Lior led her friends deep into the forest—far from the academy, far from the eyes of anyone who might discover them. In her arms, she carried the book they had secretly retrieved from the archives.
They had taken several books, each containing ancient knowledge about the five elements. No one knew of their mission but the five of them.
They weren't sure if what they were doing was right. But Lior followed the teachings of her peaceful grandfather, trusting his wisdom.
"You can do your meditation here, Lior. It's quiet," said Kira, scanning the surroundings to ensure no other creature was nearby.
Lior whispered a chant of shielding around them. A veil of magic cloaked their presence, rendering them invisible to the naked eye.
She placed the book gently on the grass, sat before it, crossed her legs, and pressed her palms together in a wai. Closing her eyes, she listened—to the river's flow nearby, to the swish of warm air brushing the trees and grass, to the voices of the animals around them.
She breathed in and out, again and again, until all she could hear was her inner self. That was her grandfather's teaching: To hear the inside, to know what the soul needs.
While Lior meditated, Kira, Keal, Thorne, and Jex watched silently. They didn't know what she was thinking, but they trusted her.
They had known Lior since they were five. Back then, they played together in Gravenvale. Many children rejected Lior for being different—but not them. They knew she was destined for something greater.
Lior wasn't like them. She was more. A radiant child who always smiled, who never failed to lift their spirits.
She never hid who she was. And before her grandfather passed, he spoke words to them—words filled with meaning.
They knew the former Leader understood Lior more deeply than anyone.
"Do you think this is what the Leader meant?" Kira asked, breaking the silence.
They looked at Lior, concerned. "We can't be sure, Vel," Keal replied. "But maybe this is the beginning."
They didn't know what awaited them. But they knew they had to help Lior regain her power—and strengthen their own. They couldn't leave everything to her. They had to fight beside her.
They didn't know who their enemy was, or if it was strong enough to erase them. But they trained beneath the tree, practicing sword movements with quiet determination.
Meanwhile, Lior, deep in meditation, entered another dimension. When she opened her eyes, everything was black. She stood, looked around, but saw only darkness.
She walked forward, into an endless void. But suddenly, she stopped—realizing she hadn't moved at all.
Gathering her courage, she spoke into the unknown.
"Hello?" Her voice trembled, but she pressed on.
"Is anyone here?"
"I don't know where I am…"
Then—a voice. A woman's voice.
"Who are you?"
Lior smiled, relieved she wasn't alone.
"I am Lior… Lioraen Shadewyn Solastra Nyxthorne of Gravenvale, the Forgotten Kingdom. And you?"
She sat down in the darkness, choosing conversation over fear.
"Solastra?" the voice echoed, tinged with joy. "You've grown so well…"
"You knew me?" Lior asked, puzzled.
The voice hummed. "Sort of… Just call me Solair."
"Solair…" Lior repeated. "Where are we?"
The voice faded, then returned.
"You are within yourself. I… am far from you."
Lior frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I am a voice that will meet you at the right time. You are in your mind, reaching for something unknown."
Before Lior could ask more, the voice spoke again.
"Prepare for what is coming, Solastra. He is already with you. And soon, I will be too. But you must return… now."
Suddenly, Lior opened her eyes. She stared into the distance, unable to grasp the meaning of the voice's final words.
"Solair…" she whispered, smiling faintly.
She rose, filled with questions.
Who is back—and with her?
She turned to her friends, still training. She smiled at their movements. They stopped when they saw her watching.
"How was it?" Jex asked, walking toward her with concern.
Lior shrugged, smiling. "I think it was good… though."
Jex nodded. "Let's go back before they notice we're gone," Lior suggested, and the others agreed.
As they journeyed back to the academy, Lior couldn't shake the voice from her thoughts. It felt familiar, though she didn't know why.
But what lingered most was the final message:
Who is back with her?
Why did the voice know her so well?
Why call her Solastra—and not Lior?
So many questions filled her mind.
And only one voice held the answers.
