The following days did not bring explosions of power.
They brought discipline.
Eldric Vaelor did not allow Petrus to touch a single bar of iron before learning how to breathe properly. The first lesson was not about bending metal.
It was about bending himself.
"Channeling is not force," the master repeated as they walked along the inner ring of the tower. "It is flow."
Petrus sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, hands resting on his knees, eyes closed. At first, all he felt was the discomfort of silence. The urge to act. To test limits.
Then came the second beat.
Thum.
Thum.
His human heart.
And the other one.
Heavier.
Deeper.
At first, they beat out of rhythm. One organic pulse, the other almost metallic. Like two hammers working in different forges.
"Align them," Eldric would say calmly. "If they fight each other, you will fragment."
The technique was simple in theory: inhale counting four beats of the physical heart, exhale following the second. Repeat. Feel the meeting point.
In practice, it was exhausting.
There were moments when Petrus felt nauseated. Others when he had the impression that his chest vibrated like a steel plate under too much tension.
But on the fifth day, something changed.
The beats began to draw closer.
Thum.
Thum.
Thum.
Synchronized.
A wave of clarity ran through his body. The iron in the tower became sharper in his perception. No longer distant noise, but a map.
"Now you begin to exist here," Eldric murmured.
That was when Petrus learned another unsettling detail:
"The core of an Alvoran is, on average, seven times larger than that of a common mage," the master explained. "That does not mean you are invincible. It only means you can make bigger mistakes before you die."
The cold honesty was disconcerting.
—
One week after his arrival, Eldric announced:
"Today you will see the world beyond the tower."
Luminelle nearly jumped with joy.
"We're going down to the city!"
Petrus felt something different. Not excitement.
Anxiety.
The Tower of Lynthar stood slightly apart from the urban center, elevated on a rocky formation. As they descended the stone path, the city gradually revealed itself.
Dark wooden rooftops. Stone structures reinforced with metal beams. Flags of the Kingdom of Valemyr fluttering in the wind.
Lynthar was alive.
The scent of freshly baked bread mixed with the distant salt of the sea. Blacksmiths hammered steel in steady rhythms. Merchants shouted offers.
Petrus felt all of it… and something more.
He felt the iron of railings, horseshoes, blades for sale.
Like an invisible field stretching beneath the surface of the city.
"Do not lose yourself in the sensations," Eldric warned. "The world is not only metal."
As they walked through the central square, a commotion formed near the public well.
A soldier held a small translucent crystal before a young woman kneeling on the ground.
She had long ears… but not fully elven.
And a tail.
A reddish-orange, furred tail trembling along with her body.
Petrus stopped.
His mind took a second to process what he was seeing.
A half-human fox.
Her eyes were golden, wet with tears. Her face dirty with dust.
"Tried to flee her master again," the soldier announced loudly.
He raised the crystal.
The stone glowed.
And a mark appeared on the young woman's forehead.
A burning red X.
The light seared against her skin.
A murmur passed through the crowd.
Petrus felt something tighten in his chest.
Not the second heart.
The first.
Pain.
"What is that?" he murmured, voice low and tense.
"Mark of ownership," Eldric replied gravely. "Revelation crystals expose active contracts."
The young woman tried to stand.
The soldier pushed her back down.
"You belong to House Morneth. Escape implies punishment."
The word belong echoed like a blow.
Petrus felt the iron in the soldier's armor vibrate faintly under his perception. Instinctively.
If he wished… he could bend that sword.
But it was not that simple.
Luminelle discreetly held her grandfather's hand.
"Grandfather…"
Eldric placed a hand on Petrus' shoulder.
"Do not interfere."
The firmness in his voice was clear.
Petrus looked away for a second.
But the red X continued burning in his vision.
She was a person.
She thought.
She felt.
And she was marked as property.
When the soldier led her away, the crowd dispersed with practical indifference.
The normality of it hurt the most.
—
To break the weight of the moment, Eldric led them to a small confectionery near the square.
"You must try something local," the master said.
The sweet was simple in appearance: small crystalline cubes dusted with fine sugar. When Petrus put the first one in his mouth, his senses were flooded with something unexpected.
Honey.
Fresh mint.
And a light cooling sensation spreading across his palate.
"It's enchanted with light freshness magic," Luminelle explained proudly. "So it doesn't melt and keeps its flavor."
Petrus chewed slowly.
The contrast between sweetness and the previous scene was almost cruel.
"That girl…" he began.
"Half-human," Eldric corrected. "Likely from the United Principalities of Tharvok."
"Aren't they independent?"
"They are. But many travel to human lands seeking work. Some fall into debt. Others are deceived. Some end up enslaved under local laws."
Petrus frowned.
"And they can't return home?"
"They can. If they escape and cross the border back into the Principalities, they are recognized and freed. That is written in the ancient accords."
"Then why don't they all run?"
"Because escape is rarely simple."
Silence returned.
Petrus took a deep breath.
"And the half-elves?"
Eldric took his time before answering.
"Rarer. Relations between humans and elves are uncommon and viewed with suspicion. They occur mostly in border regions."
"And if a pure elf is captured?"
"If they return to elven lands, they recover their rights. Aelthir recognizes its children."
"And a human who flees to their native kingdom?"
"They may also regain status."
Petrus already anticipated the next answer.
"And a half-elf?"
Eldric looked directly at him.
"They have no homeland recognized by both sides. If captured and reduced to slavery, they lose almost all rights. Legally, they belong to the kingdom that registers them."
The understanding was bitter.
The Decree of the First Emperor resurfaced in his memory.
The Sworn Union.
Freedom through marriage.
A law celebrated as morally elevated.
But also a tool of control.
"So… freedom depends on who accepts you as theirs?" Petrus murmured.
"In simple terms, yes."
The racial tension was palpable in the streets, now that he paid attention. Colder glances at long ears. Whispered comments when someone with hybrid traits passed.
Half-elves were rare there.
And clearly seen as something that did not fit.
—
The return to the tower was silent.
The sky was beginning to take on golden hues of late afternoon. The wind carried the scent of salt and iron.
Petrus walked a step behind Eldric.
His mind churned.
He had been torn from a world with its own problems.
Brought to another.
A world whose empire had fallen five hundred years ago, yet whose founder's laws were still seen as moral supreme authority.
Where each kingdom created its own rules.
Where freedom could be a contract.
Where belonging defined humanity.
Upon reaching the tower gates, he paused and looked at Lynthar.
He felt the city's iron.
Felt the invisible weight of its structures.
And realized something deeper.
Social structures were like metal.
They could be shaped.
Or hardened until they broke.
He had been summoned to that world.
But no one had asked whether he agreed with its rules.
The second heart beat firmly.
This time aligned with the first.
And for the first time, Petrus understood:
Power was not only about bending steel.
It was about deciding when not to bow your head.