Thrum. Thrum.
Ash inhaled sharply.
Inside him, Recursion had awakened—evolved to its next state: Ascension of Pattern. No longer just reactive, it had become intuitive.
His muscles, sore moments ago, now felt rejuvenated. His breath calmed. His vision sharpened.
In his deep blue eyes, something new had taken root — delicate lines etched across his sight, like invisible threads waiting to be plucked.
SHK!
He gripped his steel practice sword.
With a single step, he fell into form — smooth, decisive. The sword felt weightless. His stance flowed like water. He began to strike the patterns he now saw — those threads of movement that called to him like whispers of perfected swordsmanship.
Each one sliced — SHFF — and vanished. But from it he gained the mastery behind the moves in an instant.
Years of struggle dissolved.
Now, every breath, every pivot, every slash was second nature.
From the yard's edge, Selene Dorne watched with silent awe.
"Impossible," she muttered, brows furrowed. "He's moving like he's practiced for a century. Just yesterday he was nowhere near this point…"
She blinked once — then reached into her robes and withdrew a silver medallion, etched with the Neyru sigil.
She called out firmly.
"Bring Toron."
A moment later, a boy around Ash's age stepped into the yard.
He wore simple dark robes and carried a steel practice blade. His presence was steady, calm — unusually refined for someone so young.
His short black hair swayed as he stopped before Selene.
"You called for me?" he asked, voice even.
"You know why?" Selene asked the boy to which he nodded.
"To test myself. To learn."
"And to test him," she added. "Sharpening steel needs another blade."
Toron nodded once, then turned toward the training field.
"Ash," Selene called. "This is Toron Blax, from the Blax Clan of the Northern Continent."
Ash blinked. The moment her voice reached him, the patterns flickered and disappeared. He turned, steel still in hand.
Toron stopped beside Selene and offered a small nod. "Let's have a clean match."
Ash studied him briefly, then nodded back.
"Alright. I don't mind a good spar."
"Ready?" Toron asked, taking stance.
"Always."
They bowed.
Then—
CLANG!
Steel collided with steel. Sparks flew. The air shimmered with pressure.
They moved like whirlwinds — fast, fierce, fluid.
Toron's movements were precise, economical. Ash's footwork adapted mid-motion, correcting flaws before they could settle.
Recursion pulsed.
Lines of precision began to reappear in Ash's vision — faint, pulsing — and as he struck at each one, his form improved again.
It was no longer just analysis. It was perfection in motion.
Meanwhile, Toron fought as if guided by some unseen rhythm. He didn't mimic textbook forms — he breathed them.
"You're fast," Toron said mid-strike, breath sharp.
"So are you," Ash replied, their swords locking. "Where'd you learn that drift step?"
Toron smirked as he pivoted and slid under Ash's guard.
"No idea. Just feels natural."
CLANG! SWOOSH! THWACK!
Their blades became extensions of thought — their duel, a conversation through steel.
Each pass built trust. Every strike built understanding.
When they finally broke, both stood tall, panting, sweat on their brows — but smiling.
"That was more than I expected," Toron said, pushing wet bangs from his forehead.
"I'm lucky to have sparred you," Ash replied. "That didn't feel like training… more like becoming."
They shared a quick laugh.
A bond formed — simple, powerful.
From the sideline, Selene watched with a rare smile.
"These two… Hmph. No need to guess anymore. We'll find out everything in two years."
After a brief rest, the two boys took up their swords again. No prompting needed.
Swords clashed. Shadows danced.
And in the heart of the Neyru Empire, two prodigies began walking paths that would one day shake galaxies.