The sound of wood striking wood echoed through the open courtyard, each clash sending a sharp vibration up Noah's arms. Sweat ran in thin trails down his face, the burn in his muscles urging him to stop, but he refused to slow his footwork.
Flamehope moved like the wind — swift, controlled, and merciless. Her wooden practice blade came in from the left, then the right, forcing Noah to pivot and guard. She didn't pull her strikes; each one carried the weight of someone who expected more than just endurance.
"Better," she said between blows, her voice even despite the pace. "Your guard's tighter. Feet—"
Noah caught the next swing with a twist of his wrist, letting the momentum carry him into a counter. The tip of his blade stopped just shy of her ribs.
Flamehope lowered her blade, catching her breath only slightly. "After six months of training, I think you're finally ready to move past just steel and muscle."
A deep, rasping voice intruded into her mind, old and certain.
Hey, kido. The boy's ready to practice elemental manipulation. Don't you think?
Her jaw tightened.
I know that, fire pigeon. You don't need to remind me ten times a day. I'm just testing him a little more—
A fissure of flame cracked open in the air beside her temple, and with a flash of embers, a large phoenix squeezed through. Its wings spread wide, easily broad as a grown man's arms, its frame closer in size to a vulture than a songbird. Feathers smoldered like burning coals, heat shimmering faintly around them. Despite its size, the creature perched lightly on her shoulder, as though its weight didn't exist at all. The wings flared once in silent command, and it tilted its head with the casual arrogance of something that believed it owned the world.
*You're holding him back.*The fire bird continued, puffing his chest.Coddling him, slowing his evolution. And I am not a pigeon of fire—
Flamehope smirked, though her voice was sharp.
And I am not a kido anymore, am I?
There was a beat of silence before the phoenix chuckled, smug.
Fair. You're not a child anymore. Sometimes I forget... you already have white hair—
Her hand shot up, fingers clamping around his beak. Noah blinked, frozen where he stood, watching as she began to shake the huge bird back and forth, his ember-feathers scattering faint sparks in protest.
Wh-what did you just say?
she demanded, her voice low, dangerous.
The bird's eyes went wide, wings flailing.
That you've grown into a beautiful woman!
he squawked telepathically, muffled through her grip.
She let go with a huff, rolling her eyes as the bird staggered on her shoulder, bobbing his head furiously to regain balance.
Turning back to Noah, who was still staring open-mouthed at the scene, Flamehope sighed. "Right. I never introduced you two, did I? This is Pyro, my Link. He's a phoenix — though his ego is far too inflated for what's basically an oversized flame pigeon."
Pyro's wings shot out indignantly, sparks dancing from his feathers.
"Now, ignore him," she continued with a dismissive flick of her hand.
Pyro dipped his head in a slow, deliberate nod toward Noah. Caught off guard, Noah hesitated before returning the gesture, a quiet acknowledgment passing between them.
Flamehope folded her arms, her gaze sliding toward the phoenix. "You should stretch those wings, you know. It's been months since you left my Soul Heart. You're starting to look like a domesticated cat — all that's missing is the purring."
A flicker of heat answered her words. Pyro let a single ember drop onto the side of her neck, just hot enough to sting but not harm. Flamehope flinched, her hand shooting up to grab at him, but the phoenix launched himself skyward in a flare of wings and sparks.
"You arrogant pigeon," she called after him, her voice sharp but not without fondness. "One of these days you'll have to come back, and when you do, I'm dunking you in a bucket of cold water."
Noah tried, and failed, to smother a laugh.
"You two seem... close," he said carefully.
Even after her mock threat toward Pyro, Flamehope's face softened, her answer precise, steady. "Yes. I've been linked to him since I was twenty. If it weren't for Pyro, I wouldn't be here now. He may be an insufferable, arrogant bird, but he's also my best friend."
Then, with a small shake of her head, she refocused on Noah. "Enough chatter. It's time to test your elemental essence."
Noah let out a breath, straightening. "Elemental essence?"
Flamehope nodded, tossing her practice blade aside. "Every living thing has an elemental affinity — one that flows more strongly than the rest. That's your main essence. Most people have one. Rarely, two. The rest? They're just whispers in your soul, too faint to matter."
