The afternoon sun hung low in the sky when I reached the shore.
It wasn't morning.
Not the quiet, mist-heavy hours I'd grown used to training in.
This light was warmer. Broader. Honest.
I stood there with my boots in the sand, salt wind brushing against my face, listening to the rhythm of the waves roll in and pull back again. Each crest broke differently—some gentle, some sharp—yet none of them hesitated.
The ocean didn't wait for permission.
I breathed in slowly.
After everything that had happened beneath Newoaga… after the blood, the fire, the judgment—this place felt unreal. As if the world was daring me to believe peace still existed.
I let my hand rest loosely at my side, fingers brushing the worn hilt of my sword. The blade was chipped. Scarred. White lightning still pulsed faintly beneath the metal, like a heartbeat that refused to fade.
I stared out over the water.
If Sir Adranous hadn't been there…
If Azazel's game had gone on for even a minute longer…
My jaw tightened.
I didn't want to imagine it.
"Thinking too loudly again?"
The voice snapped me out of it.
I flinched and turned so fast my foot slid in the sand.
"O–oh! Hello, Sir Adranous!" I said far too quickly, straightening instinctively. "I—uh—I didn't hear you approach."
He stood a few steps behind me, red cape moving gently in the wind, armor catching the sunlight without blinding it. He looked… relaxed. Not like he had in the chamber. Not like a captain who had just judged an ancient demon.
Just a knight, standing by the sea.
He nodded once. "That much is obvious."
I scratched the back of my head awkwardly. "I, um… I take it you're feeling better, student," he continued, glancing at my posture, my breathing.
I nodded. "Yeah. I needed to clear my head."
He laughed then.
Not sharp. Not proud.
Warm.
It caught me off guard.
I didn't judge the laugh—I noticed it. The way it sounded like sunlight breaking across water. This man had stood against Azazel without flinching… and yet here he was laughing like the world hadn't almost ended.
"I figured," he said. "People like you always come here when they don't know where else to stand."
I looked back at the horizon. The sun reflected in gold across the water, endless and undisturbed.
"I… I need to get stronger," I said quietly.
He didn't interrupt.
"If you weren't there," I continued, "in the chambers… I don't know what would've happened. To my friends. To Lum— I mean, Saintess Lumiel."
I laughed, thin and awkward, and shook my head. "I really made a mess of things."
Sir Adranous stepped up beside me, following my gaze out toward the ocean.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The sun radiated off the water so brightly it forced my eyes to narrow. The waves glittered as if the ocean itself was alive—vast, unbothered, ancient.
Breathtaking didn't feel like a strong enough word.
"This sea," Sir Adranous said at last, voice lower now, heavier. "It does not care who stands before it."
I nodded slowly.
"And yet," he continued, "it responds to conviction."
Something shifted then.
It wasn't aura.
It was will.
I felt it—not pressing against me, not overwhelming—but present. Like the air itself had decided to pay attention.
Sir Adranous turned to face me fully.
"You have potential."
I blinked.
The words didn't land the way I expected. There was no praise in them. No warmth. Just an observation.
"I… I just moved," I said honestly. "I didn't think. I didn't want everyone to die."
"That," he said, "is why you lasted."
He studied me carefully now, eyes sharp beneath the sun's glow.
"No normal student should have survived what you did. No knight-in-training should have stood where you stood. You fought without certainty. Without permission. You endured."
My throat tightened.
I had no response.
"Return to Lionhearth," he said suddenly. "Don't waste the rest of your summer playing hero on the coastline."
I stiffened.
"I'll teach you how to use will," he went on. "How to impose yourself without burning hollow. How to make aura obey instead of riot."
Then his voice lowered even further.
"And maybe," he added, eyes narrowing slightly, "if General Izekel permits it… I will teach you how to carve vows."
The air felt heavier.
Vows.
Not spells. Not techniques.
Anchors.
I swallowed hard.
"Sir… what is a vow?" I asked.
He smiled faintly.
"You'll learn," he said. "If you survive the first lesson."
Then—without warning—
"Draw your blade."
My body moved before my mind caught up.
I unsheathed my sword, the white lightning streaks pulsing faintly along the chipped edge. I could already tell—deep inside—that this blade wouldn't be with me much longer.
Sir Adranous drew his own weapon.
The letters on the blade gleamed.
Child of the Second Sun.
And then he rushed me.
Thirty minutes passed in a blur.
I didn't land a single hit.
Not one counter.
Not one opening.
I focused on surviving—on defense, on posture, on breathing through pain. Every movement of his blade was perfect. Every adjustment purposeful.
When it ended, I was drenched in sweat and shaking.
He patted my head.
"You are good," he said. "For your age."
I bowed my head. "Thank you, sir."
"So," he asked casually, sheathing his blade. "Will you return to Lionhearth with me?"
I didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
"We depart tomorrow." He said before leaving.
Telling Class 1-S was harder than I expected.
We stood together in the villa, the mood awkward and heavy. They listened in silence as I explained everything.
Seraphyne didn't hide her sadness.
Varein was the first to speak. "Don't get too strong without us."
Kai smirked. "Yeah. We already reached the next step."
"We'll catch up," Kazen added. "Count on it."
One by one, they spoke—not pleading, not angry. Just honest.
We laughed later. Played games. Argued. Pretended things weren't changing.
When night came, Varein lay on the bed beside mine. "What a first summer," he muttered.
I laughed softly.
"Enjoy yours," I said.
Before sleep took us, he spoke again. "I'll stand by your side one day."
I nodded.
Morning came.
Sir Adranous waited outside.
Everyone was there to see me off.
"This isn't forever," I said, smiling. "Second year."
I turned toward the carriage—
And promptly got kicked out.
"Ow—what the hell—?"
