The training yard was quieter than usual. No clanging of weapons, no barking of orders — just the faint rustle of leaves overhead and the soft crunch of boots as five trainees followed Vaelen across the damp grass.
They stopped beside the old fountain at the edge of the yard. The water trickled lazily, catching the sunlight in flashes of silver. Vaelen turned, cloak swaying as he faced them.
"Today," he said, "we work on attunement."
Riken crossed his arms. "Attune to what? More running? Because I'm already attuned to hating that."
Vaelen's brow twitched. "Magic, Riken. If you'd spent half as much energy listening as you do talking, you'd already be halfway there."
Vell smirked. The two nobles — Arlen and Cerys — stood a step apart from the rest, as if proximity alone could stain their family names. Liora stayed silent, watching Vaelen's hands as he gestured toward the fountain.
"Magic is more than a tool," he continued. "It's a part of you, whether you like it or not. You cannot master what you cannot hear. Today, we start with the sound of it."
"The sound?" Arlen frowned. "Magic doesn't… make sound. Not unless you're blowing something up."
"That's the difference between using it and knowing it," Vaelen said. "When your attunement is shallow, magic feels like heat, pressure, or nothing at all. But deep enough, and you'll sense it like music under the skin. Not everyone hears it the same — some describe it as a hum, some as a whisper, others like the low thrum of a drumbeat. Your task is to find your own note."
Cerys raised an eyebrow. "And how do we do that?"
"By listening." Vaelen's tone made it sound like the simplest thing in the world. "Close your eyes. Breathe slow. Think of it like humming constantly until you can hear it in your head, even when you stop."
They obeyed — mostly. Riken closed his eyes but crossed his arms tighter, like he was bracing for a punch. Vell leaned on one leg, looking as if he might nod off. Liora sat cross-legged on the grass, tail curled around her ankles, the faint shimmer of sunlight catching on the scales trailing down from her eyes.
Vaelen's voice lowered. "Your magic is already there. You've been carrying it since the day you were born. Stop chasing it like prey. Let it come to you."
The fountain's trickle filled the silence.
For a while, nothing happened. Arlen fidgeted. Cerys adjusted her gloves. Riken sighed dramatically.
"Problem?" Vaelen asked without opening his eyes.
"Feels like you're asking me to listen for ghosts," Riken muttered.
"Then start believing in them," Vaelen said simply.
Liora tried to follow the instruction, focusing inward. The sound of her breathing grew louder in her own ears, then softened again. Beneath it, she thought she caught something faint — not a hum, not quite — more like the deep resonance of waves against stone, far away. It vanished when her thoughts tried to chase it.
Vaelen moved among them like a shadow, pausing behind each one. "Don't force it. The harder you grip, the more it slips."
Vell chuckled under his breath. "Like sand."
"Like patience," Vaelen corrected. "Which you still lack."
Minutes stretched. The breeze stirred the leaves. Somewhere across the yard, another squad shouted through drills. Here, the quiet held.
Then Cerys' brow furrowed. "I think… I hear something."
"What is it?" Vaelen asked.
"A string being plucked, just once, over and over. Slow. Faint."
Vaelen nodded once. "That's a start. Hold onto it."
Arlen exhaled sharply. "Nothing. Just my own heartbeat."
"That's something too," Vaelen said. "Every rhythm is a door. You just haven't stepped through yet."
Riken cracked one eye open. "And if all I hear is how bored I am?"
"Then you'll be my first example of how not to graduate," Vaelen replied dryly.
Liora lowered her head again, letting her shoulders relax. She imagined the hum Vaelen spoke of, not searching for it but letting the thought settle in her chest. Slowly, faintly, the deep sound returned — the slow crash of waves, the hollow echo of water against unseen cliffs. This time, she didn't chase it. She let it wash over her, and it lingered.
Vaelen's voice came from somewhere behind her. "Good. Keep it there. You'll know you've truly found it when you can hold it while walking, talking, or even fighting."
The exercise lasted longer than they expected. When Vaelen finally told them to open their eyes, the sunlight had shifted, shadows stretching long across the grass.
"Most of you," Vaelen said, "are at the first step — catching a glimpse of the note. The next step is carrying it with you. Do this every day until you can't make it stop. Only then will we move forward."
He gestured toward the barracks. "Go. And remember: the sound you find is yours alone. Guard it."
The group began to disperse, but of course, Riken couldn't resist. "So, if my magic sounds like nails on a chalkboard, does that mean I'm destined for greatness?"
"Destined for something," Vell said, smirking.
Liora walked beside them, silent but thoughtful, the echo of waves still faint in her mind.
The mess hall smelled faintly of bread and stew — which, to Riken, was as much a comfort as it was a warning. Comfort because food was food. Warning because anything in a pot too long in the Tarkin trainee kitchens had an equal chance of being edible or some kind of culinary trap.
He dropped his tray on the table with a loud thunk, sliding into his usual seat opposite Vell and Liora. The two nobles sat further down, which suited him fine. Less chance of Arlen pretending not to hear him.
"So," he began, stabbing a chunk of questionable meat with his fork, "what's everyone's magic sound? I'm taking bets on who's got the weirdest one."
Vell smirked. "What if it's you?"
"Not possible," Riken said with confidence. "I'm aiming for something epic. Like the roar of a lion. Or thunder. Or…" He paused dramatically. "The crack of a hundred soldiers saluting me at once."
"That last one's just you daydreaming," Vell replied.
Liora didn't look up from her bowl. "What if it's not supposed to be epic? Vaelen said it's personal."
"Personal can still be epic," Riken argued. "I mean, imagine training your whole life, and the sound of your magic ends up being… I don't know… squeaky hinges. You'd never recover from that."
From further down the table, Cerys spoke without looking at him. "I heard a string being plucked. Slow, steady. It's better than squeaky hinges."
"Better than whatever Arlen got, I bet."
Arlen's head lifted, his voice cool. "Heartbeat. And that's all you're getting."
"Boring," Riken said. "You should've gone with something like a dragon's roar. Or better yet, my roar."
Vell chuckled. "Your roar would probably sound like a goat."
"It would not," Riken said, jabbing his fork at him. "Besides, Vaelen basically said we'll hear it more clearly the more we train. So, by the time I'm done, mine's going to be—"
"Loud enough for everyone to hear it without trying?" Vell interrupted.
"Exactly." Riken grinned. "I'll make it so intimidating the monster out there in the Glades will die from fear alone."
Liora's eyes flicked toward him at that, something unreadable in her expression. "You think that's how magic works?"
"Pretty sure it is. And if it's not…" He leaned back in his chair, grinning wider. "I'll make it work that way."
The conversation drifted after that, but Riken noticed something — even with all the teasing, nobody outright said they'd failed the exercise. Maybe that was the trick of it. Vaelen had planted the seed, and now they'd all be listening for their magic whether they admitted it or not.
Riken decided his would be the loudest. Whatever it took.