Syl stepped out of her tent just as she saw Noah near a small fire. The air was thick with humidity, despite the clarity of the day.
She approached slowly, watching him stir something in a pot. Then, almost as if the memory struck her all at once, she remembered what she'd realized the night before — that Noah was the flower boy. The one she hadn't stopped thinking about, not even for a single day in the last seven years.
"Good morning." Her voice, usually poised and polished, now held a warmth she hadn't expected to show. But Noah didn't seem to notice.
He served two wooden bowls filled with a light broth and some vegetables, placing them on what looked like an extension of the earth itself — a rough earthen table. Sitting on an old tree stump, he gestured at the second bowl with a clay spoon in his hand.
"Made enough for two. But don't feel like you have to eat."
Syl blinked.
Wait… what?
He… cooked for me?
No. No no no. Don't be ridiculous. He just made extra while cooking for himself. That's all. It's not like he thought about me or anything. I just happened to be his partner… and we're stuck here… and that's totally normal and expected.
Her stomach growled.
…Oh gods, is that mushroom soup?
She sat down with far too much eagerness, pulling the bowl close and trying to act normal. He passed her a spoon made of pale, carefully crafted clay.
She sniffed the soup and almost melted. She couldn't help it—her face lit up.
"Go ahead. I promise it's not poisoned," Noah said, eyes low. The words were dry, but his voice wasn't as cold as usual.
Syl took a breath.
Okay. Play it cool.
It's just soup.
Really, really good-smelling soup.
She lifted the spoon, then paused. If she didn't know better, she'd think the utensil had been made by a craftsman. But she knew the rules. The only things they were allowed to bring into the trial were weapons and a disposable tent for the first night.
She narrowed her eyes at him, holding up the spoon.
"Where did this come from? I saw you using Light yesterday, not Earth. And this table, these tools—where did they come from?"
Noah kept eating slowly, as if her question made perfect sense but wasn't worth answering. But inside, panic flickered.
Crap. I forgot. First the shirt yesterday, now the utensils…
Thanks, Master, for making the final training challenge surviving alone in a forest. Now I make these things without thinking. Great. Just great. If she puts this together… most people can only manipulate one element.
He finally stopped eating and looked at her.
"They were with the tents we received. A kind gesture, I guess. As for the table…" He nudged the block of earth beneath their bowls. "Maybe it's part of the labyrinth. But don't worry—I already checked. It's safe."
Syl raised an eyebrow and looked up, as if weighing the logic.
Huh. Didn't know they provided tools too. Maybe they eased up on the trial this year.
"Got it. Either way, thanks for the breakfast. Smells really good."
Noah glanced at her and saw the happiness shining on her face as she stared into the bowl.
"You really like soup, huh?"
She took another bite, savoring it like a dish from a five-star chef. Then looked up at him.
"I do—"
No! Don't say that! If he starts suspecting I'm the girl from back then… Not now. I'm not ready for him to know yet.
"Actually, not really. But this is tasty. I'll give you that."
Sorry, gods of soup. I swear it's for a good reason. I still love you.
"Oh. That's fine. Not everyone's into it. But thanks. I used to make it for my grandma almost every day, once she started getting weaker and couldn't cook for herself."
He stopped. Abruptly.
His face, which had just begun to soften, collapsed. The spark behind his eyes vanished, as if the memory stabbed too deep, too fast.
He finished eating in silence, turned away from her, and drew his sword. He began sharpening it slowly, without a word.
"When you're done, just leave the bowl. I'll clean it later by the stream."
Syl watched him, trying to make sense of the sudden shift. For a second, she was sure — that had been the boy from the lavender field. That gentle smile, that fond way he'd spoken about soup…
But something heavy still clung to him. Something deeper. Something that made him vanish before her eyes.
What happened to you, Noah…? It's so frustrating not being able to ask. Great idea, Syl. Really smart — don't tell him who you are. Brilliant.
They had been walking in silence for some time. The tunnel twisted into a wider path, but the air felt heavier than before—dense, damp, charged with something unseen.
Syl glanced at Noah from the corner of her eye. He'd been quiet ever since breakfast. Quieter than usual. His gaze stayed low, his shoulders a little more hunched than normal.
She didn't say anything.
They had only just turned into a winding corridor when the shadows ahead began to shift.
The air stilled.
Syl slowed instinctively, hand brushing the hilt of her saber. Beside her, Noah's shoulders tensed. Then it came—a low hiss from the walls. The stone cracked open like breathing lungs, and creatures crawled out from the seams.
Six of them. The same from the day before.
Twisted, lean, and fast—like rats made of shadow and bone, with eyes that glowed faint violet.
Noah moved first, silent and sharp. Light gathered around him, his blade flashing through the first creature with ease. Syl followed his rhythm, slashing through another that lunged from the side.
But then Syl saw it.
Noah stopped moving.
His stance was off — too loose, too still. His grip on the sword had faltered, just enough that the tip dipped slightly.
His eyes weren't on the enemy.
They weren't on anything in front of him.
