Lux knew something was wrong before Caelis said anything.
The warmth was there—he could feel it clearly now, settled behind his ribs like a second pulse—but it refused to move the way it should. Each attempt to guide it along the paths he'd practiced ended the same way: resistance, then scatter. The sensation didn't lash out violently; it simply pushed back, as if his body were rejecting the instruction outright.
Lux clenched his jaw and tried again.
Inhale. Hold. Guide.
The warmth surged unevenly, climbing too fast toward his chest before collapsing inward. His breath hitched. A sharp ache flared beneath his sternum, enough to force him to step back and break form.
He exhaled slowly, hands curling into fists at his sides.
Again.
This time he moved more carefully, forcing patience into every motion. The circulation lasted longer—three full breaths—before slipping out of alignment. Not a failure by most standards, but it felt worse than the previous attempt. He could almost do it, and that almost gnawed at him more than outright collapse ever had.
"Stop."
Caelis's voice cut through the morning air, even and unraised.
Lux froze, then straightened, breathing hard but controlled. Sweat clung to his temples despite the cold. He didn't look at Caelis immediately, focusing instead on settling the warmth back into its resting place.
"That wasn't sloppy," Caelis said, approaching at an unhurried pace. "It was strained."
Lux swallowed. "I know what I'm doing wrong. I just—"
"You're pushing."
Lux let out a breath through his nose, frustration flashing briefly across his expression before he reined it in. "Because I should have it by now."
Caelis studied him for a moment, then gave a short, humorless huff.
"By whose standard?"
Lux didn't answer.
Caelis gestured for him to sit, and Lux complied, lowering himself onto the frost-dusted stone bench at the edge of the yard. The cold seeped through his clothes, grounding him in a way that the training hadn't managed to.
"You've been training for three weeks," Caelis said. "Two of those involved sensation and one involved circulation. And you're upset because your control wavered."
Lux stared at his hands. "I don't like failing."
"That's unfortunate," Caelis replied mildly. "Because what you're doing now is failing faster than most people ever manage to try."
Lux glanced up despite himself.
Caelis leaned back slightly, arms folded. "It took me two months to sense Hlyr at all. Three more to circulate it without collapsing. And I was considered decently talented."
Lux blinked. "That long?"
"Yes," Caelis said flatly. "And I started younger than you with arguably better upbringing."
That settled something in Lux's chest—not relief exactly, but recalibration. He looked back down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly.
"So I'm not… behind?"
Caelis snorted. "Ironically, you're ahead of most nobles your age. In quantity alone, you outpace many who've trained since childhood. In progress?" He shrugged. "There are a few exceptional children who might rival you. And even fewer who surpass you."
Lux absorbed that in silence.
Caelis continued, tone shifting slightly—not softer, but more explanatory. "Most children born into noble households don't begin Hlyr training directly. Not truly. They spend years around it first—passive exposure. Family members circulating it nearby, controlled environments, gradual acclimation."
"So their bodies get used to it," Lux said.
"Yes," Caelis replied. "Hlyr isn't just energy. It behaves like one, but it's closer to something biological. The body needs time to recognize it as self. Otherwise, it reacts."
Lux frowned. "Reacts how?"
Caelis's gaze sharpened briefly. "The only way the body would react to a foreign stimuli, attack it. Once that begins your fate is sealed."
Lux went still.
"That's why training begins young," Caelis continued. "Children adapt faster. Their bodies learn faster. The older you start, the longer it takes—and the more dangerous it becomes."
Lux hesitated. "Then why am I able to perceive and sense Hlyr so well?"
Caelis considered him carefully now.
"That," he said, "is the odd part."
He tilted his head slightly. "Sure there are the rare few who are born with the perfect body to practice Hlyr control but even they needed a catalyst to awaken. By all accounts, you had no prior exposure. No controlled environment. No gradual acclimation. And yet your body hasn't rejected it."
Lux felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.
"It's almost," Caelis went on, tone neutral, "as if your body was already prepared for it before you were even born."
He shook his head once, as if discarding the thought. "Speculation aside, the result is the same. You're progressing unnaturally fast. That's not something to be disappointed about."
Lux let out a slow breath. "It doesn't feel fast."
"No," Caelis agreed. "It feels difficult. As it should."
He stood, brushing frost from his gloves. "Keep at it. Don't rush control you haven't earned yet. If you force circulation now, you'll pay for it later."
Lux nodded. "I understand."
"Good," Caelis said. "Session's over."
The rest of the day passed more quietly.
Lux went through his other lessons on autopilot, mind still circling back to the morning's conversation. He ate without much appetite, barely registering the food beyond its warmth. By the time he returned to his room that evening, the frustration had dulled into something heavier—less sharp, more persistent.
He stripped off his training clothes and washed, letting the warmth ease the tension in his muscles. Even now, the sensation of heated water felt unreal, though it no longer shocked him. It simply existed, like so many other things in this place.
Dressed and dry, Lux sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees.
Unnatural.
The word lingered.
He didn't know whether to take it as praise or warning.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Young Master," Geltry's voice came through the door. "The Patriarch requests your presence."
Lux straightened.
"Now?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied pleasantly. "If you're able."
Lux stood, smoothing his sleeves out of habit. "I'm able."
As he followed Geltry through the estate's quiet corridors, the frustration from earlier lingered—but beneath it, something steadier took hold. He had to prepare himself to face the patriarch yet again.
As Lux drew closer to the doors to the office he felt it.
It wasn't heat—not in the way Hlyr usually manifested for him. There was no swelling warmth in his chest, no instinctive tightening of muscle or breath. Instead, it was pressure. A presence so dense it bent his perception inward, like standing too close to a cliff edge and realizing the ground beneath your feet was never solid to begin with.
