Nearly two weeks had passed since Midarion returned to the Black Post, and somehow they had vanished before he could hold onto them.
Every morning began the same way—only now, he was no longer alone.
Every morning, before the bells rang, he trained with Reikika.
They ran the outer yard together while the stones were still cold beneath their feet.
At first, Midarion had slowed instinctively, expecting her breath to falter the way his once had in the jungle.
It never did.
Her steps stayed light, rhythm steady, eyes forward. When he pushed the pace, she followed without complaint. When he stopped to catch his breath, she tilted her head, curious, not even winded.
It unsettled him.
They trained strength after—basic drills, balance, repeated forms. Midarion felt his muscles burn the familiar way, but Reikika moved as if her body already understood what was being asked of it.
No hesitation. No wasted motion. Her concentration never slipped, even when sweat soaked her hairline.
"You're not tired?" he asked once, half-joking.
She shrugged. "A little. But Ren says if I stop when it hurts, I won't know where my limits really are."
Midarion laughed, breathless. "Sounds like something Theomar would say."
She smiled at that.
After training came meditation. They sat back to back beneath the same old tree in the courtyard, eyes closed, palms open. Midarion fought the familiar resistance inside himself, his Kosmo stubborn and distant. Reikika slipped into stillness with ease, her presence calm, almost warm against his spine.
He didn't resent it.
He was glad.
Between sessions, he cleaned.
Floors first, then weapons, then the narrow storage rooms that smelled of oil and iron. Reikika often joined him when her kitchen duties allowed, humming quietly as they worked. He told himself he didn't mind the broom. Told himself he was grateful, that this routine meant stability, meant people.
That wasn't entirely true.
Some days the broom still felt heavier than it should have. He caught himself counting strokes, measuring time. But when Reikika laughed at the dust smudge on his cheek or complained dramatically about scrubbing pots, the weight eased.
Human company mattered more than he had expected.
The days passed quickly after that.
There were shared meals, quiet jokes, and even a return to Arechi's market. The city hadn't changed. Merchants still shouted, spices still burned the nose, and the streets buzzed with life that felt impossibly distant from the Jungle of Giants. Reikika darted ahead with bright eyes, Selina called after her with half-hearted warnings, and Ren negotiated with a seriousness that made Midarion hide a grin.
Midarion stayed close, hands behind his back, memorizing the moment. Reikika's voice. The noise. The warmth.
Something told him he would need it later.
A reunion was called on the last afternoon before departure.
Midarion arrived late, broom still clutched in his hand, dust streaking his sleeves. He paused at the doorway when he saw everyone already gathered—Reikika seated neatly beside Ren, Elhyra near the wall, Theomar standing with his arms crossed. Selina sat at the table, a ledger open before her.
"Come in," Selina said without looking up.
Midarion stepped forward and propped the broom against the wall before entering, suddenly aware of how small he looked among them. He straightened instinctively, shoulders squared.
Theomar spoke first.
"I've received new orders from the Hand," he said. "They reviewed my report on the jungle training."
Midarion's chest tightened with a flicker of pride.
"They were satisfied," Theomar continued. "But they want adjustments."
Ren nodded. "Additions."
Midarion frowned. "Additions?"
"Education," Ren said simply. "Reading. Writing. Counting."
The word felt wrong in Midarion's mouth. "That's… it?"
"You will need more than fists," Ren added.
"I don't," Midarion said quickly. "I just need strength."
The sharp crack of Selina's hand against the back of his head echoed through the chamber.
"Ow!"
"Do not interrupt," she snapped, eyes flashing.
Midarion stiffened instantly, cheeks burning. Reikika flinched beside him.
Theomar exhaled slowly. "Midarion," he said, voice calmer now, "Ren will teach Reikika. He has the skill for it."
Midarion nodded automatically. That made sense.
"But I won't teach you," Theomar continued.
Midarion looked up. "Why?"
Theomar's jaw tightened. "Because I can't."
Silence fell.
"I can't read," Theomar said, regret threading every word. "I can't write. I believed strength meant only muscle and endurance. I was wrong."
Midarion didn't know what to say.
"I won't let you repeat my mistake," Theomar finished.