She tilted her head toward the treeline. "Come on. We're not testing you here."
They crossed the yard and stepped into the forest beyond, the air cooling as the canopy closed overhead. The path wound between gnarled roots and mossy stones, their boots muffled by the damp earth. Noah glanced at her after a few minutes.
"Where exactly are we going?"
"You'll see," she said, and nodded toward a break in the trees ahead.
The forest opened into a wide, circular clearing. At its center lay a massive stone platform, weathered and cracked, its surface veined with moss and scattered leaves. Six statues stood upon it, each the height of a man, draped in vines and branches that had slowly claimed them over the years.
Noah walked to the first. At its base, partially hidden beneath a coil of ivy, was a curling swirl carved deep into the stone, the lines catching the light in a pale green hue. It seemed to hum faintly under his fingers — Wind.
He moved to the next, brushing aside a thin branch to see the mark more clearly: a smooth, flowing wave etched in perfect arcs, its grooves darkened to a deep blue. Water.
The third statue bore a jagged flame, sharp and uneven, the stone itself stained in places with a faint bright red tint, as if the symbol had been seared there long ago. Fire.
The fourth had a grounded sigil, solid lines crossing in a balanced, steady pattern. Tiny flecks of natural mineral caught the light in its rich brown grooves. Earth.
The fifth stood a little straighter than the others, the base holding a radiant sunburst, every ray cut with perfect symmetry. Even dulled by age, its white-gold shimmer was unmistakable. Light.
Noah stepped toward the last one — and stopped. The statue was broken, its torso gone, only the legs and part of the base remaining. Where a symbol should have been, the stone was gouged and defaced, deep scars cutting across whatever mark once existed.
He glanced at Flamehope. "What happened to this one?"
"That," she said flatly, "was the work of some idiot who lived here long before my time. Ignore it. We'll use the others."
"Now, go back to the first statue and just place your hand slowly at the center of each one, and that way I'll be able to see which one you have an aptitude for."
He pressed his palm against the crest. To him, the stone was cool, silent, unremarkable. Behind him, however, the mossy floor awoke, a vein of green light surging from the statue's base to the center of the platform. Wind stirred in sudden currents, circling the space before dying away.
"Oh, good," Flamehope began, "you have aptitude for Win—"
But Noah had already wandered to the second statue.
His hand brushed the mark, and once more, unseen by him, the floor answered. Blue light coursed to the circle, ripples spreading outward as though water had flooded the stone itself before vanishing without a trace.
The third ignited crimson, flames bursting in a perfect ring at the center — no heat, only brilliance — and then gone in a blink.
The fourth answered in brown light, the ground rumbling beneath Flamehope's feet as jagged stone spears broke upward and crumbled to dust.
And the last, white fire blazed across the carvings, flooding the circle with blinding radiance before sinking back into the cracks as though nothing had happened.
Noah stopped, glancing over his shoulder at Flamehope. "So... do I have affinity with any of these?"
The center was empty now — no light, no fire, no wind, earth or water. Only the quiet stone. Flamehope stood watching him, her expression unreadable, though there was a sharpness in her eyes he couldn't miss.
"You could say that," she said at last, voice low.
Noah looked at her and the statue. "I—uh... did I break it?"
She stepped closer, her face pale, though her eyes burned with something deeper. "No. You didn't break it. You have aptitude for all five essences. Wind. Water. Fire. Earth. Light." She let the words sink in. "That's... dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
Flamehope crossed her arms. "There's a reason most people can only channel one. Our bodies can't handle the strain of multiple elemental flows. Even two can rip a person apart from the inside. But you... you're wired differently. I don't know why, and for now, I don't care. What I do care about is keeping you alive."
She looked at him, her tone edged with warning. "I'll teach you a technique — one that will let you channel all five at once. But only for seconds, Noah. Seconds. No more than that, or you'll burn yourself out."
Noah swallowed, quiet excitement threading through his chest. "Got it."
———-
Noah awoke from the dream and the first thing he felt was the cold press of wood against his cheek. The second was the slow, heavy throb running through every muscle, as if someone had replaced his blood with molten lead.
Noah's eyes snapped open, the echo of Flamehope's voice still ringing in his head. He let out a slow groan, pressing a hand to his temple.
