I caught his strike with the flat of my blade, Temptation's staff sliding along the length of the odachi in a hiss of friction and control. The moment shimmered in clarity—I didn't think. I moved. My body turned with the force, not resisting it, but redirecting it. The blade arced down, riding the momentum of his own attack into a vicious countercut.

But then—impact.

A pressure like solid air met my swing mid-arc. Not from the staff, but from something invisible. A barrier. I could feel it—cold, immovable, like the breath of a mountain. My instincts flared, and I pivoted on my back heel, shifting the angle. The diagonal cut became horizontal, a fluid continuation that should have found purchase.

But again—clang.

Temptation's staff met the blade with unnatural ease, deflecting it with a lazy flick of his wrist, like swatting a fly with a rolled-up scroll.

He stepped back with a sigh, exasperated. "Boy. That's enough. I've seen what I need to see."

He rapped the staff once against the stone underfoot. "It's clear the sword is one of the weapons you'll carry, but not the only one. Show me this meteor hammer. Now."

I hesitated, then nodded and reached for the sash.

It was still coiled around my wrist, soft and warm from my skin. As I unwound it, the enchanted silk shimmered like blood suspended in wine. The weight settled in my hands with a comforting gravity—familiar, yet foreign every time I touched it.

Celeste's gift.

A weapon. A keepsake. A tether?

My fingers lingered along its edge, feeling the delicate weave that concealed its deadly force. My mind wandered—Did I love her?

Fondness, yes. But more than that?

Or was that fondness born of the stage we played upon? The echoes of scripted affection bleeding into real moments? Her laughter. Her fire. Her fragility.

Was it mine to hold onto?

I stared at the sash, thoughts spinning like the weapon itself.

Then—thwack.

A dull thud landed squarely on the top of my head.

I winced.

Temptation's staff rested there for a breath longer, then slid off without ceremony. He didn't look amused.

"Don't get distracted by thoughts," he said flatly. "You're on a battlefield. Distraction is death."

He circled me slowly now, each step deliberate, like a predator sizing up prey—but this predator was here to teach.

"Your death means the death of your friends," he continued, voice sharp and clipped. "The death of your friends means the collapse of your support chain. The collapse of the support chain means the death of a full squadron. The death of a squadron tips the balance of a battle. And if that battle matters enough—if that battlefield is critical enough—that spells the death of a city. Maybe a realm."

He stopped in front of me, face close. His voice dropped to a low whisper, harsh as flint.

"You may not be an army, Alexander. But you are a domino."

His eyes bored into mine, relentless. "And your fall will always knock something down with you."

I swallowed, steadying my grip on the sash. The weight at the end shifted slightly, dragging the silk through my fingers.

There was no more room for musing.

No more room for maybes.

I inhaled slowly, then flicked my wrist.

The sash unraveled, the weighted end spinning outward with a soft whistle as it extended. In a moment it was in motion—fluid, circling, waiting.

Temptation nodded once. "Now show me if you can control chaos—or if chaos controls you."

I started winding the sash. Slowly at first—deliberately—feeling the silk tighten and coil like a serpent around my wrist. The tip shifted. Heavier now. Dense with purpose. The silk, soft to the touch, masked the leaden core that had been sewn into it with care.

Celeste's care.

I twisted it around my torso, using the motion to build momentum, the length of crimson silk trailing behind like a streak of liquid flame.

And then—I released.

THWACK.

The strike came fast and low, angled to sweep Temptation off his footing. He caught it—but barely—his staff flashing out to parry, splitting the sash wide to the right. The silk hissed as it parted around the wood.

But I saw it.

The wince.

Just a flicker of discomfort across Temptation's face—but enough. He hadn't expected the weight. Not like that. Not with that intent behind it.

And still—Did I love her?

The thought coiled tighter than the silk ever had. Wrapped around my mind, not letting go. Not during the strike. Not even now.

We moved. A sequence of strikes and counters. Temptation spun the staff like a windmill—precise, controlling—but I was inside his tempo. Each time I struck, I felt the questions digging deeper.

Did I want her?

I extended the sash fully. Felt it hum with potential. I seized one end and pivoted into a spin, letting the silk catch Temptation's staff in its looping path. It wrapped once. Twice.

And then I pulled.

