The stone in my pocket pulsed again—soft at first, then brighter, like a heartbeat waking up.
Before I could react, **light burst out of it**, bright enough to paint the room white.
The air in front of me **split**, like someone slicing open reality. A thin crack widened, shimmering like glass catching moonlight.
And from that crack, **she stepped out.**
The same girl from **Eclipsera**, the dream-realm that felt too real to be called a dream—now standing in the training hall the council gave me.
"It really is you," I breathed.
Serin looked around—the walls dusted with asteroid mineral as requested, the faint resonance of mana in the air, the quiet hum of dampeners. Then she looked at me.
"So," she said, voice calm, "you came to train here instead of your house."
"…I didn't want my family to see you and misunderstand anything."
Her lips curved—not teasing, not mocking—just knowing.
"I see."
I stepped forward and caught myself starting to speak.
"Shall we begin training, Ma—"
Her eyes lifted, soft but sharp enough to stop the word in my throat.
"Don't call me 'Master.'"
She touched her chest, fingers light.
"My name is **Serin Lunaris.** Call me Serin."
"…Serin," I echoed quietly.
Her expression softened, almost relieved.
"Good. Then—let's begin."
We stood facing each other.
Not far. Not close. Just within reach.
"First," Serin said, "your breath."
We inhaled together.
Slow. Deep. Controlled.
The kind of breath that makes the world small and clear.
Then she stepped forward—no warning, no dramatic build-up—just **a simple palm strike**, smooth and calm.
I shifted my foot back and guided her wrist aside, redirecting instead of blocking.
Her voice was barely above a whisper:
"Water doesn't resist. It flows around force."
She came again.
Strike. Step. Redirect.
Over and over.
The rhythm grew steady, like waves against shore.
At first my movements were rough.
Too tense. Too sharp.
She corrected each mistake silently—just a touch:
* A tap on my elbow
* A shift of her hand on my hip
* A light push on my shoulder to loosen tension
Her touch was gentle, sure, like someone who knew my body's rhythm better than I did.
"Don't think," she murmured. "Just feel."
We moved again.
Then—suddenly—her strike came faster.
Not too fast.
Just real.
I stepped late.
Her palm stopped an inch from my chest.
"Again," she said.
So I tried again.
Block. Redirect. Breath.
She kept increasing speed, little by little, until I couldn't keep up. My breath started to break. My steps faltered.
"Ryn," she said softly. "Your body remembers, even when your mind does not. Trust it."
Something clicked.
Not fully—but enough.
I stepped aside just in time, guiding her strike past my shoulder.
And in that moment—**I felt it**.
A faint shimmer.
Like the air thickened with moisture.
Like my hand was trailing through fog.
"I can feel the water," I whispered.
Serin's eyes brightened.
Warm. Proud.
"You have passed the foundation."
Warmth filled my chest—until she added:
"But this was only the base. The next step will be much harder."
My hope collapsed immediately.
She laughed lightly, seeing my expression.
"Don't sulk. Improvement is still improvement."
---
My phone vibrated on the bench.
A message from Mom:
> *We are at your sister-in-law's feast. We'll return late. Don't wait.*
Serin's voice softened.
"No need to hide. No one will interrupt now."
So we trained again.
This time, longer—
5 minutes turned to 10
10 turned to 30
30 to an hour
An hour to two.
My muscles trembled.
Sweat dampened my shirt.
My breathing grew heavy.
But I didn't stop.
Not because she forced me.
But because **she looked like she believed I could do it.**
And that was something I hadn't felt in a long time.
---
We ended at last.
I walked toward the exit to sit down—
"Ryn—"
Her voice broke.
I turned.
Serin **collapsed** without sound.
I caught her before she hit the floor.
Her body felt too light.
Too fragile.
Like the form she wore was borrowed.
Her lips moved, barely a whisper:
"Your… lab… see if… any stone remains… bring it…"
Then her eyes closed.
My heart kicked hard—but I didn't waste time.
I ran upstairs.
The lab was cold and quiet.
Drawers clicked open, one after another—
until I found **one last asteroid fragment**, palm-sized, dull but humming faintly inside.
I rushed back to the room.
Gently, I placed the stone over her abdomen and positioned her hands over it.
A faint glow began to pulse beneath her skin—slow and steady, like a weak flame returning.
I covered her with a blanket.
Then I stood there too long, just watching her breathe.
Why did I care this much?
Why did it hurt to see her faint?
I didn't even know her.
Yet part of me did.
A memory I couldn't reach.
A name my mind refused to recall.
---
I wrote the day's notes, ate dinner, studied, tried to calm my thoughts. Two hours passed.
I went downstairs for water.
Serin was still asleep.
The front door unlocked.
Mom, Eron, and Mira stepped in, tired from the feast.
"We're home!" Mom called.
"Welcome back," I replied.
Mom smirked. "Training, hm?"
"MOM—" I groaned. Eron just laughed.
Mira started up the stairs casually.
Then she froze.
Her eyes widened—huge.
She pointed into Eron's room.
And in a tiny, shocked voice, she said:
**"Brother… who is that sleeping in the bed?"**
---