"I know, I know... no need to remind me, Master..." he muttered to himself. "I already get it..."
The floor was unforgiving beneath him — polished dark oak, smooth yet uncomfortably solid against his ribs. He'd fallen asleep here after the labyrinth, too tired to even make it to the bed a few steps away. Now, his neck ached from the odd angle, and his right arm tingled with that prickling numbness that meant he'd been lying on it far too long.
He rolled onto his back with a grunt, staring up at the marble beams overhead. The movement sent a ripple of protest through his torso, especially the right side, where the ache deepened into something sharper. He stayed there for a moment, breathing slowly, waiting for the worst of it to pass before finally pushing himself upright.
Every joint felt rusted. He pressed a hand to his side and stood, careful to keep his balance. Bracing himself against the furniture and the walls, he opened the bedroom door and, in slow, short steps, crossed the narrow hallway. With some effort, he managed to open the bathroom door directly ahead.
The moment he stepped inside, the faint scent of pine and something clean — almost herbal — met him. Light spilled through a narrow window.
As he lifted his shirt, the mirror above the basin reflected a pale, tired version of himself: hair mussed, dark circles beneath his eyes... and the faint outline of deep bruises blooming across his abdomen and ribs.
"Great," he muttered under his breath.
Stripping down was slow work, each lift of an arm or bend at the waist reminding him just how much the quintessence technique had cost him. When the first rush of warm water hit his skin, it was a shock — soothing over his shoulders, but biting where it cascaded across the darker patches on his torso. He hissed softly, bracing one hand against the tiled wall until the sting dulled. Even so, it was better than the grime and ache settling deeper into his muscles.
By the time he stepped out, the mirror had fogged over entirely. He wiped a circle in the glass with the side of his hand, taking one last look at the mottled bruises before pulling on a fresh shirt and heading back out.
Noah walked down the hallway until he crossed the boundary of his side of the house. Looking to the right, he noticed the cabin's living room seemed larger than he remembered the night before. Syl was already awake, moving around the main room with quiet efficiency. She was gathering and straightening papers on the small table, rearranging the few items they'd brought back from the labyrinth. At the sound of his footsteps, she glanced up.
"Morning," she greeted, her tone calm but with a trace of something softer in her eyes. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like a rock. On a rock," he replied, crossing toward the kitchen area. "Today I'm making something with more substance for our post-trial night. What do you think?"
Syl answered with a small smile. "I'll leave it in the chef's hands."
He pulled open a metal compartment set into the counter, the faint hum of a cooling sigil meeting his ears. A faint blue rune pulsed on the inside of the door, keeping the contents chilled. Inside, neatly arranged, was a small stock of fresh produce and cuts of meat — ingredients he didn't even recognize.
"Director dropped those off earlier," Syl said, nodding toward the compartment. "She said we'll get stocked like this for the first month. After that, we'll have to gather from the forest near the mountain base. There are portals for students to make the trip, so it won't be too bad. But for now... we might as well enjoy the convenience."
He gave a short laugh, but it was cut off when his hand instinctively pressed against his side. Syl's brow furrowed.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm—"
Don't lie, Noah. You know it's worse if you do.
He exhaled. "Not exactly. I didn't lie in the labyrinth — I wasn't hurt on the outside. But I didn't tell you what happens if I push that technique too long. Letting all five essences flow at once... it leaves me like this. I said I wouldn't lie to you, so I won't."
She stepped toward him without hesitation. He half-expected a jab to the shoulder or some scolding remark, but instead her voice was calm — almost sharp in its focus.
"Lift your shirt."
"What—?"
Her eyes narrowed just enough to make him sigh. He complied, pulling the fabric up to reveal the damage: a patchwork of bruises across his ribs and stomach, each one dark and ugly, as though a pack of Grimfangs had used him for target practice.
Her hand came up, cool fingertips brushing the edge of the worst mark — and then the coolness deepened. A faint ripple of water essence spread from her palm, sinking into his skin. The chill dulled the ache almost instantly.
