Three days had passed since the silent promise. And they did not go to waste at all.
All Riku could think about were the last words Akio and Mei had imparted before they left him to it.
"To excel at mantra, is to excel atenvisage."
That much seemed clear. And much had passed in the past few weeks to provide evidence to that notion.
He had thought of many visual cues to aid him in this matter, much of them to no avail. But he was getting close. In one of those three days, he had gone on without collapsing for a full two minutes. That was his record at the moment.
Currently, he had been deep in concentration, feeling the energy creeping up in his body as he meditated. He thought of it as a flame that would be put out by his gate. As if the gate was a reservoir of water. But he felt his heartbeat increasing in rate much sooner than he anticipated.
He opened his eyes and coughed hard, falling back onto the hard ground clutching chest like an asthmatic. His head throbbed with pain, and his dizziness was in full swing. The ringing in his ears was loud, like he stood next to a jet engine, and his vision was nothing but a thick blur.
Damn it!
He continued to pant like he ran for miles on end. For something that seemed so mundane on the surface, this was more grueling than any run he had to make to get to school.
"You've been making remarkable progress. But you should also learn when to call it quits for a while."
Riku looked up, trying to wonder where the voice came from, before seeing Renjirō walk from the Ecliptic Vault towards him. "Oh, Dr. Tsukimura!"
Renjirō smiled. "Are you doing, okay?"
Riku sat up fully, regaining more of his sense of direction. "I think so. I've been at this for a while."
"I can see that, and you've done a great job. I take it Akio and Mei came out to talk to you?" Renjirō said.
Riku nodded. "Yeah, they did. And they're advice has helped for the most part. Problem is that I don't know how to approach this process with my own visual cue. They make it sound so easy, but I have no clue on what works for me."
Renjirō's smile faded into something softer. A look of a man who knew what trial and error truly was at its core.
"When I first began training in leakage prevention, I learned that my gate was the crown gate."
Renjirō tapped the center of his forehead and then slowly raised his hand up until it hovered just above the crown of his skull. "Right here. The highest point of the gates within a human body. It's different from the gate that you have. It represents transcendence and connection with what's beyond."
Riku nodded slowly.
"And training with it was... excruciating to say the least." Renjirō said.
Riku frowned. "What happened?"
Renjirō's chuckle was quiet, almost self-deprecating. "What didn't happen? First came the worst headaches I've ever had the misfortune of having. After that, my mantra spilled out of my body in waves. That brought me to exhaustion, and it drained from me faster than I could replenish. For days afterward, I'd wake up shaking, barely able to stand."
Riku swallowed, trying to imagine himself in that position.
Renjirō's eyes grew distant. "A mishap that happens in extreme cases is when my mantra bled into the world around me."
Riku's eyes widened. "Bleed?"
Renjirō nodded. "Lanterns bursting into flame when I walked by. Glass cracking at the sound of my voice. Friends collapsing just from being near me, their own reserves thrown into chaos. All because I couldn't tame my own gate. It's humbling when you realize your body, your very existence, can wound others without meaning to."
The words settled into Riku like lead. He hugged his knees closer, the image of hurting Tetsuya flashing in his mind.
Renjirō's tone gentled. "That's why this is very important. Leakage prevention isn't only about efficiency. It's about responsibility. However, don't push yourself too much."
Riku nodded, the weight of that responsibility anchoring him even as it made the task feel more impossible. But behind all of that, the past few days had cemented a question within him that made all of this seem fruitless. And so, he asked it.
"But then… if imagination is something everyone has, why is it so hard to come up with a visual cue that works?"
Renjirō leaned back against a wooden post, folding his arms loosely. "Because imagination alone isn't enough."
Riku blinked. "Huh?"
"Imagination is a spark, yes. Every child can dream, every adult can pretend. But when it comes to mantra, you're not just imagining. You're imposing yourself on something alive." Renjirō replied.
Riku quirked an eyebrow. "Alive?"
Renjirō nodded. "Mantra isn't just energy. It's elusive, adaptive, slippery as quicksilver. It doesn't obey because you picture it as fire or fog. It obeys when your imagination, your will, and your burden align. That's what makes finding a visual cue so difficult. You can't just pick an image at random. The image has to fit—to bind with the weight you carry, the kind of power you're willing to shoulder."
Riku listened, breath caught in his throat. "So… what you're saying is…"
"I'm saying," Renjirō interrupted gently, "that power in this world is fickle. Imagination can open doors, yes, but it also tempts you into arrogance. Power grants you strength, but it weighs you down with burdens you may not be ready for. Every mantrik has to wrestle with that balance. You will too."
Riku's fists tightened. "Then what if I never find the right cue?"
Renjirō's smile returned, warm and patient. "You will. But don't chase after it like a prize. Let it find you. Mantra isn't a tool you whip into obedience—it's a current you learn to flow with. Adapt to it, and it will adapt to you. That's the only key I can give you."
Riku felt the words sink deep into his skin, seeping through his bones. "Adaptive..."
"Ever-adapting," Renjirō corrected. "It changes with the wielder, with the world, with the trials you'll face. That's why this path will never be easy."
Riku sat in silence, heart thrumming with both doubt and a strange new clarity.
Renjirō placed a hand on his shoulder, the weight grounding him. "We are keepers of peace, but also the condemned, carrying blessings too heavy for our hands. What is salvation for others, is damnation for ourselves."
Riku's chest tightened, but this time not from pain. He felt as if something fragile within him had shifted, like a lock turning half a click closer to opening.
