Awakening The Ether (3)
The training grounds were quiet, save for the distant hum of the wind rustling through the nearby trees.
The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and morning dew.
The sky, painted with the soft hues of dawn, cast long, stretched-out shadows across the stone-paved field where Nox stood.
His body was tense, every muscle coiled like a drawn bowstring.
Across from him, Evelyn stood with an air of ease, as if she had all the time in the world.
Her arms were crossed over her chest, her sharp amethyst eyes regarding him with something that lay between amusement and expectation.
"Yesterday,"
She began, her voice smooth yet firm,
"You felt something, didn't you? A flicker of recognition, a moment where you thought you understood. That brief, fleeting instant where your Ether stirred—not at your command, not because you willed it, but because for the first time, you stopped trying to force it and simply let it be."
Nox swallowed.
She was right.
He had felt something, but it had been so brief, so indistinct that he had barely grasped what it meant before it disappeared.
"But a flicker,"
She continued, taking a slow, measured step forward,
"Isn't enough. A spark is meaningless if it doesn't turn into a flame. And that is what separates those who merely sense Ether from those who wield it. The difference between those who stumble upon it by accident and those who command it at will. Tell me, Nox, do you think you can survive on just a flicker?"
Her voice was unwavering, each word carrying weight, pressing against him as if they were tangible things.
He clenched his fists.
"No,"
He admitted.
"Good,"
Evelyn said with the hint of a smirk.
"Then tell me, how do you turn a spark into a fire? How do you grasp that moment and make it your own?"
Nox exhaled sharply, his breath misting in the cool air.
"That's what I'm here to figure out, isn't it?"
Evelyn chuckled, shaking her head.
"Oh, you're still thinking about this the wrong way. You believe this is something you learn. That it's something you can grasp with enough effort, enough training, enough willpower. That if you just push harder, force yourself further, you'll somehow break through. That's not how it works. Ether isn't a wall you can batter down. It isn't a chain you can snap with sheer strength. It isn't some beast you can tame with discipline and patience alone. And as long as you continue thinking that way, you will never move forward."
Nox frowned.
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
Evelyn's gaze bore into him, her expression growing sharper, more serious.
"You stop fighting it."
The words hung in the air, as if waiting for him to understand.
He shook his head, frustration bubbling up.
"That doesn't make sense. If I don't fight, if I don't push forward, how do I—"
"You don't push forward,"
Evelyn interrupted, stepping closer.
"You allow yourself to fall. To be consumed. To be enveloped in the very thing you're trying so hard to control. You're thinking like a man clinging to the shore, trying to grasp the ocean with his hands. But the ocean isn't meant to be grasped—it's meant to be swam in. You're standing at the edge of something vast, something infinite, and you're afraid to let go. And that fear? That instinct to resist, to hold on to control? That's what's stopping you."
Nox's jaw tightened.
He wanted to argue, to refute her words, to say that this was different.
That Ether wasn't some ocean, that it had to be controlled, that it had to be wielded with precision and discipline.
But deep down, something in him knew she was right.
He had been fighting it.
Every time he felt even the smallest trace of Ether within him, his first instinct was to seize it, to hold onto it before it slipped away.
And every time he did, it vanished, like sand slipping through his fingers.
Evelyn raised a single hand, fingers barely moving.
And in that instant—
The world shifted.
An invisible weight pressed down on him, sudden and absolute, as if the very air had turned against him.
The space around them changed, thickened, condensed into something more than just air—something unseen, yet suffocatingly present.
Nox staggered slightly, his breath hitching in his throat.
"Feel that?"
Evelyn's voice was calm, even as the pressure increased.
"That is the force you're up against. It isn't something you break through. It isn't something you overpower. If you try to force your way past it, it will only press harder. That's the nature of Ether. It doesn't yield to those who seek to control it through brute strength. It rejects them."
The pressure grew heavier, pressing into his chest, coiling around his limbs like an unseen grip.
His lungs burned, his muscles screamed for relief.
"But if you let go,"
Evelyn continued, voice unwavering despite the suffocating weight pressing against them both,
"if you stop resisting, if you stop trying to fight it—then something will change."
His mind reeled, his instincts screaming at him to push back, to resist.
Every fiber of his being told him to fight against the force bearing down on him.
It was unnatural to submit. It was unnatural to surrender.
But deep down, beneath the instinct, beneath the years of training, beneath the conditioned belief that power was something to be grasped—
There was something else.
A whisper.
A pull.
A sensation that had always been there, buried beneath layers of resistance.
And in that moment—
He let go.
The shift was instantaneous.
The suffocating weight around him didn't disappear—it changed.
It was no longer something crushing him. It was welcoming him.
It wasn't drowning.
It was breathing.
Ether surged through him—not like a chain waiting to be gripped, but like a current waiting to be ridden.
It wasn't something he took hold of. It was something he became part of.
A pulse rippled outward.
The air around him trembled.
The ground beneath his feet vibrated.
The very world around him seemed to recognize him, acknowledge him.
Evelyn smiled.
"There it is,"
She said softly.
*****
The soft hum of rain filled the air, its rhythmic pattering against the academy's rooftops blending with the distant murmur of thunder.
A gray veil of mist hung over the grand spires, shrouding them in a dreamlike haze.
Lanterns flickered along the cobblestone pathways, their golden glow reflecting in the puddles that dotted the stone pavement.
Inside the headmistress's office, the atmosphere was entirely different.
A single candle burned on the massive mahogany desk, its feeble light casting wavering shadows against the bookshelves that lined the walls.
The air smelled of parchment, ink, and the faintest trace of lavender.
Papers were neatly stacked, organized with meticulous precision, and beside them rested a steaming porcelain cup of tea, untouched.
Emily Theodeus sat behind the desk, her piercing crimson gaze locked onto the figure standing before her.
Her usually composed expression bore a rare trace of contemplation, as if she were carefully weighing every word before speaking.
"You felt it, didn't you?"
She finally said, her voice quiet yet unwavering.
Across from her, a man with a worn navy cloak draped over his shoulders stood with an air of quiet confidence.
His raven-black hair, streaked with faint traces of silver, framed a face that was both sharp and unreadable.
His dark eyes, deep as the abyss, betrayed no emotions—only understanding.
"Yes,"
He answered simply.
Emily exhaled slowly, fingers tapping against the wooden surface.
"Then you know what this means."
A pause.
The flickering candlelight reflected in his eyes as he nodded.
"It's starting again."
The headmistress leaned back in her chair, gazing at the ceiling as if seeking answers within the carved patterns of the wood.
"It was only a matter of time,"
She murmured.
"But I had hoped…"
"You had hoped it wouldn't happen in your lifetime,"
The man finished, his voice carrying a note of something that was neither sympathy nor mockery—just simple, undeniable truth.
Silence stretched between them.
Outside, the rain continued to fall, its gentle rhythm in stark contrast to the storm brewing within these walls.