"Okay, so," Pao began explaining the process, "what you're going to do now is kind of like meditating, but not exactly. You're not trying to empty your mind completely, or focus on one particular sense. You're trying to clear space. Make room to focus on something you've never felt before."
Amukelo gave a small nod.
Pao continued, "Think of it like this—when your thoughts come, you gently push them away. Don't get annoyed. Don't get caught in them. Just let them pass. Like clouds. But your goal is different than a normal meditation—you're trying to feel something. Not your breath, not a breeze, not the warmth of your clothes. Something unfamiliar."
"That 'something' is mana," Pao said. "You're not going to feel it in the traditional way, not at first. But it's there. Running through your body. You've never tried to notice it before, but today, you're going to start."
Amukelo whispered, "Alright. What now?"
Pao smiled softly. "Now we start with breath. It will slow down your heartbeat, and help you focus better. Close your eyes."
"They're closed."
She chuckled. "Right. Okay, inhale slowly. Count to five."
Amukelo pulled in a long breath. She began counting.
"One… two… three… four… five."
"Now exhale for eight."
He exhaled, as Pao counted again.
"One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight."
"Again."
They repeated the cycle, again and again. Ten rounds of that slow, steady breathing, and by the end, Amukelo wasn't thinking about anything else but his breath.
"Now," Pao whispered. "Bring your breathing back to normal. Just sit in the stillness for a moment."
Amukelo obeyed.
"How do you feel?" she asked softly.
"I feel…" he paused, "calm."
"That's very good," she replied. "Now we begin the real work."
Amukelo's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't open his eyes.
Pao extended her hand again. "Okay, I'm going to emit my mana. I want you to stop trying to feel anything specific. Just... listen to your body. Be aware. If you feel something—heat, a breeze, a sound, whatever—and you recognize it, you let it go. You want to make space for something different. Something you don't really recognize."
Amukelo repeated the words in his mind. 'Make space for something I don't recognize.' That was easier said than done.
At first, it was easy enough. There was nothing but stillness.
But then, as the minutes passed, he began to feel things.
A tightness in his lower back. The pressure of his body resting on the wooden floor. A slight itch on the side of his cheek. His nose picked up the faint scent of parchment and old wood.
'My back hurts,' he thought. 'Why does it hurt? Was I sitting wrong before?'
Then his own voice inside his mind snapped: 'No. No. No. Those are thoughts. Push them away.'
He tried again. This time, he noticed his breathing had gone shallow again. 'Is that bad? Am I doing it wrong?'
'Focus. Stop thinking.'
Sweat began forming on Amukelo's brow as he sat in silence. His shoulders were slightly stiff, his back not quite relaxed. His thoughts wouldn't stop. His mind, trained for constant alertness, couldn't acustom to this kind of stillness without a fight.
He squinted his eyes tighter, forcing himself to push past the rising distractions. But it didn't help. The itch on the edge of his temple returned. The sound of someone turning a page somewhere in the room drew his focus. His legs were going numb. The quiet wasn't quiet anymore. It was just pressure.
Then, with an irritated sigh, he opened his eyes and leaned forward slightly.
"Ahh, damn it!" he muttered. "I keep thinking things."
From the other side of the library, a voice whispered, sharp and disapproving. "Shh…"
"Ahh, sorry," Amukelo replied, his voice dropping instantly.
He turned toward Pao. She was catching her breath. Her posture had slumped a little, and her chest rose and fell steadily. Her hand, which had been extended before, now rested gently in her lap. She was clearly tired.
But she gave him a faint smile. "Don't worry… you did well. It's that we are overstimulated, and don't know how to focus. That's natural."
Amukelo tilted his head, slightly surprised. "By the way… why are you out of breath?"
Pao let out a quiet laugh.
"Well," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "concentrating mana in one place like this… it's like training for me. It's tough, and I try to release as much as I can from that one place, for the sensation to be stronger."
He blinked, absorbing that, and nodded slowly. "Wow… so you are training now just as me."
She gave a gentle smile. "Isn't that beautiful? We make each other stronger."
Amukelo looked away for a moment, his expression shifting. His voice lowered, almost to a whisper. "But… it's you who is helping me. I just rely on you…"
Pao tilted her head again. "Huh? What is it?"
He paused, then shook his head.
"No… it's nothing. I can't focus, because when I straighten up, I feel stiffness in my back. It distracts me the most."
Pao nodded as if that made perfect sense. "Oh, I should tell you. Relax to the deepest. Try to get into a position that will make you forget that you are even touching something."
He thought about it, then adjusted his position. He rolled his shoulders slightly, shifted his legs, then leaned back a little until his body felt like it was floating.
"That makes sense," he said. Then, more resolved, he took a slow breath. "Okay… let's try again."
His eyes closed. The world dimmed again. The faint smell of old parchment and wood filled the air. Somewhere off in the building, a door creaked. A floorboard groaned. Amukelo tried to push it all away.
This time, he felt a little more settled.
But then, thoughts slipped back in.
The day's training. What Bral said during breakfast. Whether they'd find anything during this watch. The warmth of the sun on his right shoulder. The dull ache in his hip. The part of his back that kept pressing against the wooden wall.
He clenched his jaw. A second later, he opened his eyes again.
His breath came out rough, through his nose. He didn't say anything this time, just leaned forward a little, rubbed his hands together, and looked at the floor like it had betrayed him.
Pao didn't say a word. She was back in her posture. But her shoulders were tenser now. Her brow furrowed slightly.
Amukelo closed his eyes again. And failed. Then again. And again.
With every attempt, his body grew more restless. His thoughts louder. And Pao, just as much, started to slow. Her mana wasn't endless, and the concentration required to emit it this way was chipping away at her stamina.
But they kept going.
As they continued, down the hall — in the front part of the library — a figure stepped into view.
A soldier. Full armor. Helmet on. Gloves tight.
He looked at them, and just stood there for a moment.
Then, without making a sound, he turned and walked away.