The days after the duels felt strangely quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that brought peace — the kind that carried echoes. The roar of crowds, the clash of elements, the adrenaline still clung to the academy like mist after rain.
Jayden found it hard to rest. His body ached, but his mind kept moving — running through every motion, every breath, every fraction of a second where the water had listened to him instead of the world.
Morning drills began before dawn.
The Water Division's training yard was an open expanse of pale stone encircling a man-made lake that reflected the first light. Students stood waist-deep in the water, guided by an instructor who barked orders more rhythm than language.
"Control is not dominance," she called. "You ask the water to move. You don't command it."
Jayden focused on her voice and his reflection.
He stretched a hand — the surface trembled, caught between ripple and calm. His breathing steadied; the ripple flattened. The water rose a little, then sank again, his control slipping like sand through his fingers.
The instructor's shadow passed behind him. "Better," she said simply, and moved on.
Kael had once joked that training in water was just "fancy drowning." Jayden was starting to think he wasn't wrong.
By afternoon, the trio gathered in the mess hall. The place buzzed with voices — fire aspirants boasting about "who burned whose clothes," lightning users debating technique, and earth students laughing like thunder.
Kael leaned back, tossing a bread roll between his hands. "So, when do you think they'll rank us?"
Kira glanced up from her tray. "Soon. They always post results before the first realm expedition."
"Realm expedition?" Kael grinned. "Finally. I was starting to get bored of drills."
Jayden said nothing. He stirred his cup absently, watching how the surface stilled itself after each motion. The thought of the realms — real elemental domains, not training grounds — sent a faint thrill through him. And a memory. Water that had tried to kill him, only to make him more.
Kael noticed his silence and smirked. "Hey, don't tell me the rat's gone quiet because he's scared."
Jayden raised an eyebrow. "No. Just wondering how long it'll take you to stop underestimating people."
"Never," Kael said cheerfully. "Keeps me humble."
Kira gave him a look. "That's not what humble means."
Kael grinned wider. "Sure it is."
They laughed — light and easy. For once, laughter didn't feel strange to Jayden.
Evenings were his.
When the others returned to dorms or common rooms, Jayden went to the reservoir alone. The moons painted silver streaks across the water. He stood there in silence, shaping and reshaping small waves, testing balance, flow, and speed.
Sometimes he tried to make the blades appear — just to feel their weight again. The air shimmered, then cooled. The Moonshine Blades answered in a glint of pale light before fading back into mist.
He practiced until his fingers went numb.
The water began to move differently with him now — not as a servant, but a partner. He'd learned its rhythm. Its breath.
He caught his reflection once more — the same tired face, but something quieter beneath.
Strength wasn't noise. It was persistence.
Days blurred into one another.
Classes on elemental history. Training rotations. Kael's loud arguments with other storm aspirants. Kira's precision with fire shaping. The normal rhythm of life.
And in that rhythm, Jayden found something he hadn't felt in years — calm. Not comfort, but focus. A stillness that sharpened him.
By the fourth night, when he sat by the water again, his hand hovered over the surface — and this time, it didn't ripple at all. The water rose, obedient and smooth, forming a perfect mirror in the moonlight.
For a moment, it reflected three figures — Kael's grin, Kira's steady gaze, and his own calm eyes.
He smiled faintly.