Consciousness returned to Renn
At first, there was only scent. Earthy. Bitter. Grounding.
The smell of crushed herbs, of dried leaves steeped in something ancient and deliberate. It lingered in the air, thick yet calming, pulling him gently back into awareness.
Then came sound.
A soft grinding—stone against wood. The faint crackle of incense. The quiet rhythm of something being prepared with care.
Only then did his eyes open.
Above him stretched the curved ceiling of a hut, woven from layered fibers and reinforced with aged wooden beams. Bundles of dried plants hung from the rafters, their brittle leaves whispering softly as they swayed with the passing breeze. The walls were lined with jars—countless jars—each filled with substances of different colors and textures. Powdered roots. Preserved herbs. Liquids that caught the light in strange, shifting hues.
Renn turned his head slightly.
Chief Mumanko stood by a low wooden table, her small figure bent slightly forward as she worked. In her hands, herbs were ground into a fine paste, her movements precise and unhurried, as though time itself obeyed her pace.
She glanced at him, a knowing smile forming.
"Oh, gladly you're awake," she said, her tone light but observant. She paused briefly, studying him.
"How's your feeling?" A small tilt of her head. "Better?"
Renn slowly pushed himself upright. There was resistance in his body—an unfamiliar heaviness—but no pain. No fracture. No sign of damage. Only… depth.
"…Yeah," he exhaled. "…Better."
As he sat there, his gaze began to wander.
And that was when he noticed it. The walls of the hut were not merely decorated—they told a story.
Paintings stretched across uneven canvases, their pigments aged yet vivid. Symbols repeated themselves in different forms, spiral patterns with wavy rays around it like a symbol pertaining the sun.
But one painting drew him in completely.
A circle.
Large, endless spiral circle stands out in a painting. With flowing lines, like rays of light, yet softer… almost alive, as if they breathed.
Surrounding it—figures like people reaching upward, their forms drawn with longing, their hands extended toward that same swirling center.
Renn stood slowly, drawn toward it.
Step by step.
"…What is this…"
Mumanko noticed the shift in his focus.
She turned, following his gaze, and for a moment her expression softened—something almost reverent passing through her eyes.
"…Ah."
She stepped beside him. She raised a hand, tracing the shape in the air.
"This is Alma Aetheris. The source of all energy in this world."
Renn's eyes did not leave the painting.
"Everything in this world carries the same energy we cultivate each day. It flows through the trees, the rivers, the stone beneath our feet, even the air we breathe. And this medicine I prepare—" she lifted the mixture slightly, "—it too holds Aether within it."
She paused, letting the words settle.
"These energies are not learned. They are granted at the moment of creation—a quiet bond formed between all things… and Alma Aetheris."
Her gaze lingered on the center of the swirl.
"And when our lives come to an end…"
"…it returns."
Silence followed. Not empty, but full. Renn stared at the center of the painting. Something about it felt… familiar.
"…I've seen it."
Mumanko stilled. "…What did you say?"
Renn didn't look at her.
"Whenever I use Overdrive, I always find myself there." His voice dropped slightly.
"That same sphere. It always feels like…"
His hand clenched faintly.
"...they are talking to me but I can't hear anything..."
For the first time, Mumanko's composure broke.
"…Impossible…"
Her eyes narrowed, studying him now—not as a patient, but as something unknown.
"…Perhaps you...."
"RENN!"
The curtain that served as the hut's door was thrown aside with little care. Light rushed in along with it, cutting through the dim interior in a bright sweep.
Taren stumbled in, breath uneven, eyes wide—relief written plainly across his face.
"…You're awake!"
The tension that had quietly lingered in the room broke at once. He stepped closer, almost as if to confirm Renn was truly there.
"…Do you even know how long you've been out?"
Renn blinked, still adjusting to the weight of being conscious again.
"…How long?"
Taren raised a finger, as if delivering something dramatic.
"…A week."
Renn exhaled slowly, absorbing it. A week is too long.
"…Where are the others?"
Taren jerked his head toward the entrance.
"…They're outside. Training."
Renn stepped out of the hut.
The world opened before him.
Light greeted him—not harsh, but gentle. The sky stretched wide and uninterrupted, painted in soft hues of blue that seemed deeper here than anywhere else. The grasslands of Lumisdale rolled endlessly, bending and rising with the wind like waves across a quiet sea.
Everything moved. Yet nothing felt rushed.
Then he saw them.
Three figures stood aligned across a row of elevated bamboo poles, each one no wider than a man's palm. They rose slightly above the ground, swaying faintly with every whisper of wind.
Lio.
Kael.
Seris
Each stood on one foot with their eyes closed. Bodies upright and still. But not at ease. Sweat traced faint lines down Kael's temple. His jaw was clenched, muscles visibly resisting the tremor that threatened his balance. His stance was forceful, stubborn—as if he refused to fall through sheer will alone.
Lio, by contrast, stood with quiet precision. His breathing was controlled, his posture minimal, conserving energy with each passing second. There was tension, but it was refined—directed inward rather than outward.
Seris… did not move at all.
Her form was almost weightless, her presence so faint it felt as though she was barely touching the bamboo beneath her. Even the wind seemed to pass around her rather than disturb her balance.
Their Aether was present.
But restrained.
Just a thin, barely visible layer—like a quiet hum beneath the surface.
"…Maintain your Aether output at ten percent in an hour."
The voice came from the side. Arden Vol stood with arms crossed, watching them with an unblinking gaze.
"If I saw a tiniest change in your aether output, you start over."
No sympathy.
No adjustment.
Just precision.
This was not a test of strength. It was a test of control.
The bamboo beneath them shifted slightly.
Kael's leg trembled more noticeably now.
"…Tch—"
He adjusted his stance instinctively—
"…Reset."
Arden's voice cut through instantly.
Kael's eyes snapped open. "…What?!"
"Your output spiked."
Silence. Kael's expression tightened.
"…Again."
He closed his eyes once more. Starting over.
Taren, beside Renn, froze. "…Ah."
Too late.Arden's gaze shifted. "What are you doing there?" Taren stiffened immediately, standing upright like a caught criminal.
"You lasted five minutes."
"Return."
"…Yes, sir!"
He rushed back without another word, scrambling onto his bamboo pole with far less grace than the others.
Renn watched.
Quietly.
Then, Arden turned. His eyes landed on Renn.
"…You're awake."
He approached, each step measured. "How do you feel?"
Renn met his gaze. There was no hesitation in his voice. "…Better."
Arden studied him. Not long, but enough. Then he gave a small nod.
"…Good."
He turned away again, already walking back toward the training line.
"…Then we begin."
No ceremony. No delay. Renn stepped forward. There was no uncertainty in his movement now.
"…Please."
He lowered his head slightly.
"I'll be in your care."
The wind passed through Lumisdale once more, brushing against the grass, the bamboo, the still figures balancing against its rhythm.
And within Renn—
The Aether no longer surged wildly. It listened. Flowing quietly beneath his skin—
Waiting to be shaped.