It was late morning, and the sky was still painted in gentle hues of gold and soft blue. Michael had just finished dressing when he remembered the words the village elder had spoken before parting ways yesterday:
"Come to my house later. There is something important we must discuss."
Michael exhaled slowly. Yesterday's events still clung to him like fog. The memory of Blitz's attack, the sharp pain of the lightning, and the sudden blackout—it all replayed like a flickering dream. He had woken up on a cot, sore but intact, and though the healer assured him he'd recover quickly, he still felt the aftershocks through his limbs.
Time passed slowly until the afternoon sun began to dip westward. Michael made his way through the quiet village toward the elder's home, a humble dwelling nestled near the edge of the central square. The structure was modest, its wooden walls covered in ivy and flowers, and the faint scent of herbs wafted through the open window.
He knocked once on the door.
"Come in," came the familiar voice.
Michael stepped inside—and to his surprise, found Torren already there, sitting on a cushion by the low table.
"Hey," Michael said, half-smiling.
Torren gave a nod. "Looks like we both got called in."
The elder, wearing his usual red robes, emerged from another room holding a small tray with cups of hot tea. He placed it between them and sat across.
"Good. You're both here," he began, his tone serious but calm. "I suppose you're wondering why I asked for this meeting."
Michael and Torren exchanged glances.
"I assume it has something to do with what happened yesterday," Torren offered.
"Exactly," the elder nodded. "You both were victims of a forbidden technique—a rare one, at that."
"Forbidden?" Michael asked. "Was that… what Blitz used?"
"Yes," the elder confirmed. "It was the Lightning Pillar—an ancient, highly destructive spell once banned from traditional combat trials due to its sheer lack of control. It does not distinguish friend from foe."
Michael's brows furrowed. "Then why wasn't he stopped?"
"I was about to intervene," the elder admitted. "But the moment passed too quickly. He channeled it in seconds, which is rare even for those with lightning affinity. It was reckless and dangerous."
Torren looked down at his hands. "It felt like being struck by a mountain."
"I know," the elder said. "And that is why I summoned you both here—not just to explain what happened, but to help you recover further. Your bodies have healed well enough, but energy like that… leaves deeper damage. That's why I want you both to head to the hot spring."
"The one in the forest clearing?" Michael asked.
The elder nodded. "Yes. Its waters have special restorative properties. Go soak for at least thirty minutes. Let it cleanse the energy that still lingers in your bones."
Michael blinked. "That actually sounds… kind of nice."
"I won't argue with warm water right now," Torren muttered, stretching his neck.
"When you finish, return here," the elder continued. "There's more we need to discuss after your minds and bodies are settled."
They rose and thanked the elder, who handed them both small towels and a vial of herbal oil to pour into the spring.
"Just a few drops," he instructed. "No more."
As they stepped outside, the sunlight bathed the village in a golden sheen. Birds chirped from nearby rooftops, and a light breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers.
The walk to the hot spring took them through a wooded trail, shaded by tall trees and dense foliage. The quiet was peaceful—almost too peaceful. It allowed their thoughts to drift.
Michael glanced at Torren. "Hey… what did you think of Blitz's attack?"
Torren sighed. "I think… he doesn't care about rules. Only winning."
"I've seen strong people before," Michael said. "But that wasn't just power. That was something else. He didn't look calm. He looked… unhinged."
Torren nodded slowly. "That's what worries me."
Eventually, they reached the clearing.
The spring was tucked into a circle of large stones, steam rising gently from its crystal-clear surface. They set their things on a nearby bench, poured a few drops of the elder's oil into the water, and slipped in.
Michael exhaled sharply as the warmth enveloped him. "Oh wow… that's good."
Torren groaned in relief. "This should be a daily thing."
The herbal scent filled their lungs as the steam eased tension from their muscles. For a long time, they sat in silence, eyes half-closed, letting the spring do its work.
"This whole tournament's been harder than I thought," Michael eventually said.
Torren opened one eye. "Yeah. But it's also been more real. Stronger magic. Tougher decisions."
"Do you think we're ready for what comes next?"
Torren thought for a moment. "No. But I think we're going to be."
When the sun dipped lower, they stepped out, dried off, and changed into fresh clothes. As they walked back through the woods, something stirred within Michael—a feeling not entirely his own.
Just as they reached a split in the trail, where one path led to the village and the other to the elder's house, a voice—low, ancient, and unfamiliar—whispered within Michael's mind.
"So this is where you live now… Teodor."
The name echoed faintly, unheard even by Michael himself.