The next morning when Sayan reached the training hall, Aleric had already arrived. He was the first one to arrive.
Aleric noticed Sayan and said, "You are early".
Sayan stepped closer, remaining upright.
"Habit".
Then Aleric watched Sayan from the corner of his eyes.
"Good. The mountain doesn't favour those who wait for the sun to rise."
He sterned his expression.
"Tell me, Vale… What did you learn yesterday?"
Sayan thought deeply, thought about yesterday' lesson.
"That brute force falls where purpose doesn't"
Aleric relaxed for a moment and then returned to his stern manner.
"Then we can begin".
The rest of the Initiates arrived. One by One.
Kaelen Thorne entered with the same calm intensity, offering Sayan a glance but no words. The others followed.
When the initiates took their places in line, Sentry Aleric spoke,
"Yesterday, you learned what you are."
"Only one of you heard the call."
His eyes drifted to Sayan, then returned to the rest.
"The rest of heard silence. Silence isn't failure. It is an invitation."
"You will not advance until everyone of you has moved the shard. Not by an inch by muscle- but a breath by flow."
"Your Etherpath is not a sword to be drawn. It is a door that opens only when you learn how to knock."
He gestured towards the black obsidian shard mounted on a stone pedestal dimly pulsing with dormant Ether.
"We begin again.
Focus. Feel. Don't force it. Flow doesn't yield to control. It answers only to intention."
Sayan once again stood again the obsidian. He focusses on Sentry Aleric's words again.
He concentrated. He controlled his emotions. He clarified his mind.
Sayan thought and realized that Flow is the most active part of the Etherpath. And Flow is also the one which is most directly associated with the Etherpath of a guardian.
So if he wants to progress further, he had to focus on his Tesseract path.
Then he realized his intention to move the obsidian. But not just moves anywhere.
He Intended to move the space along with the obsidian present in it.
When his intention sharpened, the obsidian warped in the space around it and moved forward about a metre towards Aleric.
The whole thing happened so fast that only Sayan and Aleric were able to see it.
A faint ripple echoed through the hall as the shard settled back into its stillness.
Aleric's expression remained unchanged, but his gaze lingered on Sayan just a moment longer.
"That- "he said quietly, "-Was not movement. That was direction."
The entire hall fell into deep silence.
Some initiates stared at the shard, while others stared at Sayan.
"Movement is chaos with nowhere to go.
Direction is intent made real."
"Now… again. One by one. Until the silence breaks for each of you."
He pointed his finger.
"Thorne"
Kaelen Thorne steps forward. He didn't look at Sayan. He didn't need to.
The obsidian shard rested on its pedestal- motionless, stubborn.
He closed his eyes.
He thoughts about his scars, he calmed his emotions. He visualized his Intent in form of a weapon- A dark, menacing Axe with a heavy handle and two heads.
He opened his eyes and imagined striking the obsidian with the Amethyst Axe.
At that moment, his intent materialized and a dark cloud vaguely resembling the shape of an axe struck the obsidian.
The strike wasn't physical but spectral. The force was not that great but the impact was real.
The obsidian moved around five inches.
Sentry Aleric's eyes narrowed, studying the residual shimmer left behind the axe- shaped intent.
He then gave a nod to Kaelen and spoke.
"The axe wasn't real," he said, "but the choice to wield it was."
Kaelen silently stepped back into the line. His expression just as taciturn as always.
The air had changed.
The rest of the initiates were no longer staring at the shard with frustration…
But with possibility.
For the first time since the Stillbinding, belief had entered the room.
Aleric let it simmer a moment longer.
Then pointed again.
"Thalvain"
Aleric voice rang clear as the shard settled after Victor's second failed attempt.
Elyria stepped forward quietly. No visible tension. No wasted movement. Just stillness wrapped in poise.
She approached the pedestal. Her pale eyes fixed on it- not as a challenge but as a question that needs to be answered.
She lifted her chin slightly and exhaled once through her nose.
She started becoming aware.
She heard the breathing of other initiates. She heard the cold wind flowing through the hall. She felt the cold snow beneath her feet. She sensed the faint ether's presence through the obsidian.
