The infirmary smelled of damp stone and the lingering crystalline trace of Water-element healing. The faint metallic tang of residual Ether clung to the air, a reminder of the previous night's surge.
Leximus sat on the cot, fingers flexing as if testing unseen weights. The healer's aura, now faint but present, still wove delicate spirals around him, reinforcing stability. Calvin crouched beside him, notebook open, sketches and diagrams marking the minutiae of Ether flow, subtle tremors, and the boy's minute adjustments to his posture and breathing.
"Focus on the flow," Calvin instructed softly. "Feel it. Let it move through you without force. Remember: mimicry, not creation. You do not summon another element. You guide your own."
Leximus nodded, jaw tight. He remembered the principles: the rise and fall of Water, the ebbing flow, the patterning of energy. His body shivered as the raw, unclassified Ether inside him quivered in response. He tried to mimic the flow, to align his pulse with the invisible currents that Calvin guided through the exercises.
Rylan observed from the side, hands folded, eyes narrow. He had seen the previous night's surge bend perception—how walls seemed to stretch, how shadows moved contrary to known laws. He did not speak. He did not interfere. Even breathing too loudly risked triggering another uncontrolled release.
Hours passed.
Leximus' concentration fractured several times. Every flash of memory, every fragment of trauma tugged at the threads of his focus. His parents' faces returned, but now overlaid with faint images of shadows he could not identify, shapes he did not remember from the night of their deaths. The Veil, it seemed, whispered to him in fragments, bleeding through memory, probing him.
"Anchor yourself," Calvin murmured, leaning close. "Let the flow stabilize what threatens to erupt. Each tremor is a warning, not failure. Control is measured in inches, not leaps."
Leximus inhaled sharply. His pulse began to align with the rhythmic guidance of the healer's Water-element flow. The tremors slowed. The faint distortions in the air around him—the subtle warping, the slight hesitation of shadows—lessened.
Calvin made careful notes. "See, this is adaptation," he said quietly. "Your body and your Ether are learning a framework. It is not your element that mimics; it is your control that imitates the methodology of those who mastered their Paths. Every Avatar must first understand flow to stabilize raw Ether."
Rylan finally spoke, voice low. "I saw the room bend the night before. It wasn't just shadows. It wasn't just Ether. Leximus… your energy interacts with reality differently. Keep that in mind. Don't provoke it."
Leximus' eyes flickered open briefly. "It's… too much," he whispered. "I can feel it inside, but I can't… contain it fully."
"That is expected," Calvin said, voice firm. "You are the first. There are no templates, no prior examples. Every measure we take is to prevent destruction—yours and the surroundings. Focus. Learn to anchor, to stabilize. You will not conjure Fire, Air, or Earth. You will control your own energy."
The healer placed a light hand on his shoulder, spiraling subtle flows around his core. "We are weaving stability, Leximus. Your body knows its own form. Your Ether knows its natural rhythm. Let it remind you."
Minutes passed in tense silence. Leximus' limbs no longer twitched uncontrollably. The faint quivering of the air around him slowed. The residual pulse of his Ether dimmed slightly, coiling inward rather than flaring outward.
Calvin leaned closer. "You see, the psychological state affects Ether. Fear, hesitation, trauma—they make energy volatile. Confidence, trust, measured action—they stabilize it. Every Avatar's power reflects their inner state. This is your lesson: master the self before the energy."
Leximus' eyes darkened slightly as he absorbed the concept. Even untrained, the instability of his element mirrored the chaos in his own mind. Control was not only technical; it was mental and emotional.
Hours later, Rylan suggested a new exercise. "We focus on the smallest, most precise action. You will not move objects. You will not shape the world. You will control the intensity and direction of your flow inside yourself. This is safer."
Leximus nodded. Sweat dampened his forehead. His hands flexed, small pulses of Ether rippling under his skin. For the first time, he noticed the subtle physical changes that accompanied energy use: the faint darkening around his eyes, a slight trembling in his veins, a heat that traveled along his spine. These were small, but they would accumulate.
"Good," Calvin whispered. "Notice the effect. Every Avatar changes—physically, metaphysically. Ether shapes the body, body shapes the Ether, mind guides both. Your path is no different."
The healer continued her gentle guiding, spirals of Water-energy threading around his wrists and chest. She reinforced memory, reminding his body how to remain stable, how to resist uncoiling Ether.
As the night deepened, Leximus' attempts became steadier. The tremors were no longer violent, only subtle. He could feel the pulses in his veins—the raw, unclassified energy inside him—coiling in a way he had not thought possible.
Sirius returned briefly, silent, observing the progress. His eyes lingered on a stack of folders on a side desk. One photograph—Leximus' biological parents—caught his attention. Fingers hovered, tracing edges as he calculated, weighed, and analyzed. No words passed his lips. Only observation, calculation, anticipation.
Hours passed in careful, tense practice. Calvin instructed, Rylan observed, the healer stabilized, and Leximus endured. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the boy's chaotic energy became a contained pulse rather than a storm.
"Tomorrow, we continue," Calvin said finally. "Today you learned to anchor. That is the foundation. All else will come from control, not raw force."
The Water-element healer withdrew, her presence lingering faintly like mist. Leximus' body settled into the cot, exhaustion finally overtaking him. His eyelids fell, and he drifted into sleep, though his mind remained restless.
Even in the quiet, subtle traces of unclassified Ether pulsed faintly under his skin. The psychological alignment—the calmness, the fear, the trauma, the trust in his guides—continued to shape the flow.
Rylan exhaled quietly. "It's improving," he said. "But not fully. Not yet. And the room… the bending… we don't know why it happens."
Calvin closed his notebook, gaze lingering on Leximus' sleeping form. "We proceed carefully. Every session, every hour of practice, every adjustment matters. If we push too far… he will break. But if we guide him… perhaps he can master what no Avatar before him has seen."
The infirmary returned to silence. The lanterns hummed quietly. Ether energy settled to a faint pulse, coiling inward, anchored by the mimicry of known methods.