On the seventh day, the Mountain Guest took the saber back.
"You are not ready to use it," he said.
Vale bowed. "I understand."
The Guest studied him for a long moment.
"Most swords exist to be noticed," he said. "Their weight, their aura, their sound."
He gestured toward Vale.
"Your sword," he continued, "should not exist."
Vale looked up sharply.
"If others perceive it," the Guest said, "you have already failed."
He placed the saber against the hut wall.
"From now on, you do not carry a blade."
Vale's breath caught. "Then how do I practice?"
The Guest tapped Vale's chest lightly.
"You already carry the boundary," he said.
Vale felt the Aether Ring tighten faintly—not projecting, not reacting.
"The Covenant senses techniques," the Guest continued. "They sense sound, force, intent."
He looked toward the distant lowlands.
"They cannot sense absence until it cuts them."
Vale bowed deeply.
Outside, the wind brushed the mountain's edge.
It did not answer him.
And for the first time, Vale understood that it never needed to.