The first time I stepped onto one of Liam's training platforms, I did not feel like a child opening a door to a new world. I felt like an expert smith handed a sharper file, a steadier vise, and a better light.
The stone hummed under my feet. Symbols cut into it lit one by one, not blasting me, but syncing with me. The "rush" was not chaos. It was alignment. The memories that came were not foreign. They were angles, timings, tolerances—fine details that slid into grooves I already had.
I locked my stance and let the stream run through me. Breathing was easy. Balance was easy. My mind built shelves and the knowledge filed itself: edge cases, corrections at the fourth decimal place, new thresholds for stability. I already knew how to shape space, slow time, and bend gravity. Liam's imprint gave me higher-resolution control.
"Arthur!" Seraphina's voice cut across the chamber. "Are you alright?"
"I'm good," I said. My voice was steady. "It's not instruction. It's calibration."
