Three weeks had passed since their battle with the Viscount.
The midday sun filtered through the treetops above the elven encampment, casting dancing shadows over the clearing where the trio had made a habit of training. Birds chirped in the distance, but within the ring of smooth stone and packed soil, the air was still, focused.
Lumberling sat cross-legged, his posture straight, hands resting loosely on his knees, palms open. The Concordia Cycle ran through him like a measured pulse, mana flowing in rhythm with breath, drawing in, refining, releasing. Around him, the faint shimmer of controlled aura drifted in and out of sight like a heat mirage.
Aurelya tilted her head, brows furrowing. "You… how did you suddenly improve?"