Then she did not visualise her intent. Nor did she associate it with her Etherpath like Sayan.
She enveloped entire being with her intent, like a sheathe covering a sword.
Then she raised her arm forwards towards the obsidian and willed it to move.
A moment passed, nothing happens.
But then suddenly, the air between her and the shard changed.
A blizzard of crystalline snow started surging towards the obsidian. They danced toward the shard, delicate, spiralling.
The obsidian pulsed as the blizzard enveloped it and the shard moves- just an inch off the pedestal, suspended in still, perfect silence.
The hall remained quiet.
Even the faint blizzard had stilled.
She stepped back calmly.
Sentry Aleric didn't speak right away. He observed her the same way he might observe snowfall.
"That," he said finally, "was not command. That was communion."
"The Ether does not belong to you. It is not bound by your desire. But when you listen- when you move in harmony- it will answer.
He let those words sink in.
The wind was softer here.
The snow had melted into fine mist that danced along the stone tiles, and faint echoes drifted through arched halls.
Zavian and Riven stood in the central training field.
Nyla appeared through the mist without making any noise.
She stays silent and observe them both for a short while.
"Every Etherpath is shaped by the mind that holds it. Some scream their power. Some whisper. Some show you things you don't yet understand."
"Yesterday, Zavian passed through Riven's veil. Today…"
"…Riven will attempt the reverse."
Zavian stood still.
Not nervous. But wary.
"Mask something," Nyle said.
"Something that matters."
Zavian nodded once, and pressed the shard to his forehead.
The moment it touched him; warmth bled from his limbs.
The world didn't shift—it held its breath.
Mist surged up from the ground, wrapping them both in a dome of silence and pale glow.
Riven stood across from him, waiting to perceive.
Zavian closed his eyes.
Not to hide, but to find something worth hiding.
He searched inward, past the surface memories—past the training, the ranking, the praise. He dove deeper. Back to the whisper of a night storm. Back to the glint of broken glass under moonlight. Back to—
No. Not that one.
He steadied himself.
Then, carefully, he took another memory—one of warmth.
The day Sayan gifted him his first book on Ether theory.
A moment of shared laughter. A warm fire. His brother's voice saying: "The world is complicated. Let's start with questions."
Zavian held the memory in his mind. Then layered it—wrapped it not in lies, but in another truth.
He reframed it.
The laughter became static. The fire turned cold. Sayan's voice repeated—but now as an echo from a hallway, not a hearth. The warmth was traded for detachment.
A library, not a home.
A mentor, not a brother.
The moment reshaped itself—real, but off.
A memory bent, not broken. A truth recast in shadow.
Zavian opened his eyes.
Riven stood across from him, breathing slowly. Then he stepped forward. Eyes narrowed. Mark glowing faintly with forest-green threads.
The trial had begun.
Riven stepped through the mist like it was smoke. His steps were light, his gaze cutting.
The false memory rose to meet him.
He saw a young Zavian sitting at a desk. Sayan stood beside him, handing him a worn Ether-scroll. There was a lantern overhead, flickering steadily.
Riven tilted his head. Something was wrong.
There were no bookshelves. No scent of dust or ink. No window. Just... white space stretching outside the edges of the scene like unfinished paint.
Riven's eyes flicked to the lantern.
It flickered.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Breathed in.
"Don't chase the emotion," he remembered Nyla saying once, long ago.
"Chase the fracture."
And there it was—a fracture.
Not in the sound, not in the faces—but in the silence between the lines.
Riven's Mark pulsed faintly. One of the symbols along his arm began to glow—a spiral branch intersecting a sun glyph. A sense ability.
His Etherpath didn't break illusions. It grew toward truth.
He stepped forward again.
The light around Zavian's face pulsed once—and Riven felt something underneath.
He focused. Not by force, but by resonance.
Then the scene rippled. Like cloth pulled tight.
The lantern flickered again—and shattered in silence.
The false room collapsed.
A fire returned.
So did the real sound of laughter. A younger Zavian curled up on a couch, and Sayan beside him—smiling. Not cold, not distant. Present. Protective.