Saintess Lumiel laughed. "Nice to see you again, Rain."
Sir Adranous sighed. "I assumed you knew."
I did not.
The door shut.
I was handed a horse.
And so I rode back toward Lionhearth—
As we rod back to Lionhearth it was pretty peaceful.
The carriage rattled forward, wood creaking, wheels biting into the road as Newoaga slowly fell behind us. The salt in the air thinned with every passing minute, replaced by dust, grass, and the faint warmth of land that had nothing to do with the sea.
I rode beside it on horseback, the reins loose in my hands.
Inside, Saintess Lumiel laughed.
I could hear it through the carriage wall—light, unguarded, normal. It irritated me more than it should have.
Sir Adranous rode ahead, straight-backed, posture flawless even in motion. His presence was… steady. Not loud. Not oppressive. Just there, like the sun you only notice when it's gone.
Eventually, the carriage slowed. Then stopped.
The door opened.
"Well?" Lumiel leaned halfway out, squinting at me. "Are you going to stare at the road all day, or are you coming inside?"
"…You kicked me," I said flatly.
She smiled wider. "You deserved it."
I stared at her for a moment, then dismounted. Dust rose around my boots as I climbed in.
The interior was warmer than I expected. Sunlight filtered through thin curtains, painting everything gold. Lumiel sat cross-legged, robes traded for simpler traveling clothes—still immaculate, still radiant, but less… distant.
She tilted her head, studying me.
"You're quieter," she said.
"I'm tired."
"That's not what I meant."
I didn't respond.
Sir Adranous' voice carried from outside, calm and unhurried. "We'll stop soon. There's a stretch ahead suitable for training."
Lumiel blinked. "Training?"
I felt my stomach sink.
She looked between us, realization dawning. "Oh. Of course. You didn't bring him back early to rest."
Adranous smiled faintly. "Rest is a privilege of those who survive without regret."
She snorted. "Gods, you're exhausting."
He didn't deny it.
We stopped near a wide, open stretch of land—rolling grass, scattered stone, and a low cliff overlooking a shallow river. The wind here was clean. Honest. It felt like a place where blades had been swung before.
Adranous dismounted first.
"Rain," he said, turning. "Draw your sword."
No ceremony. No countdown.
I obeyed.
The blade slid free with a soft rasp, white lightning flickering weakly along its cracked edge.
Lumiel watched from the carriage, chin resting on her palm. "Do try not to die. I'd hate to explain that."
I ignored her.
Adranous faced me, hands empty. No aura. No flame.
"Attack."
I hesitated.
"Conviction," he said calmly. "Or don't move at all."
I stepped forward and struck.
He moved like I hadn't.
Not fast.
Efficient.
My blade met his palm—and stopped. Two fingers caught the flat of my sword, the impact shuddering up my arms. Before I could react, he twisted, stepped inside my guard, and tapped my chest with his knuckles.
I stumbled back, breath knocked from me.
"That was death," he said.
I clenched my jaw. Again.
This time I didn't swing first. I waited.
He nodded slightly—and vanished.
Pain exploded along my ribs as something hit me. I flew, skidding across grass, coughing as I rolled to a stop.
My vision swam.
"You think defense means retreating," Adranous said, already standing over me. "It doesn't."
I forced myself up, shaking. "Then what does it mean?"
"It means choosing what breaks," he replied. "You—or the thing trying to reach what you're protecting."
I lunged again.
Again. And again.
Every strike stopped. Every guard shattered. Every breath burned.
By the sixth fall, my hands were trembling. My aura flickered without my permission, water rippling faintly around my boots.
Adranous finally drew his blade.
Child of the Second Sun.
The words glowed—not blazing, just… present. As if the sword itself was listening.
"One more," he said. "Everything you have."
I inhaled.
Thought of the chamber.
Of Kazen's scream.
Of blood on stone.
I moved.
The world narrowed. Water surged, lightning crackling along my blade as I cut—not wild, not desperate, but focused. The river stirred. The air shifted.
Adranous stepped into it.
Our blades met.
The shockwave rippled outward, flattening grass, scattering dust. My arms screamed. My legs buckled—
—but I didn't fall.
Adranous leaned close, steel pressed to steel.
"There," he said softly. "That refusal. That's will."
He twisted, disarmed me, and ended the bout with his blade at my throat.
Then he stepped back.
Lumiel clapped, slow and deliberate. "Well. You lasted longer than I expected."
I dropped to one knee, panting.
Adranous lowered his sword. "You fight like someone who thinks strength is meant to end things."
I looked up.
"It's meant to endure," he continued. "To carry weight others can't. To stand when retreat would be easier."
He turned away, sheathing his blade. "You'll learn will. Not as power—but as responsibility."
Lumiel met my eyes as he walked off. Her expression was unreadable.
"You scare him," she said quietly.
I frowned. "He doesn't look scared."
"He wouldn't," she replied. "But men like him don't train weapons. They train successors."
I swallowed.
She leaned back, gaze drifting toward the horizon. "You know… when you stood in that chamber, bleeding and angry and refusing to fall…"
She smiled faintly.
"For a moment, I didn't see a knight."
"…What did you see?"
"A tide," she said. "And tides don't ask permission."
I said nothing.
The wind passed over us, carrying heat, dust, and something unfamiliar.
Not the calm of summer.
Not the peace of rest.
Something sharper.
Purpose.
Sir Adranous called out. "We move soon."
I stood, retrieving my sword. The lightning along its edge flickered once… then steadied.
As we resumed the journey, Lumiel watched me through half-lidded eyes.
"Rain," she said.
"Yeah?"
"Whatever you're becoming…"
She paused.
"Make sure it doesn't forget why it started."
I nodded.
The road stretched forward.
And for the first time, I didn't feel like I was being carried by the current.
I was swimming against it.