The forest thinned into a wide valley, bathed in silver light from a hidden moon. Luma tightened her cloak. She could feel it—the watchful eyes on her back.
"Stay close," Ion said quietly. His tone was sharper than before.
They reached an open field where stone pillars jutted from the earth like broken teeth. At the center stood a ring drawn into the dirt.
Ion turned to her. "It is time to move from learning… to doing."
He stepped into the ring and beckoned her forward.
"You know what happens when forces act," he said. "You know how motion changes. Now—use it."
He tossed her a short staff made of polished wood. It felt light in her hands.
Luma shifted uncertainly. "Fight you?"
"Defend yourself," Ion corrected. "Watch. Understand. Move."
He lunged—not fast, but steady. His movements were like the stream: flowing but powerful.
Luma remembered:
Force moves objects (F = ma).
Action and reaction are twins (Third Law).
Motion can be straight—or curved.
She stepped aside just as Ion's staff cut through the air where she'd been.
The inertia in his swing pulled him slightly forward.
Luma jabbed the ground behind her with her staff and launched herself away, using her own motion.
A smile flickered on Ion's face.
"Well done. Use the laws. They are your shield."
Suddenly, a shrill whistle sliced the night.
Both froze.
From the shadows, three figures stepped into the moonlight.
At their head was the red-hooded man—his cloak stained darker now, as if it had been through storms.
He spoke, voice low and heavy:
"You were warned, Ion. The child belongs to the Masters of Entropy."
Ion stood protectively before her. "She chooses her path. Not you."
The man laughed—a rough sound. "No one escapes the pull of chaos."
He raised a hand. In his palm, small sparks crackled—not magic, but some hidden powder again, Luma guessed, releasing energy in a flash.
The three men charged.
"Remember what you know!" Ion shouted.
Luma's heart hammered. She remembered:
Energy is transformed, not made.
Friction slows motion.
Force and mass decide acceleration.
As one attacker lunged, she dodged—not backward, but around—moving in a circular path like Ion's spinning ball.
The man stumbled past her, unable to turn fast enough.
Another attacker threw a weighted rope toward her. Luma ducked, feeling the potential energy stored in the swinging rope turn into kinetic energy.
She rolled toward a stone pillar. Grabbing a loose rock, she remembered:
Objects resist changes in motion (inertia).
She hurled the stone at the man's legs—not to hurt, but to interrupt his balance. The stone struck, and the man toppled.
Ion, meanwhile, met the red-hooded man head-on. Staffs clashed. Sparks flew.
The red-hooded man moved with wild, broken rhythms—not like water or wind, but like a storm, unpredictable and violent.
"Entropy…" Luma whispered. "He wants disorder."
She realized: everything Ion taught her—motion, force, energy—was about finding patterns. Understanding the world.
The red-hooded man wanted the opposite: to destroy those patterns.
Luma stood, heart pounding. She would not let chaos win.