Riven stepped back, breathing hard.
The veil was gone.
The mist faded.
Zavian stood where he had been. He looked at Riven, who nodded once—not out of victory or pride, but respect.
Sentry Nyla spoke at last:
"You masked well," she told Zavian. "Your veil was quiet. Gentle. That's why it almost worked. But the quiet ones leave gaps.
And you," she turned to Riven, "followed those gaps. Not with power. With presence."
She stepped back and looked at them both.
"Perception," she said, "is not about seeing through others. It's about seeing yourself.
That is the Pulse. That is the second Trine. And you're both only beginning to touch it."
Without another word, she vanished into the mist—again.
Zavian and Riven stood in silence.
Eventually, Riven said, "It was a good memory. Even buried... I could feel it wanted to shine."
Zavian smiled faintly. "Maybe I didn't want to let go of it."
"Then don't," Riven replied. "Just... don't mistake shielding it for hiding it."
They began to walk out of the circle side by side.
No applause. No congratulations.
Just understanding.
And that was enough.
The mist had settled like breath on stone.
The stronghold's cliffside cafeteria pulsed with a dim glow from overhead Ether-lanterns, their crystalline threads humming faintly with stored power. The air carried the scent of warm grains, spiced broth, and the quiet tension of a long day survived.
Zavian walked in alone this time.
His shoulders were heavier. Not from failure—but from thought. He hadn't known the act of hiding could feel more vulnerable than revealing. He had tried to conceal something simple. Yet even that felt raw once it was pierced.
He took a seat near the edge again, beside the wide crystal wall that overlooked the night-wrapped drop below. The view was endless—a dark sea of mountains veiled in silence.
Moments later, Riven appeared with a tray in hand.
This time, he didn't wait for an invitation.
He sat without a word, elbows on the table, gaze resting on the void outside.
They didn't speak for a while.
But the silence wasn't uncomfortable.
Eventually, Zavian murmured, "You saw through it."
Riven shrugged. "You made it hard. That's worth more than most."
Zavian glanced over. "How did you know where to look?"
"I didn't," Riven said. "I just followed what didn't breathe."
Zavian blinked. "Didn't breathe?"
Riven's fingers tapped the table lightly. "Even false memories have rhythm. Yours didn't echo. It was still. Clean. Too clean."
Zavian let out a soft breath. "Next time I'll give it a scar."
Riven smirked. "Don't. Scars are how I find them."
Just then, footsteps approached.
Kaelen Thorne.
Cloak trailing, dusk-grey eyes sharp even in the soft cafeteria glow. He slid his tray beside Riven's and dropped into the seat without a glance at either of them.
"Word is," Kaelen said, stirring his broth without looking up, "you both wore the veil and neither shattered. Impressive."
Zavian raised an eyebrow. "You hear everything?"
Kaelen's spoon paused. "I listen to what matters."
Then—another voice joined them.
Sayan.
He set his tray down opposite Zavian and leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his knuckles.
"You look like someone just walked out of your thoughts," he said to his brother.
"I think someone did," Zavian muttered.
Sayan tilted his head, curious. "Nyla pushes you again?"
Zavian nodded. "She doesn't say much. But she doesn't need to."
"That's how you know the dangerous ones," Kaelen remarked, sipping his broth.
Riven finally glanced at him. "And what kind are you?"
Kaelen's expression didn't change. "The kind you don't classify until it's too late."
Zavian smirked faintly. Sayan chuckled once.
The four sat together, the quiet between them no longer sharp or hesitant—but deliberate.
Kaelen spoke again, voice low:
"Four paths at one table.
One that bends space.
One that bends mind.
One that bends perception.
One that bends the edge of reason."
Riven raised a brow. "You forgot humility."
Kaelen shrugged. "I forget nothing. I just don't practice everything I know."
Zavian looked between them. "We're not alike. Not really. So why does this feel… aligned?"
Sayan answered softly. "Because each of us has already seen something we weren't supposed to."
They fell quiet again. But this silence felt heavier.
Heavier because it held something now.
A rhythm.
A bond, not yet spoken aloud.
But quietly growing.