They were distant. Unfocused. Like he wasn't seeing the labyrinth at all anymore.
Syl's brow furrowed. The shadows were shifting again — another creature lunging.
And Noah wasn't reacting.
His jaw was tight, but his expression was blank. Hollow. Like something inside had been pulled away — not fear, not hesitation, just… gone.
Like a door had closed behind his eyes.
Syl's pulse jumped.
"Noah!"
She didn't think—just moved. Her hand grabbed his sleeve and yanked him backward. The creature's claws swiped through the space where his chest had been a second before.
She stepped forward, her saber flaring as she brought it down in a clean arc, severing the beast with one smooth strike. It dissolved into mist.
She turned back to him. He'd stumbled, one knee on the ground.
"You okay?" Her voice was quiet but breathless. She held his shoulder gently, eyes searching his. "You froze."
Noah blinked. He looked at her as if he hadn't seen her until now.
"I… sorry. I was just—thinking."
She didn't push. Just helped him to his feet, letting her hand linger for a second longer than she needed to.
But before he could say anything else, a soft sound filled the air.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Syl's head snapped up. Her pupils dilated.
"No…"
A pale drop struck the ground with a faint sizzle.
Noah glanced up. "Rain? That's possible in here?"
Another drop landed near his boot, hissing faintly against the stone. He didn't flinch—until Syl grabbed his wrist with both hands.
Her grip was tight. Urgent. Not polished or polite.
"Come with me," she said, already pulling him.
"What—"
"Please."
He didn't resist. They ran.
She dragged him around the next bend, ducking into a narrow crevice in the wall barely wide enough for two people. They squeezed inside, stone pressing close. Their knees almost touching.
Noah tried to steady his breath.
"Alright," he said. "What was that? What's going on?"
Syl reached down and picked up a thin, dry root near her feet. She stretched it out past the stone shelter, letting a few drops hit it.
Then she pulled it back in.
A second later, angry red welts started to bloom across the bark—like burns. The root sagged slightly.
"This isn't water," she said quietly. "It's essence rain. The concentration of raw magic in this space is too dense. When that much essence condenses, it falls. And if it hits your skin… it burns. Not like fire. It scorches your core. Makes your link to magic unstable. And your body too."
Noah stared at the stick. His voice lowered.
"Would it kill someone?"
"No," she whispered. "Not immediately. But it hurts. And if it gets in your eyes, or lungs… it could do damage we don't know how to reverse."
He looked at her again, noticing the way her hands still trembled slightly, even as she tried to seem composed.
"You've seen this before."
She nodded. "Once. A long time ago. We just need to wait it stops."
Their breaths mingled in the narrow space. The essence rain continued to fall beyond the stone walls, a soft shimmering mist just inches away.
Their knees touched in the cramped fissure. Breath mingled. Neither of them said anything at first, just listened to the hiss of essence rain outside—drops hitting the stone like acid kisses.
Syl finally broke the silence.
"You froze," she said gently. "Back there. In the fight."
Noah didn't answer at first. His gaze was fixed just over her shoulder, distant again. Then he blinked and shifted slightly, like the words had to be dragged out from somewhere deeper than his chest.
"I haven't thought about her in months," he said, voice low.
Syl tilted her head.
"My grandmother," he added. "She raised me after my mom… left. One year ago, she passed. This morning—when I made soup, the smell, I don't know—it reminded me of her. Then we fought, and that thing… it moved like something else, I don't even know what. But I hesitated. And I shouldn't have."
He looked at his hands, clenched them, then looked away again.
"She used to tell me not to get into fights or cause trouble… 'No soup for troublemakers.' and I believed her."
A brief smile flickered on his face, then faded.
Syl gave a faint smile, but didn't laugh. The way he said it — too sincere, too raw.
"She sounds like someone kind."
"She was," he said. "And strong. Smarter than anyone I've ever met. But after she died… I didn't have time to grieve. My master—she trained me nonstop for a year. Said pain is fuel. That if I wanted to pass the Academy test, I had to give everything. So I did. I stopped thinking. Stopped remembering."
His voice faltered. "Today was the first time I let myself remember. I'm sorry. It won't happen again—I won't be a liability in a fight."
Syl didn't speak for a moment.
Then, slowly, she reached forward and touched his hand.
"You don't have to apologize for missing someone."
He didn't pull away, but he didn't speak either.
"You still came back to your senses. That's what matters."
He looked up, their eyes meeting again.
For once, he didn't seem guarded. Just tired, and maybe… seen.
"Thanks," he said, voice quieter.
Syl pulled her hand back, folding it in her lap. "I'm just glad you're okay."
They stayed like that for a few more minutes, the glow of the essence rain illuminating their faces softly, until the last drop finally fell.
Syl dared a longer look at him.
You saved me once when I was lost. If you're the one who's lost now… then maybe it's my turn to guide you back.
But all she said was, "Thanks for trusting me."
Noah met her eyes.
And for a moment, he didn't look like someone made of shadows and silence.
He just looked… tired.