-------
Hours had passed since Renjirō's words sank into him. The others had retired into their own quiet routines—Sayaka was reading under the lantern's dim glow, Mei sharpened her blade, Akio sat cross-legged with his eyes half-shut, steady as stone.
But Riku continued to stay in the training yard. This was his final attempt for the night. After this, he'd be done. And tomorrow would hold in another round of either fruitless endeavor or sweet success.
The silence pressed on him, and the words repeated in his head.
Mantra is alive. Not an obstacle. Not a wall to fight. I won't have it fight for me.
It is me...
He breathed out slowly, pressing a palm over his chest as if to feel the truth of it beating underneath his ribs. The thought lingered, and the stubborn urge inside him flared. Just one more attempt. Just once before night swallowed everything.
His eyes slid shut. His body loosened until it almost felt as though he was sinking into the ground beneath him.
And in that looseness, he once again felt it—faint currents stirring beneath his skin, as natural as blood flowing through his veins.
He had always treated it like a fire threatening to burn him out. But now, he realized he was mistaken.
Akio had described it as a river. Mei described it as something to beat into submission with her martial mindset.
Both saw truths that belonged to them.
So, what was his?
Riku exhaled, baring his inner self as though peeling away his defenses. He didn't try to shape the mantra, didn't try to force or smother it. He let it know him. His doubts, his persistence, his hunger to understand—laid open like an unguarded book.
Why was he the one to appear beyond the veil? Why did he survive? Why was he now living in an alternate world, far away from what he once called home? Why was his best friend caught in all of this? Why wasn't he waking? What were his abilities? What about him intrigued and terrified the people of this world already?
What role was he now in? And what role is he to play for the rest of his life?
All of these burning questions, all of his curiosity, and the messy mixture of doubt and ease he had experienced in the past weeks had all been laid bare to what he felt. He had nothing to hide.
This was who he was. And he was showing it to another part of himself. Nothing more, nothing less.
And finally, he saw something new in this trial.
The image arrived unbidden.
Not fire. Not water. Not blossoms.
Ink.
Ink scattered like dust motes across a twilight canvas. Each letter unfurling and twisting, a thousand words without form, threatening to spill and blot out the world in black stains.
And as they made their way, they began to coalesce, weaving together. Beyond the path that the ink was moving to, was a large palatial door, which loomed above. Tall, austere, the frame etched in shadowed wood. Beyond it stretched a vast library, every shelf groaning with tomes whose spines gleamed faintly in the dark.
One phrase bled into another, sentence chains growing thicker and straighter until they pressed themselves into parchment. Pages turned, weighty and deliberate, one after another, filled with words flowing endlessly, carving meaning into nothingness.
The words, now steady, streamed into that waiting book. Pages filled. Paragraphs aligned. Sentences ended with clean, sharp strokes.
And then, with a resonant thud, the library door swung shut.
The flow ceased.
The bleeding stopped.
For the first time since he was given the talisman before he made his way to that deplorable shrine, he no longer felt the mantra spilling carelessly from his body. It lay quiet, as though stored neatly on those unseen shelves.
Riku's eyes fluttered open. His breath caught.
They were watching him.
Renjirō stood with his arms folded, expression unreadable save for the faint upturn of his lips. Akio's brows rose; a hint of friendly pride etched upon his face. Mei tilted her head, a gleam of recognition lighting her gaze. Even Sayaka, who was often drinking her sake or on the verge of sleep, was looking at Riku with keen interest.
"How do you feel?" Renjirō asked. No compliments. No commendations. Just an inquiry.
Riku blinked, the weight of it slowly sinking in. His body felt… different. Not hollowed out, not sluggish. His limbs were lighter, his breath fuller, as though he'd shed a burden he hadn't realized he carried.
"Lighter..." Riku said, quietly.
"You found it," Renjirō said at last, the pride in his voice unmistakable. "Not by imitation. Not by stubborn force. By seeing it for what it is to you. That is how a mantrik grows."
Riku slowly stood up, expecting to feel tired after it all, but the opposite had come to pass.
He felt amazing.
Akio grinned. "Feels weird, huh? You'll get used to it." He patted Riku's back, which only bolstered the sense of fulfillment in him.
"You're one step closer to being a professional. Just one more thing to learn, and you should be on your way to taking on cases." Sayaka said.
Renjirō's smile grew warmer. "Enough for tonight. You've earned rest. Tomorrow will bring harder lessons. But for now—go. Sleep."
Riku rose, bowing his head, and retreated to his bedroom within the Ecliptic Vault. Away from the training yard. Away from the deep meditation. He still grasped onto that image of the ink concatenating into sentences, pasting onto the parchment. But he slowly felt that he didn't need to do that anymore.
The moment the door closed behind him, fatigue swept back—not crushing, but steady, the sort that tugged him toward bed.
And then came the voice.
"FINALLY!"
Kapaala emerged in a puff of shadow and smoke, folding spectral arms and huffing like a sulking child. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing it's been? My own boss, leaking his own energy like a cracked jug? I have STANDARDS, you know?"
Riku rolled his eyes, tugging off his outer coat and dropping onto the futon. "You're overdramatic."
"Overdramatic?!" Kapaala jabbed a finger toward him. "I'm the trickster of prestige and mystery! Not some cheap trinket from a roadside stall!"
Despite himself, Riku chuckled. The laugh came light, tired, but real. He turned on his side, eyes already fluttering shut.
"Yeah, yeah," he murmured. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Kapaala crossed his arms again, grumbling—but when Riku's breathing steadied, the jester winked, vanishing in a twirl of black smoke.
For the first time in days, Riku slept with ease.