Ren shifted uncomfortably. "Then who—"
"I'll help when I can," Elhyra said, stepping forward. "When my duties allow, I'll pass through the Jungle of Giants and teach what I'm able."
Midarion's eyes lit up. "You will?"
She smiled gently. "I promise."
Moments later, Elhyra took her leave to attend important matters. The reunion dissolved soon after.
"Back to your duties," Selina said.
Reikika hurried toward the kitchens. Midarion followed, then stopped halfway.
"…I forgot my broom."
Midarion turned back.
The chamber door hadn't fully closed.
Inside, voices dropped.
Ren folded his arms. "Before they settle into routines, I want to see how far they've come. A sparring session. Controlled."
"No," Theomar said instantly.
Ren raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"I've seen her progress, there's a gap," Theomar replied. "A wide one. Midarion isn't ready for that comparison."
"He's resilient," Ren countered. "Defeat teaches and it could truly help them measure their progress," Ren pressed.
Theomar was silent for a moment. "…Perhaps."
Then Selina snapped.
"No."
The word cracked like a whip.
"She's far beyond him," Selina said sharply. "And you know it."
Theomar stiffened. "Selina—"
"Midarion tries," she continued, voice rising. "He works harder than anyone. But effort doesn't create talent."
Midarion's grip tightened on the broom.
"Reikika has it, she understands Kosmo" Selina continued. "He doesn't. She feels it. Shapes it. Midarion struggles just to sense his own."
"That's enough," Theomar said.
"No," Selina repeated, eyes blazing. "I won't let him stand there and believe hard work makes him equal."
Silence fell.
Midarion felt something inside him tear.
He didn't wait to hear more.
The courtyard felt too open, too bright. Keel stirred in his cage, sensing the heaviness weighing down his partner.
"I'm fine," Midarion whispered. "They're just honest."
That night, he trained alone.
He struck the massive root again and again, fists splitting, breath ragged. Blue veins pulsed faintly beneath the bark, responding to each blow. His Kosmo flickered—unsteady, brief, but there.
He didn't notice Theomar at first.
"You heard us," Theomar said at last.
Midarion froze mid-strike. His shoulders stiffened.
"…Yeah."
"You tried to hide it."
"I didn't want to listen."
Theomar stepped closer, eyes calm, voice steady. "I could sense your silence. It was louder than words."
Midarion lowered his hands, fingers trembling. "You think I can't catch up to her."
"I think you will," Theomar said. "But not yet."
Midarion let out a weak laugh. "That's always the answer."
Theomar shook his head. "No. This is."
He rested a hand against the root Midarion had been striking.
"Talent without work is fragile," he said. "It breaks the first time the world pushes back."
Midarion looked up.
"And hard work without talent?" he asked quietly.
Theomar met his gaze. "It lasts. It endures. It turns pain into structure."
He paused, then added, "Talent decides how fast you start. Work decides how far you go."
Something in Midarion's chest loosened.
"She began with talent," Theomar continued. "You began with nothing. That doesn't make you lesser. It means everything you build will be yours."
Midarion swallowed. "Then let me build more."
Theomar studied him. "What are you asking?"
Midarion straightened, resolve steady now—not burning, not desperate. Solid.
"I don't want to return after six months," he said. "I want to train until it's time to leave for Astraelis. No breaks. No coming back."
Theomar didn't answer right away.
Later that night, he spoke privately with Selina.
She didn't argue. She didn't raise her voice.
She simply lowered her eyes.
"He heard me," she said quietly.
Theomar nodded.
"I didn't mean to break him," Selina whispered. "I thought I was sparing him."
Guilt sat heavy between them.
By morning, Theomar had his answer.
He found Midarion at the edge of the clearing, already awake.
"Eighteen months," he said.
Midarion blinked. "Eighteen…?"
"Six months," Theomar continued, "three times in a row. No pause between them."
Midarion frowned slightly. "So… a year and a half."
Theomar nodded. "That's the maximum I'll allow."
Midarion breathed out slowly, then smiled—small, but real.
"That's enough," he said.
The morning came quietly.
Reikika hugged him, unaware of the weight he carried. Ren nodded once. Selina said nothing—couldn't.
Midarion didn't look back.
As the trees closed behind him, his vow burned steady and unbroken.
"I will not be left behind. I will rise."