Morning came quietly.

  I exhaled slowly and reached for the sword.

  My hands and feet remembered the stance and the motions, but the moment of release—the instantaneous draw that Alric had demonstrated—remained just beyond reach.

  The technique demanded patience, repetition, and—above all—time.

  In the afternoon, Lyra led me to a quiet pond.

  “Today, we’ll start with water manipulation,” she said. “Like wind, you can’t create it from nothing at this stage. You can only guide what’s already there. Those with enough proficiency may eventually generate water themselves, but for now, beginners must work with what exists.”

  I stared at the still surface, willing it to move.

  At first, nothing happened. Just a ripple when I nudged it with my hand.

  Slowly, I focused on the flow, imagining the currents bending to my intention. A tiny stream shifted direction. A small eddy formed where I wanted it to, then collapsed as soon as I relaxed.

  Water was more viscous than wind. It resisted. It clung and slowed, refusing to obey with the ease I was used to. Giving it direction required patience, subtlety, and constant adjustment.

  Day after day, I practiced.

  By the end of the tenth day, I could subtly change currents, redirect them almost like shaping the invisible hand of the wind and though I still couldn’t create powerful waves or whirlpools, I could nudge the water in the directions I wanted.

  It wasn’t impressive to anyone else, but to me, it was progress.

  __

  In the meantime, I didn’t forget to experiment with dark attribute.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I focused on adding weight to mana, increasing its density, compressing it into a defined region inside my soul.

  There was no visible progress yet, but I wasn’t disappointed.

  I knew forming a singularity wouldn’t happen overnight—it would take years of daily work.

  For now, it was enough to understand the principle and feel the mana responding to my will.

  __

  I returned to the yard the next morning, sword in hand.

  I had made some progress with the sword.

  But progress had a cost. Recoil.

  Every time the sword shot forward, the scabbard pushed backward, jerking my stance, breaking the momentum I was trying to build.

  It felt as if I were missing a piece of the puzzle.

  Sir Alric watched in silence before stopping me.

  “You’re letting the wind do whatever it wants,” he said.

  I frowned. “But I’m guiding it forward.”

  He shook his head.

  “Only half of it.”

  He slid my blade back into the sheath and placed his hand over it.

  “When you build pressure,” he continued, “the wind moves both ways.”

  His finger traced forward along the blade.

  Then backward along the scabbard.

  “This part,” he said, tapping near the scabbard, “you’re ignoring.”

  He met my eyes.

  “Turn it.”

  “Change its direction.”

  I had finally found the last piece I was missing.

  It can be mapped something like this:

  ← wind | pressure | wind →

  scabbard | buildup | sword

  I had been ignoring the backward flow, focusing only on the forward. Now, I could feel the pieces aligning. I felt like I would be able to do it in the next 10–12 days.

  The recoil wasn’t an obstacle.

  It was unfinished control.

  __

  The afternoon training ended, and the water lay still once more, its currents finally obeying my subtle guidance. I could feel the tiniest flow shift at my command, a small victory, but a satisfying one.

  Lyra looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “So, which one do you want to learn next?”

  With wind, dark, and water under my belt, I paused, thinking over the remaining attributes: fire, earth, and light. Each had its challenges, each demanded something different.

  Fire seemed the obvious choice.

  “Fire,” I said finally. “It feels… right. Aggressive, direct. I want to learn fire next.”

  She tilted her head, considering. “Good choice. But don’t expect it to be gentle. Fire doesn’t yield to subtlety like water or wind. You’ll need control, focus, and restraint.”

  Unlike the flowing wind or the obedient water, fire demanded precision and control. It could not simply be guided—it had to be channeled, restrained, and released at the right moment.

  The day ended quietly.

  Water moved at my command in tiny, obedient currents. Hayakiri’s first technique had taken shape, though the recoil stubbornly resisted me.

  Progress was slow, but it was there.

  Tomorrow, I would start again.