He slowed unconsciously.
Geltry stopped before the doors, hands folded neatly as always. "The Patriarch is inside," she said. "You may enter."
Lux nodded and stepped forward.
The doors opened silently.
Vincent Achrion stood near the tall windows again, one hand resting lightly against the frame, the other tucked behind his back. Snow drifted softly far below, distant enough to look harmless. Vincent didn't turn immediately.
Lux took another step inside—and that was when he paused. Thanks to his sensory training Lux could now sloppily sense the Hlyr or even the presence of others if he focused.
It wasn't like sensing his own.
With himself, the awareness had come gradually, like learning to listen to a quiet voice that had always been there. With Vincent, it was immediate and overwhelming. Lux's breath caught, his instincts screaming not danger, but scale.
Vincent's Hlyr wasn't flowing. It wasn't circulating.
It was simply there.
Contained, compressed, layered so deeply that Lux couldn't tell where it began or ended. The pressure rolled outward in slow, controlled waves, not touching him directly, yet making his bones feel suddenly fragile. Lux had the strangest thought—that if Vincent wished it, the room itself would yield before Lux ever did.
Lux forced himself to breathe.
"So this is what absolute power feels like", he whispered to himself.
Not power that was unleashed, but restrained and controlled to such a degree that it felt wrong to call it very thing associated with freedom and dominance.
Vincent turned then, light brown eyes settling on Lux with quiet focus. The pressure didn't vanish, but Lux realized it wasn't directed at him. It was just… present. Like gravity.
"You're progressing quickly," Vincent said. "I suspected you would, but suspicion is not confirmation. Consider this confirmation. I must say you've greatly surpassed my expectations."
Lux inclined his head slightly. "Thank you, Patriarch."
Vincent's mouth curved faintly. "I wish I could say the same for your studies. But literacy is stubborn, and numbers are unkind to the impatient. To each their own."
Lux blinked.
For half a second, he wasn't sure how to respond. Was that… a joke?
He glanced at Vincent cautiously, searching his expression for mockery or dismissal, but found neither. If anything, Vincent looked faintly amused—at the situation, not at Lux.
Lux straightened. "I'll improve."
"I don't doubt it," Vincent replied. "You already have."
Lux hesitated, then asked, "Is that all, Patriarch?"
Vincent studied him for a moment longer before shaking his head. "No."
He turned away from the window and walked back toward his desk, movements unhurried. Lux noticed that Vincent didn't sit immediately. He rested one hand against the surface instead, as if grounding himself there.
"In one week," Vincent said, "there will be a gathering. Several, actually. One of the larger social convergences this quarter."
Lux's brow furrowed. "A… party?"
"A gathering," Vincent corrected. "Nobility, military officials, industrial patrons. Their families. Their children."
Lux felt a flicker of unease. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you will be attending."
The words landed heavier than Lux expected.
"I—" He stopped himself, recalibrated. "I thought I wasn't considered a true Achrion yet. Not until the academy. Not until I proved myself."
Vincent nodded once. "That is still true."
Lux frowned. "Then why—"
"You will attend as a Ward of Achrion," Vincent said calmly. "Not as a son. Not yet."
Lux processed that slowly.
"A ward," he repeated.
"Yes," Vincent said. "You are under our protection. Our responsibility. Our investment. While you have not earned the name fully, you are still seen as someone we have chosen to cultivate."
Lux's stomach tightened. "Won't that… draw attention?"
Vincent's gaze sharpened slightly. "That is the point."
He straightened fully now. "You will not remain isolated indefinitely. The academy will not be your first exposure to scrutiny. Nor should it be."
Lux considered that. He didn't like the idea—but he understood it.
"This gathering," Vincent continued, "is not about celebration. In truth it will be a place to make new enemies and allies. Children of your age will be there. Some already enrolled in preparatory tracks. Some sponsored. Some merely tolerated."
"And me," Lux said quietly.
"And you," Vincent agreed. "You will observe. Interact where appropriate. Learn who speaks easily and who listens. Who boasts and who measures."
Lux met his gaze. "You want me to build connections."
"Yes," Vincent said. "Or at least learn how they are formed."
Lux hesitated. "What if I say the wrong thing?"
Vincent's expression didn't change. "Then you will learn from it."
There was no cruelty in the statement. Just fact.
Vincent stepped back from the desk and gestured lightly toward the doors. "You will not be expected to perform beyond the capabilities of anyone your age there. Simply to exist—and be seen."
Lux nodded slowly.
"Before you go," Vincent added, "there is one more matter."
Lux paused.
"Starting tonight," Vincent said, "Geltry will begin instructing you in formal etiquette. Speech. Conduct. Presentation."
Lux exhaled quietly. "At night?"
"Yes," Vincent replied. "You'll need it. While I do not mind you completely saying or doing something unscrupulous, you are still a ward of Achrion and as such you must carry yourself with some level of etiquette."
Lux almost asked why Geltry, but the answer was obvious. She had been observing him since the moment he arrived. Every habit. Every lapse. Every instinct he didn't realize he had.
Vincent looked at him for a long moment, then spoke again.
"You are doing well," he said. "Better than most would, in your position. Don't get comfortable."
Lux nodded. "I won't."
"Good," Vincent said. "You're dismissed."
Lux turned to leave, then paused.
The doors opened behind Lux.
As he stepped back into the corridor, the oppressive pressure faded—but the memory of it didn't. Lux's hands trembled slightly before he clenched them into fists.
He realized that everytime he entered the Patriarch's Office he leaves with another issue on his plate.
Lux sighed, "Now I have to go to a party."