The Arcanum Depths smelled faintly of iron and water—Eveline's aura still lingering in the corners like a ghost. Lanterns flickered overhead, casting elongated shadows that seemed to bow toward Leximus, whose shadow below him twisted and shivered with the rhythm of his breath.
Rylan leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. He had been holding himself rigid since the session began, fighting the urge to step forward—or to run. Watching Leximus like this was unlike anything he had ever seen. Not just a new element… but something that refused to obey the natural order of the Four Paths.
He had seen it that night.
Not just the bending shadows, the faint distortion of space. Not just the flickers of light that twisted and warped. He had seen the impossible shapes that filled the infirmary when Leximus' surge peaked—figures that should not exist, movement that no Air, Fire, Water, or Earth Avatar could conjure. He had forced himself to look away before it escalated. But the image stayed. Lurked in the back of his mind, coiling tighter with every day.
Rylan swallowed, pressing his fingers into his palms. He had tried to warn Calvin once. "Something's… wrong with his shadows," he had said, voice low, careful, as though the words might trigger Leximus again. Calvin had frowned, confused, and nodded politely, moving on. Not knowing what he hadn't said, and Rylan hadn't corrected him. Not yet. Not ever, perhaps.
Leximus shifted, eyes closed, calm—or as calm as anyone could appear with three adults' tension pressing in like iron walls. His shadow had thickened, curling around him, but still… it breathed. Not the air around it, but itself. Like a living thing. Rylan's stomach knotted.
Eveline hovered nearby, her hands lightly on the charms etched into the floor. She hadn't touched the boy since the stabilization earlier, but she stayed ready, her water-element senses alert to any disturbance. Even she could not mask her apprehension.
Calvin spoke from across the sigil, voice low, measured. "Concentrate on your breathing. Follow the rhythm. Nothing more. Just focus on what's inside you."
Leximus nodded, inhaling slowly. Rylan's eyes stayed on the boy's shadow. It followed his motion, quivering slightly, stretching, shrinking—obedient in appearance only. Rylan knew better.
He wanted to speak. To warn Calvin that there was more beneath the surface. That the shadow hadn't just bent. It had reacted. Independently. Almost sentient. But the words wouldn't come. Every time he tried, a chill pressed down his throat, a quiet voice of caution: Don't trigger it. Not here. Not now.
So he kept it inside.
Instead, he watched.
He noted how Leximus' Ether seemed to mirror his mind—how calm thoughts led to smoother flows, how stray fear or anger sent ripples across the shadow. Calvin had hinted at it earlier, speaking in half-truths about the connection between mind and Ether, but Rylan had understood the full weight immediately.
This wasn't just training. It wasn't even control. This was survival.
"Good," Calvin murmured, eyes on Leximus' hands. "Feel the flow. Let your mind lead. Let your instincts guide your Ether, not force it."
Rylan swallowed hard. He wanted to believe Calvin's method would work. But he had seen the Surge. He had seen the room fold. He had felt it in his chest—the sharp pull at reality, the almost imperceptible tearing at the edges of their world. And he couldn't tell anyone. Not fully.
Leximus' shadow shifted again, curling toward his legs, responding to the rhythm of his calm breath. Rylan exhaled without realizing it. For now, the synchronization held.
"Almost there," Calvin said. "Hold it."
Rylan's eyes darted between Leximus and the charms embedded in the walls. Each hummed faintly, a lattice of containment designed to flare in case of an uncontrolled eruption. The boy's unknown element was dangerous, yes, but valuable. Too valuable for anyone to risk carelessness.
And that was the truth Rylan had learned that night: their caution was not compassion. Not concern. Fear and pragmatism. That was all.
He shifted slightly, uncomfortable. The weight of knowledge pressed on him. The things he had seen. The things he hadn't. If he revealed too much, it might trigger the unknown. Too little, and they might misjudge the severity of what they were containing.
Leximus opened his eyes, barely, glancing downward at the shadow beneath him. Rylan caught the faintest hint of uncertainty there—fear, recognition, the same awareness he had felt the night of the Surge. The boy was realizing the truth slowly: the power inside him wasn't simply another element.
"It listens," Leximus whispered, almost to himself.
"Yes," Rylan said quietly, surprising even himself. "It listens… because it reflects you. Not the body. Not the Element. You."
Calvin frowned. "Exactly. That's why control must come from your mind. Centering first, discipline second. The rest is guided mimicry—do not attempt conjuring anything outside yourself."
Leximus nodded, and Rylan felt the faintest flicker of relief. At least he wasn't about to blow the room apart.
But Rylan knew better.
The shadow beneath Leximus remained calm for now, but he could feel its tension. The latent potential. The awareness that it was something beyond understanding, beyond classification. Something… dangerous.
And the weight of that secret pressed down on Rylan's chest.
He kept it there, biting back the words that would explain it, holding them like coals in his stomach. The truth was: he had seen something that defied the Four Elements. Something the organization might never admit, even if they recognized it in their quiet, bureaucratic way.
For now, all he could do was watch, guide indirectly, and pray that the boy survived this lesson without spiraling.
Because once that shadow began reflecting the deeper parts of his mind, there would be no containment. Only the unknown.
The session stretched. Minutes bled into hours. Leximus remained in the center of the sigil, hands resting lightly on his knees. He maintained focus, and the shadow continued to respond, quivering only faintly. He was learning. Not fully mastering. Not yet. But aligning.
Calvin observed with quiet calculation, scribbling in his notebook. "Every fluctuation mirrors the mind. When you falter internally, the shadow trembles. When you align—"
"It listens," Leximus whispered.
"Exactly," Rylan said, though his voice barely left his throat.
Eveline adjusted a charm at the edge of the room, her hands lingering over it, a faint pulse of water energy radiating from her. She didn't smile. Didn't reassure. She merely ensured they wouldn't regret their decisions if Leximus' control faltered.
Sirius remained near the exit, posture rigid, eyes sweeping the lattice of charms. Every motion was calculation. Evaluation. Containment. Not guidance.
By the end, Leximus' shadow achieved tentative stability. It was not perfect, but obedient enough to show progress. The boy had begun understanding the principle Calvin had described: the power was wild not because it was unknown, but because it reflected him. His mind. His awareness. His fears.
Calvin stepped back. "Enough for today. Rest now, Leximus. You've done well."
Leximus exhaled, muscles relaxing, shadow curling quietly beneath him.
Rylan exhaled too. His shoulders finally dropped, though the weight of knowledge remained.
Calvin glanced at the boys, voice measured. "Tomorrow, we move to the next phase. Understanding how your psychological alignment affects Ether flow—and, by extension, control over your element."
Leximus nodded faintly.
Rylan stayed by the wall a moment longer, eyes locked on the boy. The secret burden in his chest remained. But the shadow beneath Leximus was calm, obedient. A fragile progress.
It was all anyone could hope for.