The road west of Lavandia wound like a lazy river, climbing hills shaggy with grass and bending through groves where the wind whispered in the trees. The sea still lingered to the right, its voice steady, its surface cut with the shadows of gulls. Morning sunlight spilled gold on the stone path, and two figures moved along it at mismatched paces.
Leona strode like she owned the road, coat swinging with each step, boots striking a rhythm. Every so often she twirled a bracelet around her wrist just to hear it chime.
Sight walked beside her, longer stride, quieter. His scarf fluttered in the wind like a second breath. He didn't rush, didn't drag. Just… moved.
Leona: You always walk like you're late for something. Relax. Roads don't go anywhere. They just lie here waiting for us to pick a direction.
Sight: …If you walk slow, it takes longer.
Leona: Exactly! More time to enjoy the scenery. More time for drinks if we find a tavern. More time for—
[She eyed him up and down with a grin.]
—rookies to stop looking like runaway soldiers.
Sight: I'm not a soldier.
Leona: Sure. And I'm not gorgeous. We all lie a little, rookie.
Sight: …You're impossible.
Leona (grinning): Flattery accepted.
By midday, the sun rode high. They found shade beneath a crooked oak where the grass had grown long and the earth was cool. Leona shrugged off her coat, dropping it like a blanket, and stretched with a cat's lazy grace.
Leona: Break time. And since I'm generous, free lesson included. You fight like a tidal wave, rookie. Pretty to watch, messy to survive. Let's fix that.
Sight (raising an eyebrow): Fix… what?
Leona: Your stance. Your balance. Your… everything. If you keep fighting like a storm, you'll burn yourself out before the enemy does.
She stood, boots digging into the dirt, and raised her fists in a stance Sight recognized from the alley—the same one that had launched a man into the sea.
Leona: This is Lightning Tiger's root stance. Feet here, weight here. Breath low, not high. Try.
Sight mirrored her, his body naturally disciplined. He set his legs, squared his shoulders.
Leona (nodding): Not bad. You've got good instincts. But you're too stiff. You need to flow.
She stepped forward, nudged his ankle with her boot.
Leona: Closer. If someone sweeps your leg, you don't want to topple like a tree. Think reed. Think water that bends but doesn't break.
Sight adjusted, jaw tight.
Leona: Good. Now—breathe. In on guard. Out on strike.
He inhaled, exhaled, and the grass stirred faintly around him.
Leona: Better. Now let's play with your water.
Sight (frowning): You want me to use it here?
Leona: Yes, here. No one's watching except the bugs, and if they talk, I'll fry them.
She winked, then tapped his wrist.
Leona: When you call water, you spread it everywhere. Sheets, floods, big waves. Looks dramatic. But lightning loves waves. You need threads, not oceans. Braid it. Make it tight, fine. Like strands of hair.
Sight: …I've never braided hair.
Leona (smirking): Good. Less baggage. Just do what I say.
Sight closed his eyes. Moisture stirred—the sweat on his skin, the damp of grass, the faint dew still hiding in the soil. It gathered, not in sheets but in beads, little droplets weaving around his fingers like strings.
Leona (eyes widening): …Hah. Fast learner.
Sight: …It's hard to keep them small.
The droplets trembled, one bursting into a spray that splashed across Leona's coat. She stared at the damp spot, then at him.
Leona (flat): Did you just spit on my coat?
Sight (serious): No.
Leona: …You're lucky you're cute.
She flicked her finger, sending a crackle of lightning to his wrist. He jerked slightly, then glared.
Sight: …That wasn't necessary.
Leona (grinning): It was fun.
They walked again in the afternoon, the road curling through fields where farmers bent over rows of beans. Children chased each other, laughing, while oxen pulled heavy carts creaking with hay. The normalcy sat strangely heavy against the memory of Lavandia's alleys.
But Sight noticed it first—the way shadows shifted on the ridge. Figures too still to be travelers.
Sight (low): We're being watched.
Leona didn't turn her head. She tugged her coat tighter, bracelets chiming once.
Leona: Bandits. Or worse. Don't look nervous, rookie. Makes them excited.