His eyes widened. "You can use two elements? I thought—"
"Sorry," she said quietly, gaze still on her work. "I didn't get the chance to tell you since the labyrinth. Yes, I can use water — but only for basic healing. Compared to what you told me about the five essences, it didn't seem as... serious. So, I'll forgive you this time for not warning me about the cost of your stunt."
The glow beneath her palm faded, and the worst of the bruises lightened, the pain easing from unbearable to something a night's rest could handle.
"Thanks, partner," he murmured, giving her hair a small, absentminded ruffle. She kept her head slightly lowered, only nodding as he stepped past her. "Now, thanks to you, I can make a proper breakfast. And our honored guest and hero," he added with a faint smile, "can wait on the sofa."
She turned away toward the couch, but halfway there, her gaze flicked to the hand she'd just pressed against his bare skin. Her heartbeat kicked up — too fast, too warm.
The feeling she'd promised herself to keep locked away the night before was slipping through the cracks.
It's fine, Syl. You just helped him because he was hurt. Nothing more.
Still, as she sat down, her hand drifted in the air, mimicking the healing motion she had once drawn across his battered ribs and stomach.
When Noah glanced over his shoulder, she quickly tucked her head down between her knees, cheeks flushed crimson.
He shrugged and went back to the counter, humming under his breath as he set about breakfast.
The air filled with the warm scent of seared fish — its skin lightly blistered, carrying a faint smokiness — mingling with the gentle fragrance of freshly steamed grains. From the couch, Syl sat with her knees drawn tight against her chest, lost in thought, until the aroma reached her. It was rich, inviting, and impossible to ignore. Her stomach growled — loud enough to break the stillness — and she lifted her head, cheeks faintly warm, to see Noah at the table by the window.
There, a small plate held folds of soft eggs, tender yet springy, seasoned with a hint of herbs and just enough salt to bring out their natural sweetness. Beside them sat a bowl of clear, pale broth, its warmth carrying the earthy depth of simmered roots.
Thin slices of pickled vegetables, their colors bright against the muted wood, offered a crisp, refreshing bite to balance the richer dishes. Each portion was arranged with quiet precision, as though every placement had been chosen with care.
The morning light caught on the smooth edges of the porcelain, turning the setting into something closer to a quiet ceremony than an ordinary meal.
Noah set the last plate down on the table by the window, the sunlight spilling across the neatly arranged breakfast. He gestured toward the seat opposite him.
"For my brave heroine," he said with a small grin. "Hope you like it."
Syl slid into her chair without ceremony, picking up her fork and knife without the stiffness of formal dinners. Here, with him, she didn't feel the need for that. She took a bite, chewing slowly, and the faintest curve tugged at her lips.
"So?" he asked, leaning forward a little.
"It's incredible," she admitted, her eyes flicking to him. "Did your master teach you this too?"
Noah let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. "My master could barely cook for herself. It was my grandmother. She used to say a husband should know how to handle every chore, because marriage isn't one-sided. Even the smallest tasks matter in the long run. And, most of all, she'd remind me: your wife won't be your servant — she'll be your partner. So you share everything, the bad and the good. You help each other."
His voice softened, almost to himself. "Not that I've ever had time to think about marriage... but she was right. She always was."
Relieved, he gave a small nod. "Glad to know you liked it. Ah... did you sleep well?"
The question caught her mid-bite, and he noticed the subtle shift — the lightness fading from her expression. She set the fork down gently.
"Not really." Her gaze drifted to the small window. "I had... a nightmare. The same one I've had since I was a child." She glanced at him briefly, then back to her plate. "It's nothing serious. You don't have to worry."
Her words were light, but the way her fingers lingered against the fork betrayed otherwise.
He studied her for a moment, the concern still clear in his eyes. But he didn't press. Instead, he offered her a small, reassuring smile.
"All right. Whenever you feel ready to talk about it... I'll be here."
Her gaze lingered on him just long enough to show she'd heard him — really heard him. Then, as she turned back to her meal, a subtle shift in her posture betrayed the smallest release of tension in her shoulders, as if his words had lifted a weight she hadn't realized she was carrying. The quiet clink of silverware against porcelain filled the space between them, steady and calm once more.
After a few hours, they left the lodge and Syl opened the map the Headmistress had handed her earlier that morning. The paper was neatly folded, its inked lines tracing paths through the sprawling grounds of the Academy.
