(Off Pattern)
Morning did not arrive loudly.
It settled.
Light filtered through the tall windows of the guest wing, clean and steady. The estate resumed its rhythm as if the night had never happened.
Servants moved.
Doors opened.
Footsteps aligned.
Everything… as it should be.
Pryan was already awake.
He stood near the center of the room, barefoot against the cool floor, breath steady but deeper than usual.
His shirt lay folded on the chair behind him.
He moved.
Not sword work.
Not mana.
Body.
A step forward.
Lower stance.
Shift.
Turn.
Again.
Slower this time.
His breathing adjusted with each motion, measured, controlled, forcing his body to respond without relying on his usual flow.
His shoulders tensed, then relaxed.
Sweat traced down along his back, across his arms.
He stopped.
Not because he was done.
Because he felt it.
The slight delay.
The imperfection.
Mana answered him—
Just not exactly when he asked.
"…Still off," he murmured.
He adjusted again.
Smaller movements now.
Closer range.
A hand strike.
A pivot.
A shift of weight.
No wasted motion.
A knock didn't come.
The door opened.
Mireya stepped in.
She didn't speak immediately.
---
Because for a moment—
She just… stopped.
---
Pryan turned slightly at the sound.
---
Their eyes met.
---
There was a brief silence.
---
Mireya blinked once.
Then twice.
---
"…You could have warned me," she said.
---
Pryan glanced at himself briefly, then back at her.
"You didn't knock."
---
"That's not the point."
---
"It seems relevant."
---
Mireya folded her arms.
"…You're sweating."
---
"I was training."
---
"I can see that."
---
Another pause.
---
Then, more sharply:
"What are you doing?"
---
Pryan didn't answer immediately.
He picked up a cloth from the side table, wiping his hands slowly before speaking.
---
"Adjusting."
---
"That's not an answer."
---
"It is."
---
Mireya exhaled, clearly not satisfied.
"Adjusting what?"
---
Pryan glanced at her.
"…My limitations."
---
That made her pause.
---
She stepped further into the room now, closing the door behind her.
"…Something happened," she asked.
---
"Yes."
---
Her expression shifted.
The irritation faded slightly.
Replaced by focus.
---
"What happened?"
---
Pryan didn't dramatize it.
Didn't soften it either.
---
"I found him," he said.
---
Mireya's posture straightened.
"…And?"
---
"He's not moving inside the estate."
A brief pause.
"He's controlling it."
---
Mireya frowned.
"That doesn't make sense."
---
"It does," Pryan replied. "If the system is already there."
---
She took a step closer.
"And what?"
---
Pryan wiped his forearm once more, then set the cloth aside.
---
"I lost."
No hesitation.
No excuse.
Mireya stared at him.
"…Just like that?"
"Yes."
"How?"
Pryan leaned lightly against the edge of the table.
"I couldn't use most of my techniques."
She blinked.
"…Because of the space?"
"Yes."
"And magic?"
"Not precise enough."
She frowned more deeply now.
"And him?"
Pryan's gaze lowered slightly, thinking.
"…He doesn't overpower."
A pause.
"He misaligns."
Mireya didn't respond immediately.
Then:
"…That's annoying."
Pryan nodded faintly.
"It is."
Silence settled for a moment.
Then Mireya tilted her head slightly.
"…And you're fine?"
"Yes."
"…You don't look injured."
"I'm not."
A pause.
"Not externally."
Her eyes narrowed.
"…Internal?"
Pryan didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Mireya clicked her tongue softly.
"…Great."
She paced once across the room, then stopped.
"So what now?"
Pryan didn't hesitate.
"We don't keep this contained."
She looked at him.
"…You want to tell the others."
"Yes."
"That risks exposure."
"It reduces isolation."
She considered that.
Then nodded slightly.
"…Fair."
Pryan straightened.
"We go out today."
Mireya raised an eyebrow.
"Just like that?"
"You show me the town."
Her lips curved faintly.
"That part is believable."
"It should be."
"And the real reason?"
"To pass information."
Mireya nodded once.
"…And observe outside the estate."
"Yes."
She exhaled slowly.
"…That's going to be complicated."
"It already is."
That earned a small, quiet laugh from her.
Then she looked at him again.
More seriously this time.
"You said you're adjusting."
"Yes."
"What do you need?"
Pryan didn't hesitate.
"A dagger."
A pause.
"And a knife."
Mireya blinked.
"…That's new."
"I don't have range here," Pryan said calmly. "So I reduce distance."
"And you know how to use them?"
"No."
That made her pause again.
"…You're serious."
"Yes."
Another breath.
Then she shook her head slightly.
"…You're ridiculous."
Pryan didn't respond.
She walked toward the door, then stopped halfway.
"…I know a shop you can get them from," she said.
A pause.
Then, without turning:
"And try wearing a shirt next time."
Pryan glanced at the chair.
"…You didn't knock."
Mireya opened the door.
"…Still not the point."
She left.
The room settled again.
Pryan reached for his shirt this time.
Pulled it on without rushing.
His movements were steady.
But beneath them—
Something had shifted.
Not hesitation.
Not doubt.
Direction.
He stepped toward the window.
Looked out over the estate.
The pattern remained.
Unbroken.
"…Not for long," he said quietly.
And this time—
He wasn't going to follow it.
He was going to step outside it.