The figures melted into the trees as the pair moved forward. Minutes later, the ambush came.
Steel flashed from the roadside. Six men leapt out, armored with mismatched plates and carrying blades too polished to be ordinary bandit loot. The leader held shackles inscribed with faint runes.
Leona (grimacing): …Steel's pets. They send scraps like this to sniff out bounties.
Bandit Leader: Sight Albar. You come quiet, or you come in pieces. The Steel King pays either way.
Sight's eyes hardened. He stepped forward, fists loose at his sides.
Leona: Don't kill them. Dead rats stink worse than live ones.
They came.
The fight was quick.
Sight ducked under a swinging axe, drove his fist into the ground, and sent a water-thread geyser spiraling up. Instead of exploding outward, the threads coiled tight, wrapping around two men's legs and hurling them aside like rag dolls.
A sword stabbed for his chest. He caught the blade between his palms, twisted, and slammed the flat into its owner's stomach. The man collapsed, gasping.
The bandit leader lunged with his shackles, the runes glowing faintly.
Sight sidestepped, grabbed the chain, and yanked. The leader stumbled forward—and Sight's elbow dropped him to the dirt.
Three more rushed. Leona stepped in, her fists crackling. She didn't unleash her Cannon—just quick, clean jabs. One to the jaw, one to the ribs, one to the gut. They folded neatly.
The survivors staggered back, eyes wide.
Leona (coldly): Run back to your King. Tell him his bounty's a joke.
They fled into the woods.
By nightfall, they had found a small clearing by a stream. A fire flickered between them, smoke trailing into the stars. The fire crackled low, feeding on driftwood Leona had scrounged earlier. Its smoke trailed into the night like a lazy spirit, carrying the smell of salt and pine. Above, the stars pricked holes in the sky, and the sea whispered against distant rocks.
Sight sat cross-legged, scarf loose, turning a strip of dried cuttlefish over in his fingers. He didn't eat it so much as study it, like food was still new enough to surprise him. Across the fire, Leona sprawled on her coat, bracelets jingling softly whenever she shifted. She held a flask in one hand, her boots crossed at the ankles, her yellow eyes half-lidded but sharp.
Leona: You know, rookie, I can't decide if you're lucky or cursed. Most people your age know at least something about the world. You? You look at a road like it's going to tell you its secrets if you stare hard enough.
Sight tore a piece of fish with his teeth and chewed slowly.
Sight: …Because it might.
Leona barked a laugh that startled an owl into silence.
Leona: Alright, philosopher. But since you're apparently a blank scroll, let me give you the basics. World 101. Geography for idiots. Ready?
Sight: Do I have a choice?
Leona: Not unless you want to walk into the wrong kingdom and get tax-collected into paste. So listen up.
She sat up, propped her elbows on her knees, and drew a rough circle in the dirt with her finger. Four lines split it like slices of bread.
Leona: The world's four big continents. Four flavors of crazy. And you just happened to fall on the biggest one.
She tapped the largest slice.
Leona: This is Gaia. Home of the Elementary Masters. People born with elements in their blood — fire, water, stone, air. Some rarer types too. Smoke, metal, sand. If you can name it, someone's probably throwing it at someone else.
Sight nodded faintly, listening.
Leona: The top dog here? The Kingdom of Steel. Militaristic, medieval, loves their shiny boots and their taxes. They don't just use steel, they become it. Soldiers with grafts, beasts with iron jaws. They've got whole labs where they shove Masters into cages and see what breaks first — the body or the soul.
Her tone hardened for just a second, then she waved the thought away.
Leona: Ruled by the Steel King. People don't say his name. They whisper it, like it'll cut their tongues if they say it too loud. He's the one who put that nice little bounty on your head, by the way.
Sight's jaw tightened. The fire popped.
Sight: …Why me?
Leona: That's the million-coin question. But trust me, Steel doesn't waste ink on nobodies. You're special, rookie. Even if you don't know why yet.
She shifted, tapping another slice.
Leona: Next is Héca. Over there, it's all about Mages and Wizards. They don't get power in their veins like Gaia folk. They pull it from tools. Staffs, grimoires, crystals, even enchanted teacups if you're desperate enough. The more knowledge you stack, the stronger you get.
