The chamber was silent, save for the faint hum of containment wards in the walls.
Einz sat cross-legged on the mat, eyes half-lidded, breathing slow.
His mana rose easily now, a pale thread coiling above his palm like translucent smoke.
But today, he didn't want to move it.
He wanted to listen.
He closed his eyes completely.
The world dimmed, sound shrinking until only his heartbeat remained.
Then he let his mana spread—thin and slow, not as force but as an extension.
It seeped out like mist, brushing against the ground, the walls, the air itself.
Nothing at first.
Then—feedback.
The walls registered as a faint pressure. The air felt different from the stone. The runes in the corners gave off a steady pulse.
It wasn't seeing or touching. But it was awareness.
He pushed farther.
The mana went past the wall—through it.
The next room took shape: its outline from resistance and echo. Someone was there, a steady presence from their breathing, solid and warm. Metal items nearby, curved, with sealed energy inside a box on the floor.
His breath caught. The walls were still solid, but he knew what lay beyond.
He was sensing through.
He tried again, more controlled. The mana went down through the floor, picking up pipes and layered stone. Small vibrations gave back shapes and textures. Inscriptions in the foundation showed as slight differences.
Each thing had its own feel: solid, empty, vibrating, or faintly active.
Einz let out a quiet laugh.
"So this is space."
The effort built up—light but steady, like holding a taut string. He drew the mana back, the details fading, leaving calm.
He sat still, thinking it over.
The way his mana had pushed then slid through—the resistance that defined things.
It was like testing fabric. The more it stretched, the more it wanted to snap back.
That was space pushing against change.
He considered it.
If space resisted, then the pressure could be directed.
And if directed, it could be applied.
He gathered mana again—smaller, tighter this time, focused to a point in the air.
Instead of spreading, he compressed it, holding the tension like a coiled spring.
A ripple formed. The air bent—not from release, but from the held strain.
It held a moment, shaking slightly between steady and break.
Einz watched the bend waver.
That strain was key—space reacting to disruption.
He adjusted, tightening by feel.
The ripple steadied, faint and curved—a dent in the air.
A smile crossed his face.
Not force.
Control.
Einz returned to his room late the previous night, after most recruits had quieted.
Sleep was light, his mind replaying the sensations—the way mana bent and held under focus.
At dawn, he was up. The halls were empty, the building quiet except for far-off steps and ward hums.
He went back to the same training chamber, walls still cool from night.
He sat cross-legged, breath even, mana rising on command—colorless, smooth, exact.
He raised a hand toward the far wall.
The air shifted—not with wind, but with tension, like an invisible sheet pulling tight. The ripple was controlled now, not wild.
A small pebble sat near the mat's edge.
Einz focused.
The distortion grew, and the pebble moved an inch across the floor—slow, on purpose.
He exhaled, changed his focus.
The ripple reversed, air pushing out. The pebble shot sideways, hitting the wall with a click before dropping.
It wasn't the power that struck him—it was how natural it felt now.
The whole room responded to his attention, shifting like space was listening.
The ripple faded, leaving silence.
Einz looked at his hand, face blank a moment before easing.
He could sense it now—the form, the strain, the balance.
The beginning of mastery.
He leaned back, steadying his breath.
His mana settled, still faintly circling his hand like lingering mist.
Two points stood out:
He could sense through things, and when he directed the air—it directed back.
Not from a book. Not taught.
Just discovered.
Einz flexed his hand once, air rippling faint before settling.
"Alright," he muttered. "That's something."
He wasn't sure what to name it yet.
It worked. That was enough.
Einz woke earlier than usual, his mind still replaying the faint hum of mana from the night before. The quiet rush of discovery hadn't faded—it pulsed at the edge of his senses, like something waiting to be understood. But there wasn't time to dwell on it; today was weapon training, and the Order didn't take kindly to late recruits.
The training ground behind the Order's main building was a wide expanse of packed earth ringed by high stone walls traced with soft-glowing runes meant to contain stray spells or swings. Racks of weapons lined one edge—swords, axes, spears, and bows—each labeled neatly by style and balance. New recruits milled about, some chatting in low tones, others testing blades in the afternoon light.
Their instructor, a compact dwarf with a trimmed beard and a voice that carried like a hammer on steel, called the class to order. "This is weapon training," he said firmly. "If you already know your weapon—stick with it. If not, find what fits and feels natural. Once you've chosen, sign up for a mentor in your weapon's style. Each mentor teaches different methods—choose wisely. This session's for selection only; you'll meet your mentor later in the hall."
Borin was already settled, his massive broadsword strapped across his back. "I'm not trading this beauty for anything," he said with a grin.
Nearby, Micah inspected a longbow with practiced ease. Aglaea toyed with a pair of short daggers, flashing a teasing smile when she caught Einz watching.
Einz made his way to the racks, taking his time to consider the options. Spears felt too distant, their reach awkward in his hands; axes carried a weight that seemed better suited to brute force than the precision he sensed he might need. His attention settled on a long, curved sword—a katana-style blade, elegantly balanced for swift, decisive cuts. It fit comfortably in his grip, light yet substantial, as if it could harmonize with the subtle bends of his mana once he learned to channel it properly. He nodded to himself and set it aside, decision made.