Darkness breathed around him again.
Damon floated somewhere between sleep and waking, his thoughts slipping through fog. A faint whisper rippled through the void — soft, distant, and distinctly not alone.
Three silhouettes stood before him, hazy outlines cut from the darkness itself. They had no faces, only shape and presence — one tall and sharp, one slender and still, one short and draped in something that shimmered faintly like silk.
When they spoke, their voices overlapped like wind over glass — one smooth, one sharp, one sorrowful.
> "The boy has unraveled the threads once more."
A pause. Then a colder voice, clipped and certain:
> "Then the weave will shift again."
And finally, a tired, weary murmur:
> "Let it. What was destined cannot be mended."
Damon blinked, trying to make sense of the words. "Hey—wait, who are you? What threads? What does that even—"
But the world folded inward, and the shadows vanished.
He woke up choking on his blanket.
For a moment, Damon just stared at the ceiling, heart hammering.
"...What the hell kind of dreams am I having?"
His stomach growled before his brain caught up. The smell of something vaguely edible drifted from downstairs. He stumbled out of bed, hair a mess, and half-fell into the kitchen.
A plate sat waiting — two eggs, a chunk of bread, and something that looked suspiciously like reheated stew. It was lukewarm at best.
"Breakfast of champions," Damon muttered, sitting down. He shoveled food into his mouth like it owed him money. He didn't even notice Lily standing by the window until she spoke.
"You should chew at least three times before swallowing," she said softly.
He jumped, nearly choking. "Can you not do that?! Do you teleport or something?"
"Walk," she replied. "Quietly."
"Yeah, I bet."
Lily's gaze stayed on the rising sun. "Arthur is waiting outside."
Damon groaned. "Of course he is."
"Do not be late," she said mildly. "He has little patience for lateness."
"I've noticed."
The morning air bit cold as Damon stepped out onto the green field still chewing the last piece of bread. The others were already there — Imogen stretching, Luke tossing a pebble up and down, Cedric calmly adjusting his shirt, and Luna humming a quiet tune.
Arthur stood in the center of the field, hands folded neatly behind his back. "You slept late."
Damon swallowed hard. "Yeah, sorry. Had… weird dreams."
Arthur's brow lifted slightly. "Irrelevant. Today, you learn again to move with mana."
Damon blinked. "Move with it?"
Arthur gestured toward the ground. "Lift yourself."
"Lift myself?" Damon repeated. "Like… fly?"
"Not yet," Arthur said. "Survive this basic step first one in which you failed yesterday."
Luke grinned. "Oh, this I gotta see."
Imogen sighed. "Try not to crater this time."
Luna smiled encouragingly. "You'll be fine, Damon."
Arthur's eyes cut through the chatter. "Center. Gather. Direct. Begin."
Damon took his position, exhaling slowly. "Alright… no explosions this time."
He closed his eyes, pressing his palm to his chest. The hum was there again — faint, buried, patient.
Center. Gather. Direct.
He focused. The warmth pulsed beneath his ribs, spreading like ripples in still water. His breathing steadied.
And then the world shifted.
The grass rustled beneath his boots, the air thickened — and before he realized it, he was off the ground. Just a few inches, but real this time.
His eyes flew open. "Wait—am I—oh crap—this is actually—"
"Maintain balance," Arthur said, voice calm but firm.
"Balance what exactly?!" Damon flailed midair, wobbling dangerously.
"Everything," Arthur replied simply.
"Not helpful!"
He crashed down with a thud, grass exploding beneath him.
Luke burst out laughing. "Ten out of ten landing! Stick the dismount next time!"
Damon groaned, rolling onto his back. "Keep talking and I'll use you as a cushion."
Luna giggled softly, and even Imogen's mouth twitched into the faintest smile.
Cedric extended a hand to help him up. "That was better than yesterday. Progress."
Arthur inclined his head slightly. "You lasted longer than I expected."
Damon froze. "Wait… was that praise?"
Arthur ignored him. "Again."
"Figures."
Lily stepped forward, kneeling beside him. "This time," she said gently, "do not command it. Invite it."
He gave her a skeptical look. "Invite it? What, like it's a dinner guest?"
"Precisely," she said with a faint smile. "Mana does not answer orders. It responds to harmony."
He sighed. "Alright, fine. Harmony. Sure. Why not."
He tried again.
This time, he didn't force it. He listened — to the rhythm of his breath, the soft pulse of his heartbeat, the quiet hum of the world around him.
And slowly… the weight left his body.
The air thickened beneath his feet. He rose — steady, graceful, balanced.
Luna gasped. "He's doing it!"
Even Luke, ever the critic, tilted his head. "Okay… not bad, candle boy."
Imogen folded her arms, but her voice had softened. "Don't lose focus."
Arthur watched silently, but there was something in his eyes now — slight pride maybe approval.
Damon grinned, hovering a foot above the grass. "Ha! Look at that! I—"
He sneezed.
The resulting burst of air sent him flying upward like a startled balloon. "Oh no—no no no—!"
He tumbled back down, landing in a heap. Grass and dignity scattered in equal measure.
Luke was already clapping. "And he sticks the landing! Mostly!"
Arthur exhaled through his nose — almost a sigh. "Progress," he said.
Lily smiled softly. "You learn quickly."
"Yeah," Damon groaned, brushing dirt from his hair. "My bones are learning faster than I am."
"Pain is proof of growth," Arthur said.
"Great," Damon muttered. "I must be thriving then."
Even Arthur's lip twitched — just barely. "You are improving."
Luke blinked. "Was that… kindness?"
Imogen smirked. "No, I think that's his version of sarcasm."
Cedric chuckled. "Either way, take the win."
By the time training ended, Damon was sore, dizzy, and starving again. Dinner that night was quieter but warmer — laughter and teasing instead of silence.
Luke tossed him a piece of bread instead of an insult. "Not bad, rookie."
"Was that a compliment?" Damon asked. "Should I frame it?"
"Don't push it."
Imogen passed him a cup of water. "You didn't explode. That's something."
Luna giggled. "Tomorrow, you'll be flying."
"Tomorrow," Damon said, "I'll be unconscious."
Arthur gave him a sidelong glance. "Not before you learn."
Damon groaned.
Lily's soft voice cut through. "Hate can be tempered into focus."
He looked at her, blinking. "You're really good at making everything sound wise."
"That's because it is," she said simply, and for the first time, he smiled.
Later that night, Damon lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The soreness was unbearable, but so was the curiosity burning in his mind.
The boy has unraveled the threads once more…
He frowned, the memory of the dream clawing at the edges of his thoughts. "Threads… fate… whatever that was."
He turned over, eyes heavy. "Why does nothing about my life make sense anymore?"
As sleep finally took him, the air in the room shimmered faintly — unseen, unnoticed.
And far away, in the deep silence beyond worlds, three shadows watched.
"The current stirs," one whispered.
"The weave trembles," said another.
The third spoke softly, final and certain:
"Let it."