Hard.

The torque shifted his center of gravity. He stumbled—just enough.

My fist slammed into his stomach.

A breath escaped him—not a groan, not a curse—just the forced air of someone caught off-guard. But still, he recovered instantly, his arm arcing out in a wide swing.

I ducked.

Felt the wind of his knuckles brush my hair—close enough to smell the ozone of his skin. But I'd already moved. Vector trajectories spun in my mind like second nature, plotting angles before his muscles even knew they'd committed.

Do I miss her?

The memory of her voice stirred in my chest. A note. A laugh. A plea. I gritted my teeth, grounding myself in motion—falling into the rhythm of the sash. It spun around me now as if alive, the tip darting and coiling like a striking serpent.

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My breath synchronized with the momentum.

One inhale—coil.

One exhale—release.

Do I desire her?

That word burned deeper than the rest. It wasn't just want. It wasn't just longing. It was consumption. To touch her, to hold her, to know her—not just as a character on a stage or a passing role in my life, but truly.

I activated the Laplace Function.

The world slowed. Each particle, each point of force, every vector of movement painted in luminous traces across my vision. Possibility mapped itself across the battlefield. My muscles aligned to potential.

The sash snapped like lightning.

I drove it down into Temptation's knee—the one point where his defenses faltered, where I saw an exposed joint in the holographic lattice of motion.

The impact reverberated up through him and down through me. A crack—not of bone, but of dominance—splitting the air between us.

He staggered back, caught completely off-guard, his staff slamming into the ground to brace his weight.

I felt my heart pounding—not just with adrenaline, but with frustration.

And grief.

And confusion.

"YES!" I screamed, voice raw with revelation. "So shut up!"

The words echoed across the stone chamber, slamming into the silence that followed like a final blow. My chest rose and fell in rapid succession, my hands still clenched around the silk, my knuckles white.

Temptation stood still, watching me with unreadable eyes.

Not angry. Not smug. Just… watching.

The sash settled, its weight spent. The silk rippled once and went still.

For a moment, so did I.

"We're going to stop there," Temptation said at last, exhaling hard as he planted his staff into the ground. His breath was steady, but his eyes betrayed something else—worry, perhaps. Or frustration. "It's obvious that training with this is stirring up more than just muscle memory. You're dragging around untold emotions like chains."

I took a step forward, still gripping the sash tight. My chest was heaving, my heart pounding against my ribs like a war drum. "No," I said, voice low but urgent. "Please. I can keep going. I need to."

Temptation didn't move. He didn't blink. His reply came fast and final.

"No."

He shook his head, not once, not casually—but furiously, with the weight of someone who had seen too many corpses in his time. "I told you once already, boy—distractions are death." He punctuated each word like a strike, like a hammer shaping iron.

"You think this is training? This is war by proxy. Every cut you miss because you're thinking about a girl? That's your throat opening. Every swing you hesitate on because your mind's adrift? That's someone you love getting impaled."

I flinched. Just slightly.

Temptation stepped closer, his voice now calm, but sharp as the edge of a well-honed blade.

"You are a domino. Not a name. Not a title. Not even a person. You are the start of a chain. And when you fall—when your focus falters—others follow. And not one. Not two. Dozens. Hundreds. An entire front collapses because the Walker at its heart lost sight of his role."

He pointed the end of his staff at me—not threatening, but directing, like a command.

"You wanted to wear that mantle. You wanted the title. The gear. The authority. The wings. Then wear it. Walk with it. Understand what it means."

I looked down at the silk still wound around my arm, the faint shimmer of Celeste's gift catching the light like a lingering question. The weight of it, suddenly, wasn't just physical.

Temptation turned from me, but his voice lingered like an echo on stone.

"You want to fight for someone? Fine. You want to love someone? Fine. But don't train with ghosts in your heart. Don't wield weapons you're afraid to bleed with. And don't ever step onto a battlefield half-present. That's not romance. That's a death sentence."

He paused.

"Tomorrow. Same time. Come back with your mind clear. Or don't come back at all."

***

I was alone in the study.

The kind of alone that wasn't quiet. Not really. The kind that echoed in your chest, where silence clawed at the edges of restraint, demanding you let something—anything—out. I didn't. I wouldn't. But I felt it: the pressure behind my ribs, behind my eyes, behind the things I didn't say.