Her bracelets clinked as she mimed flipping through a heavy book.
Leona: Their big shot isn't a king. It's the School of Magic. Not one place, more like a continent-wide university with too many professors and too few rules. They hoard secrets, guard grimoires like they're dragon eggs, and look down on anyone who can't wave a stick and shout in dead languages. They also sell their junk to Gaia for a tidy profit. Ever wonder why Lavandia was crawling with enchanted crap? That's Héca's export business.
Sight blinked slowly.
Sight: Arlock was from there.
Leona: Exactly. And if that creep was just a dropout, imagine what the graduates can do. Rumor says the Director of Magic — the one at the top — knows spells that could sink a continent. Not someone you want grading your homework.
She dragged her finger to another slice, the circle's edge closer to Sight.
Leona: Then there's Hapha. Land of Science. Hardly anyone there's born with power. So instead? They think. They build. They invent. You've seen trains, airships, fortress cannons? Thank Hapha. They sell their blueprints like candy, then laugh when the rest of the world blows itself up with them.
Her lip curled, equal parts admiration and irritation.
Leona: Their jewel is the City of Science. Gleaming towers, gadgets everywhere, no patience for idiots. If they don't think you're smart enough, you're not worth breathing their air. And their ruler? The Teacher of Time. They say he's been alive for centuries, walking through history like it's a library aisle. Knows everything. Creepy, huh?
Sight shifted, the scarf falling slightly as the firelight traced his cheekbones.
Sight: …Everything?
Leona: So they say. Don't worry, rookie. If he knew everything, he'd have better things to do than peek at you.
She smirked, then tapped the last slice with her finger, her tone softening without her meaning to.
Leona: And finally, Mithra. My home.
Sight's eyes flicked up.
Leona: There, people are born as Spiritual Hosts. You want power? You make a contract. Spirits, gods, dead warriors, legends — whatever listens when you call. The stronger the spirit, the stronger you become. But it's not free. Contracts always have claws. Some Hosts burn out. Some vanish. Some… don't stay themselves.
Her thumb brushed one of her bracelets, almost unconsciously.
Leona: Mithra's crown is the Temple of Spirit. They think they're the chosen, the closest to the gods. Preach all day, push contracts on anyone without power, expand like their faith gives them the right. Their leader, the Priest of Gods, has four contracts. Four. That's not devotion. That's greed dressed up in holy robes.
She fell quiet a moment, then tugged her coat tighter around her shoulders.
Sight: …And you?
Leona's smile was crooked, without humor.
Leona: I had a contract. With the Tiger God. Wild, proud, sharp. Fit me like skin. But… I was half Gaia blood. Father was an Elementary Master, lightning in his veins. The Temple doesn't like mutts. When they found out, they banished me. 'Unworthy,' they said. I guess punching drunks and drinking barrels is more my style anyway.
The fire hissed as a log collapsed. Sight watched her, silent, the reflection of flames in his eyes.
Sight: …That's why you can use lightning.
Leona: Bingo. Half blood, half curse, whole lotta headache.
She forced a grin and took a long drink from her flask. For a moment, the only sound was the sea and the crackle of wood.
Then she leaned back and pointed lazily at the sky.
Leona: There are other stories, too. People whisper about places where the world cracks open. Where power seeps out. They call it the Nexus. Travelers vanish chasing it. Or come back… different. I say it's drunk talk. But—
She flicked her eyes at Sight.
Leona: You're listening too hard for someone who doesn't believe in fairy tales.
Sight didn't answer. He tore another piece of fish and chewed, slowly.
Leona smirked, rolling onto her side.
Leona: That's enough geography for tonight. Tomorrow, we'll work on your stance. You punch like a tidal wave, rookie. Pretty, but messy. Don't worry. Big Sis Leona'll fix you.
Sight: …Big Sis?
Leona: Better than Crazy Tigress, isn't it?
The fire popped. Sight's lips curved faintly.
Sight: …Maybe.
The night stretched quiet around them, but not heavy. For the first time since leaving Lily behind, Sight didn't feel alone with his thoughts.