As the sun climbed gently over the canopy, its golden light spilled across the forest floor, warming the path beneath their feet. Lior walked with her friends, the weight of the voice still echoing in her thoughts. The sunlight did not answer her questions—but it reminded her that the world was still turning, and time was moving forward.
She didn't know who had returned, or why the voice called her Solastra. But something within her had stirred—something ancient, something waiting.
And as the sun touched her skin, she understood:
This was not the end of a meditation.
It was the beginning of a calling.
They arrived at the Academia beneath a bright sun, walking as if nothing had happened. No one suspected a thing. Their steps were steady, unremarkable, straight to the dormitory.
As soon as they entered, Lior collapsed onto her bed, exhaling sharply. Her gaze locked onto the ceiling, unmoving, for several long minutes. But stillness did not soothe her. The silence gnawed at her, and the fading pulse of her power left her restless.
She rose without ceremony and left the room, prompting puzzled glances from her dormmates.
"Lior, where are you going?" one of them asked, but she didn't respond. Her footsteps were firm, her direction clear.
She walked straight to the Myrr grounds, where students trained in elemental discipline. She sat on the bench facing the pond, where the Myrr apprentices practiced their water magic. Her presence was quiet, but not unnoticed.
The Archmentor of the Myrr noticed her immediately—his brows furrowed with confusion. He approached, cautious.
"May I ask," he said, voice tight with uncertainty, "what the Black Sorcerer is doing here?"
Lior turned to him, her expression unreadable. "Is it illegal to watch them practice?" she asked, her voice calm but edged with challenge.
The Archmentor gasped softly, caught off guard. "No… it's just unusual," he replied, his tone laced with doubt. Then, without further comment, he returned to his students.
He resumed the lesson with practiced grace.
"Your hands must echo the river's curve. Not clenched like stone, not limp like fallen leaves. Look—thumbs apart, fingers arched like the spine of a wave. The palms must breathe," he said, his voice flowing like silk, each word rippling through the air like mist over morning tide.
The student before the pond adjusted their stance—feet grounded, shoulders softened, breath aligned with the wind's rhythm. Their hands rose, trembling at first, then steadying into the shape described: curved, open, reverent. The water did not stir from touch, but from recognition. A faint shimmer pulsed beneath the surface, as if the pond remembered the gesture.
The Archmentor's voice deepened, speaking not just to the student, but to the water itself.
"To control water is to understand its nature. It is not a servant—it is a witness. It flows where it is welcomed, resists where it is forced. It carries memory, emotion, and truth. If you seek to master it, you must first master your own intent."
The student moved in silence, tracing invisible sigils in the air. Each motion was a question. Each ripple, a reply. The pond responded with subtle shifts—a rise, a swirl, a soft glow. The lesson was not in spectacle, but in stillness.
On the bench, Lior watched. Her eyes followed every movement—not with envy, but with quiet hunger. She absorbed the Archmentor's words, letting each phrase settle into her mind like rain into soil. Her hands remained idle, but her spirit was already practicing.
The Archmentor turned slightly, casting a glance toward both student and observer. His voice lowered into warning.
"Water magic is a gift, but it is not without cost. Its advantages are many—it heals, reveals, connects. It can cleanse wounds no blade can reach, unveil truths hidden by grief, and carry messages across realms. But its dangers are just as deep."
He stepped closer to the pond, and the water darkened slightly, as if remembering sorrow.
"If misused, it distorts memory. It can drown clarity, bind spirits in reflection, and erode the boundary between self and other. The more you take, the more it reflects your shadow. Control is not about power—it is about balance."
The wind shifted. The pond stilled. The student's hands lowered. Lior's gaze deepened. The lesson had ended, but its echo would ripple through them both for years to come.
Still, Lior did not leave. She remained seated, eyes fixed on the calm surface of the pond. Hours passed. She did not move.
From a distance, someone watched her. Silent. Suspicious. As if they believed she had done something forbidden.
But Lior did nothing—only watched the water.
And the water watched her back.