flushed.

Blair covered her face with one hand, dramatic.
—Let’s not talk about that —she begged, blush jumping to her cheeks again—. It was the… bond.

—The bond —he echoed dutifully, then added, because he couldn’t hide everything—. And it was… nice to know you were there.

The silence that followed carried no weight. It floated.

Blair brushed a strand of hair from his forehead with her fingertip, as if the gesture meant nothing—though she’d thought of it for minutes.
—Eryndor said to eat something salty when you wake. And tomorrow, no breaking limits. Base form.

—Base form tomorrow —Asori agreed—. Today… thank you. For carrying me. For staying.

—Tie —Blair said without thinking, her smile warming the room.

—Tie —he echoed, closing his eyes for a second, his head more comfortable here than on any pillow.

They stayed like that a while, listening to the wind at the window. Outside, Azoth filled its lungs to proclaim two months’ wait before the tournament. Inside, Asori’s inner spout—at last—no longer leaked fear. It breathed.