Outside the door, I sensed them.

Four presences, too hesitant to enter. Not out of fear, but out of care. They were waiting for me to cry, waiting for some admission of weakness they could comfort. I refused to give it. No sobbing. No breakdown. Just silence. Stillness. The tight control of a dam that would not break.

But they came anyway.

Cordelia was the first to step inside, the door creaking open just enough for her voice to carry. "We… heard about today's training with Temptation," she said, her usual composure strained at the edges. Her shoulders sank as she sighed, long and heavy. "I can't say I'm surprised."

Barbra followed close behind, arms crossed, her smirk light but sharp. "And I, for one, am thrilled you finally admitted you love someone. Or rather—loved, past tense." She tossed her braids back with a flick of her head. "Shame about who it is, though. Good luck ever figuring out if she even exists."

"You're not helping," Ria muttered, stepping in after her, arms folded. Her tone was flat, but there was a tension to it—a protective sharpness. "We also know the plans Ranah has set for you. And what you plan on doing." She eyed me pointedly, as if trying to will common sense into me. "Aerial mounted combat without any Wind, Sky, or Cloud aspects? That's suicide. You're a Dimension-aspected Walker, not a Gravity-based one. You can manipulate the paths between things, but you can't skip the fall. Eventually, the ground will win."

From behind her came a bright fluttering sound, and Fractal floated gently into view, wings glimmering like fractured jewels. She tilted her head, voice soft but indignant. "I don't have any of those mana types and I fly just fine."

"You're a bird!" Ria snapped, turning toward her. "You have wings! That's not a fair comparison!"

Fractal puffed up a little, her feathers flaring as her mask twisted in a mock expression of offense. "Excuse me, I am a Spirit Beast of superior intellect and adaptive maneuverability, not just a bird."

"Spirit Beast or not, wings are wings!" Ria countered, exasperated. "Alexander doesn't have the physiology or the magic for sustained flight. A griffin isn't a solution. It's just a liability he has to jump off eventually!"

"And I'll find a way," I said quietly.

They turned to me.

"I'll find a way," I repeated, louder this time. I stood, facing them all. "I know what I am and what I'm not. I know I don't have the right affinities. I know I can't fly. But I can fall with intent. I can make it count."

"Falling with intent," Cordelia repeated, slowly, "is still just falling, Alex."

"Maybe," I said. "But I'm used to that."

The silence that followed was thick.

Barbra's smile faltered. Ria opened her mouth, then closed it. Cordelia looked down, biting her lip. And Fractal—Fractal simply floated closer, landing lightly on my shoulder, her presence warm and grounding.

"I didn't want you all to see me like this," I muttered. "Not now. Not tonight."

"Then don't be like this alone," Cordelia replied gently. "You don't have to shatter in front of us. But don't act like we can't see the cracks."

Barbra stepped forward, tapping my chest once, lightly. "You love someone who might not even be real. That's okay. What's not okay is using that heartbreak as an excuse to burn yourself alive and call it courage."

"I'm not burning myself."

"You're preparing to," Ria snapped. "That's what all of this is. Training with weapons you don't know. Pushing your body past its limit. Talking about jumping off griffins without aerial mastery—this isn't bravery. This is desperation wearing armor."

I didn't answer right away.

My gaze drifted to the sash still wrapped around my arm—Celeste's gift, red as memory. It shimmered faintly in the lamplight. I didn't know if I loved her because I really did… or because I couldn't separate her from the story I had been forced to live. The boundaries had blurred somewhere between the stage and the soul.

But the pain?

The ache of not knowing?

That was real.

And I carried it like a blade I couldn't sheath.

"I'm not trying to die," I said, finally. "I'm trying to matter. And sometimes, the only difference between a weapon and a torch is how long you're willing to hold on while it burns."

Fractal leaned in closer, brushing her soft head against my cheek. "Then don't forget," she whispered, "you're not the only one holding that fire. We're holding it with you. Just… let us carry some of it."

I looked around at all four of them.

Cordelia's concern. Barbra's deflective wit. Ria's razor logic. Fractal's unwavering closeness.

I nodded.

Quietly. Slowly.

And for now, I stayed standing.

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