They first turned left as soon as they passed the low fence marking the end of the front garden. The dirt path ran parallel to the lake — And now, with daylight spilling over it, tiny creatures revealed themselves — floating and darting across the surface, some perching briefly before taking flight again.
Noah's gaze swept over the vast stretch of water, until his eyes caught the glimmer of a small waterfall in the distance where the lake spilled over its edge. Only then did he remember — all of this sat atop a mountain. The view was breathtaking, almost unreal in its beauty, but the thought of just how high they were from the mountain's base sent a faint shiver crawling up his spine.
He noticed Syl slowing her pace, pointing toward a narrow passage framed by arching trees. "There. We just follow that way."
Noah narrowed his eyes, glancing from the map to the shadowed path. "You sure?"
"I may be hopeless with directions," she replied without missing a beat, "but give me a map, and I'll get exactly where I need to go."
They walked through the corridor of trees, the branches arching overhead and weaving a canopy of shifting light and shadow. Step by step, the narrow passage began to widen, the dense foliage giving way until the path finally opened into a vast garden.
Behind the platform, standing solitary against the open sky, rose a single stone arch draped in flowers. Each branch seemed chosen with intention, reflecting the five essences: golden-white petals that gleamed like tiny rays of sunlight; deep browns that carried the strength of earth; bright crimson, alive as freshly lit embers; fresh greens, like leaves stirred by the wind; and vivid blues, mirroring the stillness of a dawn-lit lake.
Beyond the arch, the view unfurled into an open abyss, the altitude making it clear they were suspended between earth and sky. The valley stretched in layers of mist and shadow, reinforcing the grandeur of the scene — as though the entire garden had been raised at the very edge of the world.
Noah broke the silence, glancing around as he asked Syl, "Are all these students the ones who passed that labyrinth?"
Syl, who had been admiring the view beyond the stone arch, stopped and looked around.
Dozens of students were gathered, all of them looking just as tired as they were. Wooden benches wide enough for five people were each occupied by only two; it seemed everyone had stuck with their initial partner, but nothing beyond that. Even among so many students, it was easy to notice how many pairs had chosen to sit farther away — on the grass or leaning against trees. The light atmosphere the morning had suggested until then felt heavy now, thick with cautious glances and subtle, sidelong looks.
Syl turned to Noah, a faint frown on her brow. "Without a doubt, this pressure... this constant need to stay alert — it reminds me of the labyrinth."
Noah nodded in agreement, and together they sat on the grass near a tree, a little behind the rows of benches.
"Aren't you nervous?" he asked her.
She shook her head lightly. "Not anymore. Yesterday, after witnessing the Headmistress's Link, it became clear to me that if there's any place safe for us, it's here in the academy. And she made it very clear that physical conflicts inside the accommodations are monitored by sigils. So it feels a little irrational to be this suspicious of everything around us."
Noah gave a small smile, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "That you're far more intelligent than me was already obvious, but I find it admirable how maturely you read and adapt to different environments, so quickly and precisely. Just like you did when we first entered the labyrinth. Truly... I got the best partner I could've asked for."
He leaned back slowly against the tree, lifting his gaze upward. "Come on, miss, join me. Let's enjoy this beautiful sky while the Headmistress hasn't shown up yet..."
Syl joined him, a faint blush rising on her ears at his sudden praise, and mirrored his posture, gazing up at the clear sky where birds drifted lazily in the distance.
"Thank you, Noah. People often say I'm cold and calculating... but the way you speak makes me think my intelligence isn't only a weight, or a skill meant to be used for strategy."
Noah's voice softened as he replied, "You don't even need to mention it, Syl. You're not Princess Syl to me. You're my friend — and that's what friends do. And I'll make sure to remind you of that, always."
He sighed, his body relaxing as his eyes stayed fixed on the sky above. "How can it be so beautiful up here? I don't think I've ever seen anything this stunning before..."
Syl's gaze shifted sideways, drawn to his face. His expression was calm, delicate, the soft waves of his hair moving with the breeze, and his blue eyes glowing faintly as if they were reflecting the sky itself. With a small smile, her heart stumbling in her chest, she whispered.
"Truly... I've never seen anything this beautiful before."