A full week passed.
Seven days where Aldrich did nothing but stand.
Not idle.
Not resting.
Standing within motion.
The Iris Clan called it catching the gap—the space between intent and action, where most warriors already failed without knowing it.
By the seventh dawn, Aldrich could feel it.
That pause.
That infinitesimal moment where the world inhaled before moving.
He didn't own it yet.
But it no longer escaped him completely.
That was when she approached.
"Your shoulders are too tense."
The voice was calm, faintly amused.
Aldrich turned.
She stood barefoot on the stone platform, arms loosely folded, hair tied back with a strip of pale cloth. Her presence was light—almost dismissible.
Almost.
"I'm Merana Iris," she said. "Your aunt."
Aldrich bowed.
She waved it off. "Later. For now—fight."
His eyes sharpened.
"Fight?" he repeated.
Merana smiled slightly.
"Combat reveals what philosophy hides."
She circled him once, gaze sharp, clinical.
"You move like someone trained to survive against inevitability," she said. "That's not Iris."
A pause.
"…That's Eldran Yagurah."
Aldrich didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
She stopped in front of him.
"Spar with me," Merana said. "Using stillness."
Aldrich exhaled slowly.
He stepped forward—
And attacked.
The moment his foot shifted—
The world flipped.
Aldrich hit the ground on his back, air driven from his lungs.
He blinked.
Merana stood above him, unmoved.
She looked down, unimpressed.
"Get up, nephew," she said dryly.
"The ground isn't your bed."
Aldrich rose instantly, frustration burning behind his eyes.
"I didn't see—"
"Because you looked," she cut in. "You didn't feel."
She tilted her head.
"I noticed something else," she continued casually. "That strength. It's not human."
Aldrich nodded.
"Dragon blood. From Hollowdene."
Her eyes flickered.
"…Ah."
A smile tugged at her lips.
"That black dragon?"
"Yes."
Merana hummed.
"It's impressive," she said honestly.
"Still—pretty weak."
Aldrich stiffened slightly.
She waved a hand.
"Don't take offense. Dragons are… contextual."
Then, with alarming ease, she added—
"I'll get you better dragon blood later."
He stared at her.
She clapped her hands once.
"For now—combat."
She stepped back, posture shifting.
"No blade," she said. "Stillness only."
Merana inhaled slowly.
"Listen carefully, Aldrich."
Her voice dropped, no longer teasing.
"Stillness is not emptiness.
It is presence without interference."
She raised two fingers.
"Breathe."
Aldrich did.
"Now—do not think."
His jaw tightened.
"Feel the enemy with your body.
Let it attack before your mind reacts."
She stepped into stance—loose, relaxed, terrifyingly open.
"Leave judgment to the subconscious," she said softly.
"Let the body remember."
She gestured.
"Now. Get in stance."
Aldrich did.
The world slowed.
Not time.
Awareness.
He inhaled.
Exhaled.
For a fraction of a second—
He didn't think.
He moved.
Merana stepped in.
Aldrich shifted—not toward her strike, not away—
But around it.
His arm moved without intent, redirecting instead of blocking.
It wasn't clean.
It wasn't complete.
But—
Merana's eyes widened a fraction.
She stopped.
"…Partial execution," she said.
Then she smiled.
Slow. Sharp. Proud.
"Good," she said.
"Very good."
Aldrich's chest rose and fell.
For the first time since arriving—
His fury didn't roar.
It waited.
And in that waiting—
It sharpened.